Date: 2013-11-29 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Zombies; Horror; Fiction; Post Apocalyptic; Apocalyptic; Dystopia; Paranormal
Description: The 3rd volume of the #1 rated horror series is here at long last. It's a great read for anyone. The stories are well written, characters build carefully and every detail is covered. People, this is what a great book looks like! Stop reading this review and start reading the book! -Frank D of zombie-guide.com I don't even think one needs to be a fan of zombie fiction to end up a fan of AUD; because Chris's talent can't be pigeonholed into one limited, literary genre. His true talent lies in weaving an enduring, sweeping story that does exactly what it's supposed to do... pulls you in, engrosse

ADRIAN’S UNDEAD DIARY

Chris Philbrook

Book Three

MIDNIGHT

Adrian’s Undead Diary: Midnight
Copyright © 2011 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 March, 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 George Romero, the primary father of the modern zombie genre.

Most of the inspiration for writing Adrian's Undead Diary came from staying up late with my adolescent friends watching George's imagination play out in his movies, and then writing up our survival plans. I cannot overstate how much on an impression his work had on me. If anyone likes AUD, they should say a small thank you to Mr. Romero, and the people that worked with him on all those movies.

Thanks George.

-Chris

Also by Chris Philbrook:

Elmoryn - The Kinless Trilogy

Book One: Wrath of the Orphans

Coming Soon:

Book Two: The Motive for Massacre

Book Three

Adrian’s Undead Diary

Book One: Dark Recollections

Book Two: Alone No More

Book Three: Midnight

Coming Soon:

Book Four: The Failed Coward

Book Five: Wrath

Book Six

Book Seven

Book Eight

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

Auburn Lake Preparatory Academy map

DECEMBER 2010, Continued

December 28th

December 30th

JANUARY 2011

January 2nd

January 3rd

January 5th

January 6th

January 8th

January 10th

January 11th

Midnight

January 13th

January 15th

January 17th

January 18th

January 19th

January 21st

London

January 23rd

January 25th

January 27th

January 29th

January 30th

January 31st

FEBRUARY 2011

February 1st

February 2nd

Guilt

February 4th

February 6th

February 7th

February 9th

February 11th

February 13th

February 14th

February 16th

February 18th

February 19th

February 20th

Tyrant

February 22nd

February 25th

February 27th

MARCH 2011

March 1st

March 3rd

About the Author

Additional Online Content

AUD Merchandise

December 2010

Continued

December 28th

All quiet today. In fact, the snowfall the past few days was so bad, we were 100% certain early on this morning we were safe for the day, so we put Operation: Gilbert into action.

Gilbert has been sitting in his car on Prospect more or less since Christmas it seems. Little to no breaks. I’ve kept him in gasoline so he can keep his car running to stay warm. The good news is he’s a great sentry. The bad news is he’s gone through quite a bit of gasoline. At dawn this morning he showed up on foot here at Hall E. The snow is too deep for him to drive his Buick anymore. I gave him the keys for the Chevy truck from the second to last house I cleared on Prospect Circle. He looked like he felt guilty about taking the truck, but these are bad times, and it’s a superior vehicle to his Buick.

So with all of us geared up for our dreaded impending assault, we decided we were probably safe. It didn’t make any sense to us that they’d risk car accidents trying to get here. Even if they had a good state plow, it made far more sense to wait a day or two for the wind to settle down and for the roads to clear. Can’t understate how bad this storm has been here. Who knows if we’ll have a sudden warm spell in two days and half the snow will melt naturally anyway.

Military theory teaches you to assault at the time and place your enemy would least expect you. If your enemy is perched on a cliff, climb the cliff. If I think that way, then they SHOULD assault right now. It’s the least likely time any sensible person would attack. But, things are different now. We can’t afford to take risks like we have infinite resources, and neither can they. As I said, I think we all believed that we had today to plan, and it turned out we did.

Gilbert sprung his plan on us early today, and we spent the day putting it into motion. We can’t move at all around campus using vehicles. We can’t move around for shit on Auburn Lake or Prospect either. Chuck, Abigail and I all walked through a foot of snow down to the maintenance barn first thing and got the snowplow on the dumper. I’ve never driven a truck with a snow plow attached before, but it wasn’t that hard to figure out. I ripped up quite a few curb stones clipping them with the plow edge, but that shit’s nothing in the big picture.

I plowed the campus main streets while the Williams clan shoveled out the bridge and the two vans. Chuck and Randy got the vans moved out of the way, and according to Gilbert’s plan, we plowed a single, gentle, wavy path all the way down Auburn Lake Road, stopping about 50 yards from the stop sign and gas station area. We all worked together to hoof it in the snow through the woods to come up behind the gas station to refill our fuel supply.

The weather here is a mixed blessing. The wind blowing covers our tracks in the snow within seconds, but it’s cold and fucking miserable when we’re working outside. It only took us two trips from gas station to truck to get all the tanks filled. Gilbert and I discussed the pros and cons of the campus as sanctuary to finalize this temporary plan as we worked.

Pros: Off the beaten path. Only ways onto the campus are the bridge, and a few dirt trails that are now snowed over big time. Not visible from the roads. Excellent shooting positions in elevated structures, as well as rocks/hills. Single approach for vehicles.

Cons: Only way out is the bridge, or snowed over dirt trails. We’re off the main roads so fast escapes are unlikely. Single exit if something happens. Fuel is four miles away.

Those two lists seem similar to you?

Gilbert and I agreed that overall we are in a good position. We specifically didn’t plow Prospect out because we didn’t want to tip our hat to anyone coming up the road that Gilbert’s house was there. That’s why we got the snowmobiles this afternoon. Remember the two machines I found before Cujo ate my leg? There’s plenty of snow to drive them around now. We fueled them up good, moved one to campus, and gave the other to Gilbert so he could move around through the woods and stay off the roads.

Gilbert’s plan is pretty damn good, especially if you follow his logic. Because we have a single effective entrance and exit to the campus and general neighborhood, we can’t destroy the road. Otherwise, we’d dig some major moat type troughs, and let them drive their asses into them. Surprise motherfuckers, medieval defenses on your ass.

But that’s not an option, especially in the short term. However, we can certainly put stuff ON the road. Remember those old spike strips cops used to prevent fleeing cars from escaping? Gilbert drew up a design for some simple ones, and we made them today. Using the raw wood stock from the house with the woodshop on Prospect we went into the gym and used the dude’s tools to make them.

You’d think it’d be complex, but it isn’t. We took four sheets of the 4x8 plywood, and sawed them into 2 foot by 8 foot lengths. We then hammered through 10 penny construction nails spaced about 3 inches apart. We took nylon rope, which we’ve had a ton of, and ran about 50 feet out of a drilled hole so we can drag the sheets sideways similar to how cops yank on spike strips. Chuck, Gilbert and I got the eight sheets done in about an hour. We loaded them into the dumper and drove them out. We needed to place them in the road somewhere strategic. With no guarantee they’ll drive down the center of the road, using the eight sheets we staggered them in a zig zag fashion. The sheets cover the entire road from side to side, and are packed into an area about 30 feet long. There’s no way a vehicle can make it down Auburn Lake road between Prospect and campus without losing at least one tire to the nails. We slid them under the snow right from the edge of the road on the parts of the road that didn’t get plowed earlier. You can’t even see the sheets under the snow. Plus, the wind drifts in the snow make the plowed areas look natural now, so more than likely, anyone driving in won’t notice anything.

Where they’re positioned they’ll go flat right near the area I’ve been setting up as my shooting position, and it’ll allow Gilbert to approach from the rear on his snowmobile. My kill zone. The idea is they drive in, go flat, and hopefully back out and limp home with just their cars busted up. If they get out and make a fight, Chuck and I lay into them from inside the tree line from cover with my Savage, and him with the shotgun. Gilbert drives into the road from the rear and lays down flanking fire with his .45. It's not perfect, but hopefully it'll send the message we need to send.

If they throw up their hands, we tell them to never come back. If they don’t, and push the matter, we kill them all, and let the rest of them back in Westfield wonder for fucking ever what happened to their hit squad. One way or the other, they leave in a single vehicle, and leave all firearms and gear behind. Spoils go to the victor, right?

Oh shit, the best part. At Chuck and I’s position we pre-cut four trees to fall directly into the area where the cars will come to a stop. If we have to, and it becomes necessary, Charles and I both have chainsaws. With about ten second’s time, we can bring down all four trees right on top of them. Might hurt them, might not, but it’ll definitely block the road, and without a doubt fuck up some of their vehicles. As it turns out, Gilbert can be a vindictive bastard. Love this guy more every day.

I’m goddamn exhausted. Charles and Gilbert were done an hour ago and passed out on the couches down in the living room. I just got out of the shower and cleaned up both of my wounds. My fucking forehead keeps splitting open. I had to stop and throw on a bandana to get the bleeding to quell at least ten times today. Luckily the bleeding is keeping the wound clean, and with the butterfly bandages on it right now, I think I’ll be fine. The real bitch is when it does bleed it goes right down into my left eye, which obviously fucks up my vision. And between you and I Mr. Journal…. You know exactly when it’ll bust open again, right?

The leg is good. Even though I’ve been active as hell the last few days I think I’ve crossed the last healing threshold. The scabs are superficial now, and it’s mostly just a sore, pink collection of tooth wounds. Despite almost buying the farm hitting the pharmacy a few weeks ago, it was so worth it. Of course, here I am, from frying pan into the fire.

Sigh.

This is going to end badly, I can feel it. I’m sitting here in my room again thinking over everything trying to visualize all the possible outcomes, and no matter what happens, I come back to people dying. Not just us killing them, but one of the five people I’ve recently taken in getting killed. Not cool at all.

If Gilbert dies, I think I’ll straight up lose my fucking mind. I don’t know why, but I just love that guy. He reminds me so much of my dad it’s not funny. Plus he and I see eye to eye on almost everything. We bounce ideas back and forth and work well together.

If one of the kids dies… Patty and Chuck will straight up fold. Chuck is just barely staying on course with Gilbert and I, and if he’s subject to any additional stress, I think he’ll snap. And Patty. Well, I’ve never been a mother, but with the state of the world right now, were I to lose a child… I can’t even fathom the agony.

I see this as lose-lose. If we come out of this entirely unscathed, we still had to kill living people to survive. We still had to stay in harm’s way unnecessarily to stay alive one more day.

This is life now.

Sigh.

As it turns out, Chuck is pretty fucking smart. He’s some kind of engineer, a useless kind now, but he’s really bright. Always thinking outside the box, which is a really nice trait to have kicking around here. We were talking right before he and Gilbert passed out, and we decided we’d get Hall A setup with the wood stove we found. Of course when I bitched about how heavy it was, and how impossible it’d be to get moved, he sits there, chewing his lip for a minute, and then asks if there are any garages around. I say yes, and he says well shit, no problem then.

I’m like… wtf? He says we can just use one of the engine lifts to get it moved around. Why the fuck didn’t I think of that? We can tow the engine lift with a truck, or the four wheeler all the way back here to campus, and get the thing inside with minimal effort, all things considered. He says he knows how to reinforce the floor, and get it insulated. All we need is stovepipe and the tools, and I think we can salvage the pipe from the house where the stove is at now. Gilbert thought he might have a few lengths of pipe at his place too.

Once everything simmers down here, we’ll get that taken care of. We can get the generator moved from the gym over to Hall A so there’s electricity for them there. Then we’ll have two full dorms ready to go.

Otis is in kitty heaven. He’s not dead, relax. He’s gone from sporadic attention from just me, to a never ending stream of chin scratches and back scratches. Abby and Randy keep him entertained all day when we’re not busy, and I think Patty has officially adopted him as child #3. Apparently their family dog was killed right after that day when it escaped out the door, and was eaten by the dead. Patty cried when she told me that story.

Man I’m tired. I think I’m gonna crash here Mr. Journal. I think I covered everything I intended to, but we’ll see. Tomorrow morning at dawn we’re moving back out to spend the day in our ambush hides in the event we get jumped. I don’t know what to hope for. Mentally we’re getting close to the breaking point with all the waiting. A few more days of this and we’ll be at each other’s throats.

I hate to say this, but I am kinda hoping the shit hits the fan, because at least then we won’t be worried about them coming for us anymore.

We’ll just be worrying about burying the dead.

-Adrian

December 30th

The first wave came today. It won’t be the last.

My hands are shaking like a leaf right now. It’s taken me an hour to get just these first few sentences out. Jesus I’m so amped up on adrenaline right now it’s not even funny. I’ve gotten so used to killing zombies I’m not getting the rush out of doing it anymore, but holy shit.

Deep, slow breathing. Inhale. Exhale.

Little better.

The 29th was a very nice day. The weather held firm for us from an hour before dawn all the way to about dusk. The waiting is horrible though. I was back in my sniper hide in the tree line the entire day and didn’t take any breaks at all. I don’t think Chuck took any breaks in his hiding spot either, and I know Gilbert didn’t take any breaks.

We got setup damn early on the 29th because we were expecting them to show up at dawn, which is a typical time to launch assaults. Usually your enemy is asleep, or doing a shift change, or just waking up. It tends to be an effective time to hit someone, and there was no reason to expect them to do any different.

Abigail has been a treasure. She zips around on the snowmobile every couple hours to make sure we all have something to eat and drink and to make sure our toes aren't falling off. I don’t know what path she’s blazed with the machine, but she must be taking a pretty wide route to move around and not make visible tracks or be heard near the road. It’s nice to see a friendly face every few hours, and her hot chicken broth keeps the biting cold away. It’s also funny when she comes up to where I’m laying and she can’t find me. I’ve got a white fleece blanket on top of me I drew on with green and brown markers. It’s amazingly effective camo. She comes up following her own footprints and starts whispering my name until I respond. It’s funny.

We wrapped up yesterday about an hour after dusk. Gilbert made his way over to campus on his snowmobile after and we had a family dinner. No one really talked for most of it. We’re all just fucking beat. Mr. Journal if you’ve never stood active watch when you’re expecting to be attacked it is easily one of the most mentally draining things you can do. Have you ever expected bad news? Ever dreaded a phone call? Imagine that feeling, only much worse, and it never goes away. Every day you wake up (assuming you can even fucking sleep) and there are endless hours of holding your breath to look forward to. It was killing us.

After eating in silence Gilbert and Randy had bonding time over a shooter video game, and I sat with the rest of the Williams clan going over what-if scenarios. They were so scared yesterday. I can’t blame them. Every day that went by with no action meant we were one more day closer to a violent encounter. I volunteered to take watch first, and Charles said to wake him up at midnight to switch out. I sat in the dark downstairs with Otis on my lap for hours, listening to the nearly inaudible hum coming from the gas generator in the basement. I stared out the windows into the middle of campus, looking for dark shapes moving around. I started to get worried about getting firebombed. We hadn’t considered that yet. It doesn’t make sense to hit us like that though. They want to kill us for what we have, and burning the place down makes that all worthless. I woke Charles at 1am, and face planted on my bed for our 4am roll out.

Patty woke me up with a knock on the door at 4am sharp. She’d made me a cup of coffee just exactly the way I like it. Light cream, smidge of sugar. Granted it was powdered creamer, but I won’t bitch. That was the first time I’d been woken up with a cup of hot coffee since mid June. Cassie used to do it for me if she got out of work early. She’d get home and brew some and wake me up with it. I miss that. It’s weird how your brain works after violence. I’m reminiscing about Cassie and morning breakfast after everything that happened today. Too funny.

Downstairs Patty and Randy had woken up early to make us all a big breakfast. With no eggs we’re scraping the barrel for breakfast options, but they did a good job. I’ve got a few frozen bagels left over, and they’d gotten those out with jam and jelly. Cream cheese is long since history. There was cereal and rehydrated milk, as well as poor man’s bacon. Patty had taken some of the fatty venison and cut it super thin. It was amazing. Gilbert ate like a beast for an old guy. I get a kick out of old people with big appetites. So many elderly folks eat like birds, but not Gilbert.

We filled our bellies, geared up like every other day, and headed out. There wasn’t much waiting today. We had company within the first hour. Abby had just gotten over to my position to give me a travel mug of chicken soup when I heard something. It was like.. a brushing or swooshing noise. I can’t describe it. I grabbed her by the waist of her pants and yanked her down into my cover and started scanning through the scope.

It took me about a minute before I saw the bastard. He was dressed in mostly white skiing gear, and was trucking down the road on cross country skis. Strapped across his back was a rifle. I had already measured out my range and the wind was calm, so I leveled off the crosshairs on his chest and watched him come down the road. He slid along at a decent clip until he got to the area where we were set up, where the spike boards were. I don’t who to thank, but the route he took slalomed him right around the boards, and between the nails. I had my left hand on the nylon rope too in case I had to yank them out of the way.

He stopped almost dead nuts in front of me, 25 yards away. The guy undid his poles and got his rifle out and started scanning campus through his own scope. I was praying Chuck didn’t let into him with shotgun. It was just starting to get light out though, so there was a good chance he didn’t even see the guy. Captain Snowpants surveyed campus and did a really shoddy job of checking his 9 and 1 o’clock, where we were hidden. Once he’d seen enough, he slung the rifle and whipped out a small walkie talkie. It was a cheaper one, like the kind you get in stores for vacations, or concerts. He radioed someone up, and started skiing back up the hill towards Auburn Lake. He got about halfway to the Prospect turn off and stopped to wait. Once he settled down I sent Abby away.

I told her expressly to not use the snowmobile, and to get the fuck back to Hall E. Patty had the .38 revolver there, and I told her to get everyone into the basement because shit was going to go down. Abby was shaking from the cold and adrenaline and fear like a motherfucker. I steeled her up though, and she got herself under control quick. She was off and I was left alone to do my wet work.

Captain Snowpants stood in the middle of the road like fat fucking bullseye for me. I kept the scope on him as the sky continued to lighten. After maybe 15 minutes I could hear oncoming vehicles coming up and over the crest of Auburn Lake Road. In total they brought 4 vehicles. The first vehicle was exactly what I feared they might have; a giant blaze orange state plow truck. Big ass diesel truck with heavy duty steel plows on all three sides. I could see two people in the cab. Behind that was a Ford Explorer, a Nissan Xterra, and bringing up the rear was a jacked up redneck special Chevy pickup. I couldn’t get a head count out of the SUVs on the account of tinted windows, but I could see two men in the rear vehicle.

Captain Snowpants talked to the passenger in the plow then slid back and did the same to the passenger in the Explorer. After that he backed away, and the convoy of assholes rolled forward slowly. There was perhaps 75 feet of real estate before the plow hit the spike strips, and as they crept forward, I got my shit ready. I already had four sets of reloads for the rifle in front of me on the blanket on the ground, and to my direct right I had both the .22 and my 12 gauge. On my hip was the .45, but that was a clear last ditch weapon because I couldn’t afford the time to reload it in the middle of a fight. To my left was the chainsaw should I need to cut the trees. I laid the four nylon ropes out connected to the spike boards and got ready to yank them.

Setting up a kill zone is an art form. If you set it properly, and they panic, you will slaughter your enemy. A kill zone is often referred to as the X, or the Box. To survive a properly planned ambush the first thing you need to do is get off The Box. Get out of the kill zone, fast. The best ambushes leave you without that choice. My plan was to exhaust their retreat option first off, and let the fuckers flail around like turkeys in my barrel. The second thing you can do to survive an ambush is to assault into it. Literally attack the ambush with more ferocity than they are attacking you with. Couldn’t do much about that if they managed it, but I was betting they wouldn’t be prepared for what we had for them.

We had another huge stroke of good luck when the plow drove over the first nail boards. The tires didn’t blow out, they just slowly deflated and the truck made it all the way past the last board before the driver realized his truck was fucked up somehow. He also totally missed one row of the boards, which left them on the road, and still dangerous to the other vehicles. The big truck shuddered to a halt and kicked slightly sideways in the few inches of snow. They were on a slight downhill right there and because he didn’t stop early, the Explorer and the Xterra drove right onto the boards. The Explorer’s passenger side tire blew out with a loud POOMPH! I watched the driver shit a fucking brick and duck from the noise. I smiled. Idiot.

The Xterra driver was much calmer, but he still didn’t stop his vehicle in time. Quick as a mongoose I grabbed the rope connected to the board nearest his front tires and gave it a tug with every ounce of strength I had. Through the snow the rope went taught, and pulled the board maybe 6 inches in my direction. It was just enough to get both his front wheels to blow out with their own POOMPH! We’d been pretty fucking clever with the ropes too, bending them around one tree each so when the ropes went taught it sent the line in the wrong direction, so it looked like they were being pulled from a different direction then where we actually were. If they saw the straight interruption in the snow from the rope, they’d fire in that direction, and that might give us a few seconds to return accurate fire while they wasted ammo shooting at ghosts.

Anyway, the motherfuckers had three vehicles dead in the water with at least one flat tire or more. The rear truck caught on and came to a skidding stop at the steepest part of the little downhill, and sat motionless. I put the crosshairs on the grill of the truck and leaned back slightly to watch everything unfold.

The people in the vehicles spilled out pretty haphazardly. Most of them got out and immediately started looking at the flat tires like a bunch of morons. Two of the guys got out, dropped to their knees and actually pulled security, and I made a note where they were. They die first.

Sean and his shiny round glasses got out of the passenger side of the Explorer. Even from 30 yards away his facial expression was priceless. At first he was stone faced, completely blank of expression. Then, as he stared at the flat tire on his SUV he slowly started to smile, and then he looked up and around, surveying the area. The sun was just about up in the sky high enough that we had a nice dawn blue hue to the world. The temperature was already starting to rise too. You could feel the warmth coming in over the horizon.

Sean actually started to laugh, building and building until it was damn near maniacal. The men around him slowly and carefully backed away as he visibly started to lose his mind. I mean, he clearly fucking snapped. He didn’t go nuts, but the look in his eye told me everything. This was a guy used to outsmarting people. He’d made a living out of always having the upper hand. Guess what motherfucker?

Pwned.

He smashed the butt of his rifle into the hood of the car a few times and it was everything I had to not laugh and cackle in my little victory over him. (Writing this is cheering me up big time Mr. Journal, just wanted to insert that while I realize I’m smiling again finally.) Sean spun around, looking for me, and eventually one of the other guys pointed to the rope line in the snow, heading directly towards my 9 o’clock, well away from me.

Sean started yelling, screaming really, and literally foaming at the mouth, “ADRIAN! THIS ISN”T A GOOD WAY TO DO BUSINESS MY FRIEND!”

Yeah fuck you buddy.

“WE CAN TAKE WHAT WE WANT ADRIAN, YOU CAN’T KILL US ALL!”

Try me you cocksucker.

Sean motioned for his people to start moving towards campus, and I decided I’d had enough. I dropped my eye down to the scope, and confirmed it was still on the grill of the truck. I flicked the safety on the Savage, and sent a .30-06 round screaming into the engine block.

They couldn’t move the plow forward or the truck backward. If they moved into either tree line they’d run into me, or Chuck.

They were on my X. If they didn’t assault into us to escape immediately, they were fish in a barrel. My barrel.

As soon as I killed the Chevy’s motor they opened fire in random directions. One of the most important rules of gunfights is called fire superiority. Basically gun battles are won by whoever can get their enemy to duck. It is really that simple. If you shoot at them more than they are shooting at you, they duck, and you can maneuver and fire until they lose their cover, and you kill them or they retreat. I was already ducked in my heavy cover, and had clear avenues of fire so no matter how much they shot at me, there was almost no chance they’d hit me unless they got really fucking lucky. I swiveled the rifle back around as they sprayed rounds everywhere. All sailed high into the trees, and most of them went into the woods in the direction of the rope line. I heard a few zing near me and snap as they broke the speed of sound. Bits of tree were raining down as the gunfire clipped branches and burst chunks of bark all over the place.

I searched out the two men who’d taken a knee in the proper fashion and found one right off the bat. I put the crosshairs on his sternum and blew his back out on the side of the Explorer. He got tossed backwards in a heap and was dead immediately. He’d be up as a zombie in a minute or two, and I was counting on that to add to their confusion. I found the upper torso of the second guy within a second after that. He was leaning over the hood of the Xterra and was laying down reasonable effective and professional suppressing fire with what looked to be an M4 or AR-15. Mentally I licked my chops for his gun and I sent one more round straight through his skull, completely decapitating him. I saw a huge chunk of his skull cartwheel into the trees behind his vehicle, spinning end over end trailing hair and blood.

I felt really good once those two were down. I’d gotten the feel they were the ones with experience and the people who were the greatest threats to us. Mind you, a random bullet can kill you just as effectively as a well aimed one can. I had five shots in the Savage and fired the last two into the first two warm bodies I saw. One punched a hole in a younger guy that was pumping a shotgun and mauling the shit out of a defenseless tree, trying to hit me where I wasn’t. He went down. I slid the bolt fluidly, maintaining as flat a barrel as best I could. Keep that sight picture I thought to myself. The last shot tore one man’s left shoulder loose and spun him like a top, eventually flopping him face down in the snow. He let loose a blood curdling howl as he realized his arm was more or less gone. I threw the bolt back and tucked my head down. I reloaded.

Chuck and Gilbert knew that they were supposed to wait to fire until I’d shot five times. I knew Gilbert would wait, and I knew he would be listening for the distinct sound of precise fire from me. They were counting for five shots, in smooth succession, each resulting in a casualty. Chuck should be able to see the people dropping, and as soon as I stopped firing, he was supposed to start shooting. That’s fire superiority in a nutshell. Never have a lull in the shooting.

When I started snapping more .30-06 rounds in the Savage’s magazine I heard the buzzing of Gilbert's snowmobile coming from my right. Once the buzzing stopped I heard a rapid barking from that direction, maybe 50 or 60 yards away. Rifles and shotguns have a pretty distinct sound, and that’s all the gun play we’d had so far. This was a pistol firing. As soon as I heard a few of those rounds pop off I knew Gilbert had joined the firefight. Not gonna lie, I was torn between excitement and worry. I knew he’d be putting good rounds downrange at these assholes but if he got shot as a result I’d be devastated.

No time to worry about that. I can mourn after.

The funny thing about idiots is they don’t think about ammo conservation. The other funny thing is most commercially available firearms have very small magazine capacities. Remember when I was talking about how a shotgun that held 8 shells was way better than one that held 6 Mr. Journal? That’s what I’m talking about. Two extra shots can be the difference between life and death. These guys had generic hunting shotguns, and rifles. Most of those hold 5 or 6 shots at best. As soon as I was done reloading, those of them left alive were running dry.

Our plan was working. They had all figured out the rough direction my fire was coming from, and as they reloaded they moved to the opposite side of their vehicles for cover. That was the side Charles was in cover on. When their fire started to slow, he opened up. To be honest, Gilbert and I were afraid he’d pussy out on us and hunker down in his hide and let it all happen. I could see his muzzle flashes as he bucked all six rounds into their group, doing some serious damage. I don’t think he killed anyone, but he sure as shit put a few of them down for the count.

I didn’t have any clear shots so I sat still and let them shit their pants. I could hear them yelling out in panic and pain in between Gilbert’s steady pistol fire. From what I could see he had the two assholes from the truck last in the line either pinned or wounded. Just as soon as I saw what was happening, one of the two guys rolled around the front of the truck and took cover near the grill, behind one of the giant tires. He too had a pistol, and was leaning around the tire, shooting back at Gilbert.

Oh hell no.

Two seconds later his head was a fine red mist covering that giant tire. The other guy was in heavy cover behind the truck, and I saw pretty clearly his shotgun getting tossed on the hood. He raised both of his hands straight up in the air and stayed there like a statue. He was out of the fight. I threw the bolt, reloaded, listened and watched. You could see them bickering as they reloaded and debated what was going on. The only thing I could think about was splitting that prick Sean’s wig. I scanned down the length of the vehicles looking for his greasy prick head but I couldn’t see it. Gilbert’s pistol had gone quiet, and Charles had ceased fire as well.

All told the exchange of gunfire up that point was less than five minutes long. My heart was absolutely throbbing in my chest. I mean shit, it was beating so hard it actually hurt every time I felt it pump. Made me wonder how poor Gilbert’s ticker was handling it. Charles had held up amazingly with his barrage of shotgun fire too, which changed my opinion of him drastically.

They’d gone silent. So had we. I think they knew they’d been had, and the fight was over. I saw more hands appear over the tops of the trucks and eventually they started to stand up, showing that they were surrendering. Just as they started reaching for the sky though, the dude I shot in the chest started to get up as a zombie. He was stumbling to his feet and turning towards them, reaching across the hood to get at the two or three people closest to them. One of the assholes scooped up a rifle off the hood and drew down on his dead buddy. I didn’t do anything, because it was what had to be done. The guy squeezed off a single round and blew his dead friend’s head off.

Unfortunately Chuck responded. From the opposite tree line I saw Chuck’s shotgun belch out the entire magazine as fast as he could pump and squeeze the trigger. The entire group of people closest to him crumpled to the ground, blasted apart by the buckshot. I just dropped my head and swore to myself. These guys didn’t have to die, they were trying to surrender. The guy who first threw up his hands must’ve seen the muzzle bursts as well, because he grabbed his weapon and drew down on Chuck’s location. I snapped a fast shot off in his direction and hit him in the head. He went sideways into the snow and out of view.

Silence after that. No movement either. I tossed the bolt back and topped off the Savage. After a solid five minutes I finally sat the Savage down and picked up the shotgun. I needed to go down and see up close what was happening. Once I was most of the way out of the trees I hollered out to Charles and Gilbert that I was moving. I walked down through the snow drifts and made sure to avoid stepping where the un-hit spike boards were.

It was a bloodbath. I counted ten bodies in various states of death. The poor bastard who had tried to surrender first was still alive. My head shot had gone a little wide, and clipped him in the jaw. Unfortunately for him, the force of the round had torn his jaw clean off. His upper teeth and tongue were wagging as he laid on his side, bleeding slowly into the snow. He rolled half over and looked up at me as I approached him. We made eye contact and I noticed he was crying. His face was destroyed, and with no medical care to speak of, he was just waiting to die. He gave me a slight nod and closed his eyes. I put a .45 round through his eye and swallowed the rising bile in my throat.

This was really bad. I mean straight up fucking ugly. If it wasn’t for the snow I would’ve been flashing back hard to my Iraq days. Dead bodies all over the place, hot, fresh wet blood in the snow. I could hear the few of them waiting to die as they labored to breathe. I didn’t have my sword on me, but I did have my uncle’s hunting knife. I didn’t want to waste any more ammunition, so I did them in with the knife. Tore me up to do it that way, but I stabbed them once deep in the fucking eyes to make sure they didn’t get back up.

I was kneeling down, yanking my blade out of a dude’s eye when I heard the loudest blast in my life right near me. I did this retarded barrel roll over the body I’d just stabbed and fumbled the .45 out of the holster. I damn near emptied the mag into Chuck. Idiot was standing ten feet away from me aiming into a ditch. Damn near scared a ninja shit right out my asshole.

Man you wanna talk about profanity. Mr. Journal I called him everything but a white man. I think I even called him a chudly waggler, which I still have no idea what the meaning of is. He turned bright red. Idiot should’ve told me he was moving.

Anyway, we wound up with eleven dead people. That’s the biggest good news. Once Gilbert made his way over on the snowmobile, we got the bad news. He had chased down the asshole on skis from the start of it all and didn’t catch him. Apparently there was another vehicle about a mile down the road, and he made it to that and they got away. The other part of the bad news was none of the eleven bodies belonged to that motherfucker Sean.

We searched the snowdrifts around the cars and there were no footprints headed out in any direction. He wasn’t in the vehicles either, which meant he had escaped down the road and somehow got past Gilbert. Sneaky fucking coward.

I wish I could say I was furious he got away, but I’m feeling pretty victorious right now. We made a massive fucking haul off these losers. I won’t inventory all of what we got, but we definitely increased our arsenal in a pretty fucking dramatic way. I tracked down the two dudes who had acted like real soldiers and found their guns. Both of them had the exact same gun, and they’re both sitting on the bed next to me right now. They’re Armalite M15A4 carbines. It’s basically the commercial version of the military’s M4 rifle. They feel a little… I don’t know, chintzy to me, but they’re a pretty substantial improvement over having to plink away with the .22 I’ve got now. Maybe I'm just being a bitch because I wanted full auto. I mean shit, these guns have 30 round magazines. And multiple spares to boot. Between the two of them they had eight magazines. All filled with ammo as well. Well that’s not entirely true. They’d pissed through the better part of two magazines before I shot them.

Both also had Glock 21 handguns and two spare magazines each. I should be way more excited to finally get the Glock I wanted originally, but I’m starting to hear Chuck and Patty in the room next to me. Chuck sounds like he’s crying. He had handled the stress of the gunfight all day pretty amazingly, but now that it’s just him and Patty I think he’s losing it. It’ll do him good to get the emotion out. These situations really fuck with your head. Gotta try and tune them out to get this entry done.

Underneath their winter coats I saw that they were wearing pretty shiny black gear belts. Looked an awful lot like a police officer’s belt. I tossed them over and checked their pockets, and lo and behold, both had badges for the town of Westfield, where Abby and family came from.

I don’t even know what to think about that. We killed two cops today. Were they even dirty cops? Were these people even really dirty at all? Fuck me. Lose/lose right Mr. Journal?

The more I thought about it all afternoon as we cleaned up the more I thought how stupid we were. I am filled with doubt now. Had we just allied with them we’d be much stronger. We could’ve shared ammo and food, and in numbers you get security. Plus I mean… what if everything goes back to normal soon? I’ve got to live the rest of my life knowing I killed two cops who were probably doing what they were supposed to be doing. Taking care of the people from their town. And to make matters worse, I fired the first fucking shot.

I don’t know. I’ll come to grips with the guilt someday soon. I’m just really happy I didn’t get hurt, and none of my people got hurt. Speaking of which, my leg feels great, and my eye didn’t split open at all today. Starting to almost feel like a normal human being again.

Now there’s a punch line Mr. Journal. What the fuck is normal anymore?

We had to ram the truck out of the way using the school’s plow. The Savage did a number on the engine and it was deep sixed. We got it back up the hill, turned onto Prospect and into the yard of the house with the huge woodshop in the back. The Xterra had two flat tires, and with some help from the plow, we got it backed up and into the yard of the house where I found the dead girl with the broken leg. From a distance, everything looks normal.

The Ford Explorer only had one flat, and was only a little shot up from the gun battle. Chuck and I got the tire swapped out and we drove it back to campus. Brand new SUV for us I guess. The state truck is fucking dead for us though. We lost all the tires on one side of the truck, and there aren’t giant snowplow tires kicking around. Not to mention we’d need an epic lift to get the damn truck up to swap them out even if we had the tires. We used our plow again and ham fisted the thing down the hill and across the bridge. It was a tight fit too with the triad of enormous plow blades. We scratched the shit out of the guardrail on the bridge. We got it set up to the side of the road and out of the way. Someday maybe we can figure out how to fix the damn thing and use it for what it was intended for. Or use it for something it wasn’t intended for. Food for thought on that eh?

All of the vehicles had mostly full fuel tanks, as well as 5 gallon gas cans in the back. Spare fuel as it were. That was a nice freebie. They also had some lunch bags as well. I don’t know where they got it, but they had sandwiches made with fresh hearty bread. Someone back at that high school knows how to make bread. I'm not a chef, but I think you need eggs to make bread, which means they have chickens too. I’ve got poultry envy.

This might be the worst thing we did all day, but we ate those fucking sandwiches after we burned their bodies. To the victor go the spoils. Chuck is still crying, but his sobbing has slowed down. I think I can hear Patty talking to him, maybe even singing quietly. They’re a good couple.

Otis is sniffing my new guns. He’s taking a break from the constant attention he gets from the two kids. Man I love my cat. He even likes guns. He just plopped down on top of one.

It took us almost the entire day to deal with the vehicles, clear out the bodies, assess our spoils, and debate what to do next. The unanimous opinion is that they won’t be back for some time, if at all. Chuck didn’t think they’d be able to muster another assault at all. Gilbert and I are pretty sure that asshole Sean and Captain Snowpants will be back somehow. I think they’re no longer in the “doing what’s necessary to survive” assault mode. I think if they come back again they’re going to burn us to the ground for revenge. Again though, I think we’ve got time. At least a few days.

We’re going to use those few days to get Hall A up and running for the Williams family. We’ve got to get the generator set up over there, and we’ve got to get the woodstove installed. After that all we need is firewood, and there is a LOT of trees up here for that.

I’m really pissed at Chuck the more I think about it. I haven’t done an inventory yet, but he said he shot all of his shotgun shells earlier. I know we got a whole bunch today, but if I recall correctly, he had 24 shells for the firefight. That’s a huge dent in our buckshot supply. Gilbert and I will have to teach him better fire discipline soon, or he’ll decimate our reserves if we get into another shootout.

I shouldn’t bitch. He stood up like a man and did what he needed to do, and without a doubt he saved lives today. Six months ago he was designing off ramps and traffic circles. Now he’s sobbing on a shitty college bed in an abandoned, cold dorm room after a savage gun battle with murderous raiders in a world filled with undead.

Kinda fucked up if you think about it.

One more thing has stuck in my mind like a morsel of weirdness. Gilbert claims to just have his .45 handgun. I don’t think he’d lie to me, but the way he made it sound, all he had was the one pistol and magazine. I can pretty distinctly remember him laying down steady suppressing fire during the shooting. He must’ve shot a solid 20 to 30 rounds with minimal reload time. At seven rounds a mag, that tells me he has at least four magazines for that pistol. I wonder what else Gilbert has that he hasn’t told me about. It’s more exciting than anything. I bet that bastard has a .50 cal in his basement and he’s sandbagging me.

I love that dude.

But seriously I hope he has a .50 cal in his basement. And before I crash for the night, I’d like to point this out Mr. Journal:

Adrian Ring: 1Sean the asshole and Captain Snowpants: 0

I’ll update more as I have time. Probably be busy the next few days.

-Adrian

January 2011

January 2nd

Holy shit I’m exhausted. I don’t even remember the last time I sat down to write an entry here Mr. Journal. Seems like forever since I had the time and energy. Things have been a bit of a whirlwind here on campus, and I hope you forgive me.

Happy New Year Mr. Journal. Guess that bears mentioning. I hope 2011 is better than 2010. It wouldn’t take much to improve things, that’s for sure. Lots to go over here and I am pretty tired, so I better stop fucking around and get to it.

It has been pretty dead quiet here on campus since we fought off the attack from Westfield High. We accumulated a bunch of shit off of those assholes that will be amazingly useful. We got more guns, more ammo, some Kevlar vests, a busted snowplow, and a new Explorer to use to get around. I didn’t mention the vests before did I? Both of the cops that we killed were wearing their department issue Kevlar. One of the vests is a little torn up, but it’ll work in a pinch. There’s more subject matter on this regard to mention, but I’ll save that for later.

The day after the attack we tried to relax for the morning. We had been dealing with really long days for a stretch there, and I think we all needed to just sleep until we were done. I think we all meandered downstairs by 10 in the morning. Chuck was still a little “off” from the whole incident. He was a little tense, and being somewhat irritable to everyone. Patty looked like she was stressed out big time from his attitude, so I asked her if she could help clean up the main floor and I’d get Charles cheered up.

I told him I needed his help, and he came along. I didn’t need his help, but getting the two of them apart and trying to distract him seemed like a good idea. I took him into the basement and showed him the basics of how to operate the gas generator. I showed him how to fill it, where the gas was stored, and how the circuits worked to turn shit on and off. I mostly just wanted to get him thinking, and it seemed to work. When we were totally alone, I told him he should talk to Gilbert or I about the ambush. He fought off the notion of talking about it at first but after a little prodding the guy just disintegrated.

We sat downstairs as he just vented everything. I’m not gonna pussy-fy the guy and ramble on about what he said, but the main thing was guilt. Big time guilt. He realized that his second big barrage of fire was unnecessary, and for all intents and purposes, he’d murdered those men.

That put me in a bit of a pickle. Technically, he was correct. He’d made a bad decision, and those men died because of it. However, in that situation, under those circumstances, second guessing yourself is a dangerous habit to get into. I calmly told him what happened was history. I told him there was a very good chance the man with the rifle wasn’t trying to kill the zombie, but was actually trying to kill me. There’s no way for us to know what would’ve happened should he not have killed them.

The simple point I made was this: I said, "Chuck, if you didn’t kill them, they might’ve killed your whole family. We can’t risk it, especially under the circumstances. People who have never been shot at, or in legitimate life or death situations don’t understand how it fucks with your head." It’s very difficult to describe Mr. Journal. It’s one of those “you had to be there” kinds of things.

Anyway, after we talked he seemed to get much more positive about it. I know he had vented to Patty already, but talking to people who have been there, and been through that kind of shit is different. We went back upstairs and joined the breakfast.

The rest of the 31st we got to work on clearing out Hall A and getting it more prepared for habitation. Gilbert swung by campus around 3ish and more or less pulled security for us. Randy, Patty, Chuck and I got all the clothes I stored in Hall A moved into Hall B. Hall B still smelled bad, but not awful anymore. Patty said sometime in the spring she’d get to cleaning it out more thoroughly. I gladly encouraged her.

Abby gave her family a tour of the whole campus. They’d been here before, but it was the nickel tour all parents get. She took them for an hour in the new Explorer around the whole place, which gave me time to talk to Gilbert.

We debriefed each other and went over just about everything. He didn’t have much to add that I hadn’t already guessed at. I ribbed him a little about how he went on a shooting spree, and how I thought he was sandbagging me the whole time about his gun. Old bastard said that a wise woman once told him to “never lose his mystique,” and that’s how he led his life.

Every day I find a new reason to be glad he made it this far. I love that guy. I bet back in the day Gilbert was one of those guys who positively swam in pussy. Scrooge McDuck style in the coins. Just vagina and breasts splashing around, smacking him in the face as he grinned ear to ear. I can totally picture that.

After the Williams clan got back from their tour Charles and Patty seemed really upbeat. I think will all the bullshit going on they didn’t have a chance yet to appreciate everything we had here to work with. We’ve got tons of land, good security potential, lots of structures to fill, and tons of resources as well. I think their upbeat attitude was caused by that fictional thing I’d been looking for. You know, we used to have it all the time back in the day? Hope. (you thought I was gonna say pussy, wasn’t you Mr. Journal?)

All of us minus Gilbert got the spare generator out of the gym and over to the basement of Hall A. It wasn’t too bad with all the extra arms helping. We lost our fully powered wood shop for the moment, but getting a second dorm electrified is a much more important goal. We got it downstairs and into a good spot to plug in, but by then it was getting dark and we didn’t want to fuck around with it anymore.

That was New Year’s Eve too. We’d completely bricked that fact until Gilbert brought in a bottle of champagne from his snowmobile. He refused to let the night go by unnoticed, so we made some preparations. I still had some Doritos and soda, plus there were a few boxes of snack cakes stashed away. We poured some beers, some liquor, some champagne, and toasted to a new year. It was nice. I think it was our first genuinely normal time with one another. Since they’ve arrived here we’ve been dealing with the assholes 24/7.

We slept in a little late again on the 1st. Not as bad as the day prior, but we rested off our mighty hangovers. I tell you what Mr. Journal, we are seriously out of practice drinking booze. Fucking light weights. It really felt like an angry donkey was trapped in my skull for three or four hours yesterday morning. Miserable motherfucker.

Yesterday we got the generator hooked into Hall A. I had forgotten to grab some necessary power cables I guess, but Chuck and I found them at the house where the generator was. We did have a little trouble doing that though. Coming up the road three wide was a handful of zombies. They were schlepping along at a snail’s pace when we pulled into the house’s yard. I used the opportunity to get Charles some much need shooting practice. We had the better part of a hundred yards of distance between us, and I let him use my old Mossberg Tac 22 rifle. He’d shot before, but I mainly wanted to pound into his head staying calm when under duress.

I had him use the maintenance truck’s hood as a firing position and he managed to drop all three of the zombies before they got to within 25 feet. I think he used about 15 rounds to get it done, but they were reasonably well aimed rounds, and he just needs practice. I think the exercise helped him a lot. I’m not sure why exactly there were zombies coming up the road, but I’m guessing it was one of two things:

A: They were attracted to us by all our gun fire the other day. The Savage is loud as thunder and there’s a damn good chance the dead people just heard it and came our way. That or;

B: The assholes from Westfield led them in here by accident, or on purpose.

There’s no way to know for sure, but hopefully there won’t be many more. It was actually a bit of good luck that a few came our way. Anytime we can put undead down in a safe way that’s good. Plus it gave us a reasonably controlled training opportunity. I had the M15A4 and if Chuck panicked I could’ve dealt with it. At no point were we in any danger. At some point in the future we need to find a way to do more melee style training as well. We can’t just shoot every zombie we see, especially if they come in small, manageable numbers like that.

Anyway, we checked the dead bodies for anything good. They were just run of the mill dead people though. Charles and I got their bodies into a ditch and we got the crap we needed from the house. Once we got everything back to the campus it was pretty short order to get everything hooked up. I got the gasoline from Big Blue and in no time flat, Hall A had lights.

Not gonna lie, there was some serious revelry. There was no heat though, so the revelry was short lived. After we got the juice flowing I split off and did a more complete inventory of arms and ammunition. Chuck isn’t in the habit of carrying a weapon around with him everywhere he goes, and he needs to rectify that. I asked Patty if she was comfortable with the idea of packing heat, and she said no. I’ll work on her. Charles was receptive to the idea, but I think he might’ve been saying that to get me to drop the subject.

Back to the arms and ammo thing briefly. We’re pretty much all set for ammunition and weapons for some time. As long as we aren’t assaulted for a prolonged period of time, we should be all set. I do want to up our 5.56 count, now that I’ve got the two M15’s. Not exactly sure where I’m going to find boxes of 5.56, but I’ll think of something.

In fact, I already have. However, we’ve got to get the woodstove into Hall A before I can present that plan to the crew. Jesus I’m jumping around here big time. Focus Adrian, focus.

While Patty and Chuck got the woodstove thing figured out, I went out with Randy and Abby and we gathered an ass load of wood. I used the little chainsaw to cut down some trees that would fall soon, or would eventually need to be trimmed anyway. Between the three of us we filled up the back of the truck and got it all moved into one of the bedrooms in Hall A. The kids started calling it the woodshed.

It was fun to hang with the two kids. I haven’t been around kids since the school was open, and it brought me back to better days for sure. Sometimes I forget how lonely I am. Normalcy for me used to be seeing 30 or 40 kids each day, and I haven’t seen any for quite some time. I’d forgotten how weird it was not seeing the kids every day.

The rest of yesterday we helped Charles and Patty. Charles had found a spot in the Hall A common area that was pretty reinforced in terms of the floor. He also is setting up a brick floor there, and is putting in a brick backer to keep the wall cool and to reflect the heat. I think it’ll work pretty damn well. Gilbert maintains we need to get at least one pole to reinforce the floor joists under the stove, and we got one today from a house on Auburn Lake.

With two generators running we will be needed roughly twice the fuel. Chuck thinks that the generator in Hall A is far more fuel efficient than my generator, but even if so, it’s safe to assume we’re looking at twice the need as soon as we start running them at the same time. I think once we get to warmer weather we can go back to a shift system like I was using in autumn. Only run them here and there for power, and overnight as needed for heat.

However, for the remainder of winter with it being so cold, we need more fuel. Now we can always make more fuel runs, but that invites danger. I think we’re going to wrap our heads around more gas storage here. Gilbert thought there were a few 55 gallon drums somewhere around the area, and he said he’ll putz around and find them. I think he’s just looking for a reason to get the snowmobile out some more.

We worked on two fronts today. Charles and Patty went to the house that had the woodstove while Abby and I went to the gas station. Randy stayed back here all day and abused my Playstation. Chuck and Patty got the stovepipes out of the house as well as started to break down the pieces of the stove that come off. Chuck said they found another six feet or so of spare stovepipe in the shed at the house as well, so it looks like we’re all set on that front.

Abby and I refilled all the gas cans and dugout the engine lift from the garage. She had a little puke attack when she saw the two bodies at the gas station, but she was okay after she gathered herself. She’s a tough kid. We took the maintenance truck and between the two of us we managed to get the thing into the back. I’m guessing it weighed a couple hundred pounds, but we managed it. It was more bulky and awkward than heavy.

Abby and I dropped it off at the house with the woodstove. The plan is tomorrow we all work together and somehow use the engine lift to get the stove back to campus. I’m thinking we’ll have to chainsaw the walls to make a space to get it out. Charles says we can just drive really slowly dragging the engine lift up the road back to campus, but that seems unlikely to work. The road is too uneven, and I can just see the chain snapping, or a wheel coming off. I’m sure we’ll think of something. Worst case we’ll brute force the bastard somehow.

And that’s it. Busy as a one legged man in an ass kicking contest. We’re starting early tomorrow so we can hopefully get the stove set up and running within a day or two. Once that’s all set we’ll gather more wood, and hopefully have new drums to store more fuel in here so we can take fewer trips to the station.

Once everyone gets settled in here and I have a better idea about how we’re all going to fit in with each other, I’ll spring phase 2 of the “find people and get them here” plan. Phase 2 has a pretty high level of risk to it, and will probably take us a week or two to enact, so I’ve got to get this right.

Hopefully I’ll get the time to put an entry in tomorrow.

-Adrian

January 3rd

I feel like I have a broken back. Of course, all of us feel that way tonight. Today was a giant fucking toe-pusher.

Ooooooh….. I haven’t told the story of my toe-pusher reference have I Mr. Journal? Well then, let’s get that out of the way so you understand what I mean when I say today was a toe-pusher.

My boy Kevin Whitten and I were in Kuwait prior to our deployment in 2003. We were living in this shit-bag pre-deployment tent city area and we were bored out of our fucking minds. We were stuck in a small, out of the way area of a small, out of the way base, and there was fuck all to eat. We were not feeling MREs so Kevin and I got the bright idea to order pizza.

We had heard that some of the units had Dominos or Pizza Hut brought out to them just before they deployed, so Kevin and I scoured the base looking for someone higher up the chain of command than us that knew where and how to order it. Eventually we found a POG Lieutenant who had the number to the place, and could get the permission needed to get the delivery driver on base.

I slipped the LT a $20, and he made the call for us. We ordered 6 pies. We hauled ass all the way across base to the main gate and waited in the baking ass Kuwaiti sun for almost an hour when this sweet ass white Mercedes van with the pizza delivery sign on top pulls up to the gate. The guards were already in the know for us, and they let us go out and get the pie. We paid a fucking fortune for it, but man it was worth it. Well, sort of.

We hauled ass back across base after giving the guards a slice each. The pizza was still steaming when we got back to our guys, and we became heroes when we dropped it in the middle of our tent. The guys just tore the shit out of the food. I think the pizza lasted maybe 5 minutes. It wasn’t pizza from home good, but it beat the shit out of yet another fucking MRE.

So everyone was happy, and all was well. At about 0100 I woke up in my cot and felt like I’d eaten knives. My guts were fucking killing me. I rolled out of bed and shuffled tight assed out to the fucking shit hole and blasted my innards into the damn thing. Mind you, this is when we were still shitting in wooden shacks perched over a 55 gallon drum. Anyway, I just died on that goddamn toilet. As I was shitting myself to death I heard three or four more people making the same desperate sprint to the barrels. It I didn’t feel like I was minutes from death, it would’ve been funny as hell. All of us guys were grunting and moaning as our guts just purged.

Finally I got out when I had a break in the shitstorm. There were at least six more of us waiting to get on the shitter outside. I stumbled down the steps and let another one of the guys in. So I get about two thirds of the way back to our barracks tent and I seize up again. I mean bad. I panic, look around and realize I’m gonna shit myself right there. Now… I’ve never been the best soldier. I’m not going to lie to you and say I was Johnny fucking robot soldier. I followed pretty much all of my orders. I glossed over a few of the dumb ones. I had a pretty healthy sense of contempt for some of the shitty officers.

So about five meters from where I was about to blast off was the officer’s bathrooms. They had full facilities. I decided I’d risk getting yelled at instead of ruining my skivvies. I did the teeter totter tight ass sprint over to the bathroom and dropped trough. Unfortunately, I did not make it to the head.

I made it to the shower stall nearest the door. I couldn’t help myself. I shit in the officer’s shower. Now I was half a mind to just leave it there. Of course, you realize that if I had, our entire unit would’ve caught mad shit the next day. There would be almost no way to hide the fact that all of us had the shits, so I knew I had to make the poop go away.

I stripped off my skivvies and shirt and turned on the shower to wash the crap off my ass and to get the poop to go down the drain. Some of the chunks were just too large to go down the drain. In my infinite wisdom, I daintily used my toe, and pushed the turds through the grate and down the drain. Gross? Sure. Effective? You bet.

When I told Kevin about what I did the phrase toe-pusher caught on. Anytime anything sucked, it was a toe-pusher. When one of us got hit on by an ugly chick, she was a toe-pusher. When a firefight got real hot, it became a toe-pusher.

The officers complained about the smell of shit in their head for a week.

Ah good times. Unlike today. Today was a real toe-pusher. We got the jump on moving the damn woodstove early in the am. We drove the maintenance truck down there just after the sun was fully up and we started to make a hole in the house to get the stove out. I’m not even sure how they got the bitch in there frankly. I used the heavier chainsaw and simply cut a hole in the wall of the house where it made the most sense to. The shortest path to the truck basically.

Patty and Charles disassembled the stove as best they could and we got the engine lift out of the truck and in a good spot next to the house. I would be lying if I said it was easy. We had to strong arm the motherfucker across the kitchen to the hole in house, and it was a ball buster. Fucking stove easily weighed 600 pounds. Gilbert didn’t assist in the moving, mostly because he is pretty fucking old, and he’s as good a shot as we have. He kept guard while Charles and I destroyed our backs.

Once we got the thing near the engine lift we extended the arm and got it chained up. Backed the engine lift suspending the stove across their patio and little Randy, all excited to be helping us finally, pushed the damn lift too far, and one of the wheels of the lift went off the edge of the patio, and sank into the yard.

Sigh.

We dropped the stove, unchained it, dug the lift out of the ground, moved it to the walkway so all the wheels were on solid ground, re-chained the engine, got it lifted, and we swung the bad bitch around and started moving towards the driveway where we were hoping to tow the lift up the road with the truck.

Ka-CHANG! Fucking chain snaps. Woodstove comes crashing down, shatters the patio walkway blocks, and imbeds itself right back in the fucking lawn. The bastard was so fucking deep in the lawn we actually had to find goddamn shovels to dig the legs of the stove out so we could get ANOTHER chain underneath the thing.

Mr. Journal I’m sure you’ve heard the expression “fit to be tied?”

Oh my fucking.

I mean it was fucking FURY. I can’t even imagine how goddamn red my face was. I had half a mind to just straight up light that stove on fire right there smashed through the patio and roast marshmellows over it like a fucking funeral pyre.

Motherfucker. Grr.

Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale.

Better.

Alright so we dug the bitch out, found new chains in maintenance, and like, quadruple chained the damn thing. By that time Charles and I had scared off all available assistance. Patty, Randy and Abby were with Gilbert pretty much just off to the side watching us get angry. We got the damn thing out to the road, and jerry rigged a tow chain to the back of the maintenance truck. Now like I said, the road is really bumpy now, so I was just waiting to get stuck in a rut and toss the stove on the road so it could bust apart like a fucking cast iron melon.

Buuuuuuut it didn’t. I know huh? No fucking way right? But really, we drove about 5 miles an hour the mile or so back to the campus and not once did we have a problem. There was a little slipping when we were coming down the last little incline right near where we had the shootout, but it didn’t affect anything.

I got the truck over to Hall A, and by the time we got the engine lift unhitched, there was no frigging way we were getting the thing inside today. We easily lost three hours with the bullshit in the yard, and Chuck and I quite literally blew our backs out digging and lifting and shoving. I found my bottle of ibuprofen and stogged a handful down my gullet, and came up here to my bedroom to lie down. I’m on my stomach right now trying to stretch my back out, and it seems to be better. I’m dreading tomorrow though.

We wound up getting the stove near the Hall A porch and throwing a tarp over it. Chuck and I pretty much said fuck it.

As much of a toe pusher as today was, it was nice to tackle a problem with people. Looking at things from different angles, thinking shit through, and then laughing at our misfortune afterwards. Previously when I was alone I’d laugh at my own misfortunes by myself, and really when you’re doing that you’re being bat shit crazy. In a group: funny. Alone: going fucking nuts.

Ah boy, what a day. My back feels like I got thrown in a fucking washing machine filled with rocks. But, assuming I don’t die from a back related injury while I’m sleeping tonight, we should have electricity and a woodstove in Hall A tomorrow, thus making it livable. That means I’ll get my home to myself again, and I can watch porn on the big screen television. It’s good to have goals.

Oh wide screen porn, how I’ve missed you.

Catch you later Mr. Journal.

-Adrian

January 5th

Been two long ass days Mr. Journal. Well that’s not true. Yesterday was a long day, today wasn’t that bad. I can’t get over how much fucking work it is just to get basic things done now. I mean, just to get heat in Hall A we’ve been working for what? Three full days? Unreal.

Yesterday was dedicated to getting the woodstove installed in the common room of Hall A. As I said we called it a day after the great stove debacle of ’11.

Yesterday we took the reinforcement pole and got it installed in the basement under where the stove will be going. We don’t have one of those guns that shoot into concrete though, so the pole is more or less wedged into there for the moment. I don’t think it’ll come loose. Once we got that put in and Patty and Abby got the bricks and whatnot set up as a backing for the stove, we took the two doors off the hinges, and pulled the doorframes out as well. That was the only way we could get it in the building. I guess technically we could’ve chain sawed a hole in the wall, but that seems counterproductive to what we’re trying to achieve.

The engine lifter extends out pretty far, and with some careful driving we dropped the stove gingerly just inside the first door of the mudroom. It took us almost two hours to shimmy the thing across the floor using little pieces of scrap 1x6 as footpads, but we got it to the bricks. Using some 2x4s for leverage, we got it up and situated in its final resting place.

Chuck had checked the exterior wall for studs and such, so he sawed a hole in the wall for the stovepipe with the sawzall. He and Patty got the pipe hooked up and all finished up, although he said he needed something to seal the hole with. Gilbert knew what he was talking about, and actually had it at his house, and by dusk, we had a fresh set of broken backs, and a brand new fully functional woodstove in Hall A. We just need to accumulate a lot of wood to feed the bitch.

I talked it over with the whole WiIliams clan, and we agreed that wood was their responsibility. I’m sure at some point I’ll help, but I can’t do everything. I’ve already led the horse to the water. They actually seemed really excited about gathering the wood, which is great. I’m sure the enthusiasm for all the work that it’ll entail will fade quickly though. They’re enjoying the heat immensely right now, but the kids will bitch up a storm when they’re working for 16 hours a week chopping wood.

In celebration yesterday Patty moved some of the food to Hall A and cooked us a marginally edible feast. She also pointed out that Hall A gets better light for my indoor garden, and she asked if she could start her own. I told her to go for it, and she and Chuck are going to track down some more pots and stuff. We have plenty of soil and shit like that for the winter. Apparently Patty was a successful gardener, and I’m hoping her greenish thumb hasn’t lost its touch.

Incidentally my indoor garden is doing well. I’ve neglected it the past week due to impending doom, but nothing died. Just a little dry. Got the stuff watered up and they’ve sprung back to life today. Would’ve been bullshit if my little cherry tomatoes shit the bed.

They got their shit (which was pretty much nothing) out of Hall E and into Hall A last night and I had my evening to myself. It was nice. I won’t go into details about what exactly I did with my free time, but I’m sure you can imagine I entertained myself in a reasonably successful manner.

Today was pretty awesome. Well, awesome is a strong word I suppose. I guess I should say I didn’t kill myself doing manual labor, and I got a few things done I wanted to get done.

I slept in a little and warmed up a can of soup and a can of SpaghettiOs for breakfast. I will always like those I think. Although I’m partial to Beefaroni. No idea why, I just am. Sitting there at the table reminded me that we’d been eating quite a bit of food since the Williams folks got here, and I wanted to take a more accurate assessment of what food we’ve got.

I spent the entire afternoon listening to music on the laptop and organizing the food here at Hall E. I still have a bunch of food in the cafeteria, and now we’ve got a pretty good stash over at Hall A with Patty & Co. I know I’ve got about a quarter of the food total here, and the same amount over at Hall A. If we all eat about 5 cans of food a day each, I think we’ve got enough food to last until the end of February.

That’s just cans mind you. We’ve got quite a few boxes of cereal and pasta as well as some venison left over. I am fairly certain if I go hunting in the surrounding forest a few times I can bag another deer or two. There are also wild turkeys all over the place, and I have some birdshot I can use. We also have bags of chips, snack cakes, candy bars, granola bars, blah blah blah to eat. I also have my indoor greenhouse of veggies and Patty said she wanted to start her own as well. If and when we start feeling the pinch we also have plenty of places we can attempt to raid in the surroundings. I am pretty sure what little I left in the grocery is long since gone, but there are some out of the way mom and pop convenience stores that are probably still stocked to some degree. Not to mention there are a lot of houses we can still hit. I accumulated more food in the houses I cleared than any of the businesses I raided.

Doing this inventory has put things in perspective for me. I’ve added a mere four people to the campus and I’ve cut into my food supplies pretty fucking dramatically. I think my guess for my food lasting was well into May the last time I thought about it, and now I’m down to February.

That is of course assuming I can keep them on the 5 cans a day ration, and we don’t overindulge. I’ll have to monitor their food consumption. In fact, I double checked that the cafeteria was locked, and I collected all the spare staff keys from the offices earlier today. If they want food, they’ll have to go shoot it in the woods themselves, or come through me. If things start to get out of hand, we’ll have a conversation about it.

That estimate for food is also not accounting for Gilbert trades, or if Gilbert eats here. As far as I’m concerned Gilbert has some substantial credit with the First National Food Bank of Adrian Ring. He has earned some serious chow and I have no problem sharing with him. Especially if he continues to be a valued part of our community. He doesn’t have to sleep on a bed in one of our dorms to be part of what we’re doing.

I won’t say I’m concerned about the food supply yet, but it has definitely entered into my thoughts much earlier than I had anticipated.

That brings me to phase 2. Phase 2 in my mind had always been the establishing of the safe houses across town so I could screen for potential residents. That was my first major goal after clearing the area up here. Now that the Williams family is here and I’m going through food faster than I had planned for, I think it is a pretty foolish idea to take steps to bring more people in here before we stabilize what we’ve already got going on, and accumulate some additional supplies for us.

Safety has always been a concern, but with the Westfield High asshats in the picture it is a serious concern now. We are dealing with potential danger versus actual danger. I’m armed a fuck well better today than I was before they made their failed assault on us, and that’s fine and dandy, but more guns and ammo is going to be really important if they decide to come back here. Never mind the idea of supplies for the long haul. We don’t have the equipment to load our own ammunition. Yet at least.

Add to that the simple fact that at some point I may say fuck it and go their doorstep. I’m sure a lot of the people at that school are perfectly normal people, and I don’t want to drag them into a fight they don’t deserve to be in, but I sure as fuck will set myself up with the Savage in a good position and wait until I see that Sean prick. Split that cocksucker’s forehead open and head home. I’m pretty sure he’s the catalyst for their aggression, and if I can take him out, I think I can neuter the Westfield threat.

That’s getting a little ahead of myself. Going on the offensive seems foolish to me sitting here today, especially when I am kind of fixated on Phase 2, Plan B.

I’d kept this idea in the back of my head since early on, but it’s a plan I cannot do alone. I’ve thought about it quite a bit, and in a few days I think I’ll pull Gilbert in on it and get his opinion.

The plan consists of several potentially dangerous steps. Each step by itself is valuable and important, but the first leads to the second, and so on. Let me preface this by saying one thing:

We will be heading downtown.

Step 1. I need radios for when I eventually set up safe houses. We also need radios for communication amongst ourselves. Where can I get solid quality radios? Well we’ve got one in the state plow the Westfield asshats left here for us. It’s a powerful Motorola and it’s the same kind police and firefighters use.

I need to get to the municipal complex that houses the police and fire station. McGreevy said the arms locker was already empty, and that sucks, but there’s a fair chance the spare radios and their chargers are there somewhere. I have Danny’s keys, and I also have his security pass card assuming the station still has emergency power. Either way you cut it, I can get into the municipal building. Once inside, we raid the shit out it, taking everything of use we can find.

The real motivation for going there is not the radios. I want to take the fire trucks. From memory our town had a pumper unit, a standard engine, a heavy duty emergency response truck, and a ladder truck. I think they had more, but those are the three I want most. Specifically, I want the pumper, the engine, and the ladder truck.

Why? Because fire sucks. Thinking about getting firebombed by the Westfield asshats got me thinking we have little to no response to a fire. Intentional or otherwise, we’re boned. With the pumper and engine, we can put out a house fire up here, or at least have a chance to. Plus, they’re heavy duty vehicles we can use for heavy duty purposes. Plus zombies that are on fire scare the shit out of me.

I don’t need the ladder truck for that. That’s step 2.

Step 2. I need the ladder truck so I can return to the Grocery store. Remember when I went there Mr. Journal, and the assholes who made their stand there went up to the roof with all their guns? Well those guns are probably still there. I can’t get up the ladder inside because they pulled it up somehow, but with the ladder truck, we can get up there from the outside.

Now the weather has been shitty, but with any luck the guns and ammo are in a bag that has preserved them. From my memory, I am guessing they had at least 8-10 guns up there, and if so, then they have at least 50-150 rounds of ammo for them, if not more. Even if half of what I find is junk, I need those guns, and I need that ammo. The longer it sits up there, the more likely it’ll be shit, so time is a factor.

With any luck there will be some scraps of food remaining at the grocery store as well. If the area is manageable in terms of undead and living threats, then we can scour the interior and gather whatever remains. I know when I was there I left some stuff behind, and with any luck it’s still there. At the very least, there were a lot of non food items still there we will need in the years to come. Toilet paper, Drano, bleach, etc etc.

I don’t know what the roads are like to get there though. That means we’ll need to take the maintenance truck with the plow on it. We will also need to take a second vehicle because doing this run with one vehicle is stupid. If we lose a single vehicle a second can take us home with no trouble. Also, we’ll need multiple drivers. Two cars to the fire house, and we leave with a fire truck each time we hit the place.

Oh yeah, this will probably require multiple trips. I want at least 3 or 4 of the town’s vehicles if they are there. We might be able to do this in just 2 trips assuming we can get enough drivers. We’ve got five eligible drivers now assuming everyone is in on my plan. Theoretically we can get three trucks in one run, but I don’t know if the others are experienced with driving heavier rigs.

The other potential boon is if there are cruisers still there. There's a chance, any cruisers will still have shotguns in the trunks, as well as a radio, and a full medic kit. I know the town also had some form of M4 style rifles, and there’s a small chance one of them might be in a cruiser with a handful of 5.56mm ammunition for it. That would be like hitting the Powerball right now.

If I can convince Gilbert the plan is good, then we’re golden. I think the two of us can convince the others that this is a necessary step towards stability and safety. Shit, I think I can sell them on the sole fact that we might find more food.

Once we get the fire trucks back here, and we do the run down to the grocery store, we’ll have a much better idea of our weapon and food situation. Heading downtown will definitely put things into perspective for us as well. How bad is it down there? Plus the simple fact that we’ll have fire trucks on hand should we need them. You what else is great? Halligans. They’ll have Halligans there. Look that shit up Mr. Journal, I think having a few of those on hand will make life a lot easier.

I think I’ve theorized enough. The plan needs a little refinement I’m sure, and I want to wait a day or two before I spring it on Gilbert. It’s also a little rushed of me to expect the Williams family to jump right back into the fire seeing as how we just got out of the frying pan.

Gonna do a weapons and ammunition inventory tomorrow. Hopefully that’s good news.

-Adrian

January 6th

Not much new around here today to report. I forgot I had a nice big fat cut on my eyebrow this morning right after I woke up. I accidentally scratched my head and opened the scab a little. Bled like a bitch. Won’t make that mistake again.

Busy day counting bullets and jotting down weaponry notes. All I’m going to do with this entry is make an official first inventory of our arsenal. I’ve got a spreadsheet written up for this as well, and there I can hopefully keep accurate track of what we’ve got day to day and gunfight to gunfight.

Pistols

S&W 642 .38 cal revolverDecent backup pistol.

Sig Sauer P226 9mmThe trusty 9mm Phil sold me.

Colt M1911 .45 ACPThe Colt I found at the gas station. It’s a workhorse.

S&W 67 .357 magnum revolverGood old hand cannon.

2x Glock 21 .45 ACP 6 magazines, each holding 13 rounds

S&W 952 9mm 2 magazines holding 9 rounds each. (that’s total shit for a 9mm. junk.)

S&W MP40 .40 Cal 2 magazines holding 15 rounds each (this was a nice find. Thanks Westfield asshats)

Ruger Alaskan .44 magnum revolver (hand cannon)

Beretta M80 Cheetah .380 cal Normally this would be a pretty useless gun. Nowadays, it’s a great brain pan popper.

Browning BDA .32 cal 2 magazines, each holding 12 rounds. (nice ankle gun. .32 is more than enough to pop a zombie grape)

Charter Arms 93820 .38 cal revolverAnother suitable backup gun.

Rifles

Mossberg Tactical .22lr Semi auto 3 clips, each holding 10 rounds (my trusty .22)

Savage Model 70 .30-06 Bolt action. 5 rounds McGreevy’s old gun. It’s served me well. Ironic isn’t it that I am using a cop’s weapon to protect my people now. Is that irony? Or just fitting?

Browning X-Bolt Hunter .300 magnum Bolt action. Holds 3+1 Meh rifle compared to the Savage.

2x Armalite M15A4 Carbines 5.56mm Semi auto. 8 magazines each holding 30 rounds. My proverbial jackpot. Now I have a machine gun. Ho Ho Ho.

Browning BLR .30-06 Lever Action. Holds 4. Nice gun, but that 4 round capacity is lead balloon.

Winchester Model 94. .30-30 Lever Action. Holds 8 rounds. Very nice gun. Smooth, clean, 8 round cap is nice, and the caliber round is heavy hitting. Solid find. Thank you Westfield dick faces.

Ruger M77 .270 Win Bolt action. Holds 4. Nice reliable gun. Great for hunting deer, shitty for hunting zombies and people. 4 rounds again. This is why we won the firefight the other day. They’re reloading while we’re staggering our fire and using larger cap weapons. Oh well.

Benelli R1 .300 magnum Semi auto Holds 3+1. Gorgeous rifle. No scope though, which sucks. I’d use this hunting if I could.

Marlin 336A .30-30 Lever Action. Holds 6 rounds. Actually a very nice lever action rifle. I won’t use it unless pressed, but it’s a great second line weapon.

Shotguns

Mossberg 535 ATS 12 gauge pump Extended tube for 8 shells. My trusty shotgun, aka the masterkey. Served me very well thus far.

Browning BPS 12 gauge pump. Holds 4 shellsStandard solid shotgun. 4 shell capacity sucks though.

EAA SAR 12 gauge pump. Holds 4 shells. This and Browning are generic run of the mill 12 gauges. Nothing special.

Remington 870 Express 20 gauge pump. Holds 7 shells. Small gauge might be useful at some point, especially if I can get 20 gauge birdshot. It’ll be nice to take the wear and tear off the 12 gauges.

Stoeger Uplander 12 gauge double barrel. This is Chuck’s shotgun. He still has it. I just wanted to inventory it.

Ammunition totals

Mind you Mr. Journal these numbers are just today’s count. As we fire the guns I’ll adjust the spreadsheet of these starter totals.

.22LR1,648 rounds. Thank you, Phil.

.32ACP24 roundsDecent total for a caliber we won’t be using much.

.38 cal29 roundsWith two decent .38’s, I wish we had more. However, we likely won’t go through even this amount.

9mm11 rounds. You’d think with all those asshole biting the farm one of them would’ve had more 9mm ammo. Fucking useless dicks. It also means that for now I keep the Sig shelved and I roll with a Glock 21. Not the worst problem to have.

.40 cal52 rounds. This is a helluva nice number. Plus the S&W MP40 pistol is a pretty decent gun. This could be my next handgun if I don’t keep my .45 ammo counts up there, or if I don’t find more 9mm.

.45 ACP138 rounds. This is such good news. I was scraping the bottom of the barrel until I got that box off of Gilbert, and those two Westfield cops both had three magazines each, all full. I am now swimming in .45ACP. It’s also fitting I guess that I’ll be using a cop’s sidearm to enforce the “law.”

.357 Magnum125 rounds.Yeah. That’s a lot of very large bullets.

.44 magnum15 roundsDecent amount. Won’t likely be using this much.

.270 Win16 roundsNice high velocity round. Decent total.

5.56mm184 rounds.This is obviously awesome, but to put it into perspective Mr. Journal, when Kevin and I went out on patrols in Baghdad we went out with a minimum of 7+1 mags. That’s 240 rounds for a single day. We frequently snuck 3 to 4 mags extra out, and we often returned with almost nothing. I’m not saying I’m anticipating firefights like those, but a trip downtown could easily eat that 184 rounds up. Then I’ve got two M15A4 mantle pieces.

.300 Magnum31 roundsSee the .270 Win comment.

.30-3040 rounds. This is a deceptively nice number. Doesn’t seem like much on paper, but that’s a good total for the guns we’ve got.

.30-0667 rounds. Even better than the .30-30 number

20 gauge21 shells. Buckshot

12 gauge41 shells. Buckshot. Charles burned through 24 shells during our ambush. See why I was kind of pissed? We went from 65 rounds to 41 in 5 minutes. Scary.

12 gauge18 shells. Birdshot. Hope I find some turkeys or ducks in the spring when they come back home.

So that’s everything, unless there’s a gun or box of ammo somewhere I’m forgetting about. Pretty good all things considered. I’m really hoping I find another 500 rounds of 5.56 down on the grocery store roof. That’d make my new year. I think I’ll talk to Gilbert tomorrow about the plan, see what he thinks.

-Adrian

January 8th

Even on good days lately, a little bit of shit still hits the fan. Instead of saying it’s been a good day, or a bad day, I now seem to be rating my days based on the amount and quality of shit that hits the fan during that day, as well as how far it flies, and the overall level of fecal dispersion resulting. For example, was today’s shit hitting the fan thin in consistency, thus creating a fine mist of poo that gets into everything? Or was today’s shit hitting the fan a little chunky, and it fell short, missing most of the things I care about? Maybe even the turds were a little peanutty, with a hint of corn, and it was the consistency of brie.

Sigh.

Today was a drier shit, hitting a fan perhaps set to level 2. Not quite a chunks of poo in the face day, but a “goddamn it, that got on my shoe” kind of day. Have you ever had one of those days Mr. Journal? Irritating for sure, but not the end of the world.

I need to stop saying that. The end of the world. It isn’t fucking funny or ironic, or sarcastic anymore. It’s the fucking way it is.

Man I sound fucking bitter. I’m even making the lemon face as I type. Otis seems somewhat nervous around me as well. Focus Adrian, focus. Stick to the details buddy.

I took my plan to Gilbert yesterday. He hasn’t been around a whole lot the last couple days. I think he’d overloaded on company and he went back to his place on Prospect. Yesterday afternoon after I ate my lunch I snagged one of the snow machines and headed over to his place. Pretty great ride I might add. I was never into the snowmobile thing before, but it was fun zinging through the trees yesterday.

Gilbert was just finishing his own lunch when I knocked. He let me in with a curmudgeonly smile and we sat down at his kitchen table, just the same as when we first met. He got some instant coffee for us, and we bullshitted for an hour talking about the ambush and whatnot. I didn’t tell him about the weapons inventory I just did. Didn’t seem necessary. I don’t know why I feel the need to conceal some things from people. Is that the voice of reason? An unconscious need to keep some secrets? Shrug.

I told him about my full original plan to get more people up here. I didn’t tell him that I’d come up with the plan because I’m an emotional wreck over guilt regarding my fiancé. Seemed… too private. He thought I was a jackass for even thinking about giving up my prime real estate. He felt that we should just lay low until summer, let our food reserves grow, and get some crops going. If we were self sustaining by May or June he thought maybe we should start the plan. My plan.

I had to agree with him on most every level. Adding people was silly at this juncture. However, getting the radios, the fire trucks, and then getting the guns off the roof of the grocery store was a different matter. I told him about the guns left on the roof, and the fact that we had zero ability to fight fire here. I added that it was unlikely we’d find food at the store, but it was likely we’d find some usable supplies.

That sold him. Combat often is necessary. People who say war doesn’t solve anything haven’t studied history. War solves a shitload. I’d say ask all the cultures that were wiped out by war for proof but…. They were wiped out by war.

This is no different. We do not want to seek out danger and violence, but risking it is now seems to be a required facet of life. Without risk, we will run out of the things we need, or we will starve. Or worse, we’ll get killed by people who want our shit, and have the ability to take it from us.

We went over the basic details of what will be our first run to the municipal station. To sum up, we agreed that our first run was down to the station, grab the ladder truck if it’s there, and salvage everything we can find. We return to campus, lay low for a day to make sure nothing followed us, then we return again after a day or so. On the second run we can attempt to grab either a single remaining truck, or we can try for two trucks depending on whether or not we feel confident in trying it.

After that second trip we lay low again to make sure we are not leading people back here. If the coast is clear, we then make an additional trip to the station as needed. If we don’t need to do that, then we take the ladder truck to the grocery store, and do what’s needed there. Priority one is the guns, priority two is the food and supplies in the store.

The military has this neat saying about plans. No plan survives first contact. Our plan will inevitably be a moist, brie like turd being thrown into a tornado like fan. We’ll have to improvise, adapt, and overcome. Or run like sissy boys in a prison shower. It could go either way.

Gilbert has located four 55 gallon drums at a house about 5 miles away. Because he took the snow mobile to get there, it seems to be closer than it is. The house is actually sitting on Route 18 about a mile away from the gas station. I didn’t clear that far down because it was heading into town. He said the house looked clear of zombies but he couldn’t be sure. We both decided that we should get down there today and get the barrels back up here. So we made the plan to head down today, and after that we’d sit down with the Williams folks and present them our idea for the trips downtown.

Gilbert and I parted ways and we agreed to meet at his place with the maintenance truck at 10am. On my way back to Hall E I stopped by and said hi to the Williams clan. They were trying to get the place decorated like a home, which was nice. I gave Randy an Xbox when they moved out, and he was tuned into that like a champ. I said hi to him and he barely acknowledged me. Kids and their video games.

I asked Chuck if he was down to give Gilbert and I a hand, and he said his back was still sore, which is understandable. Mine still is. Patty is kind of a little woman, so I didn’t think to ask her. Abby volunteered, and I figured she could at least keep watch as Gilbert and I did what we had to do. Charles and Patty had an epic fight over that while I stood there, and eventually I told them it was okay and to never mind, and that Gilbert and I would do it ourselves. No sense ruining the whole happy vibe over some empty gas barrels. Abby seemed pissed she’d been shot down, but I told her maybe next time.

I headed back to my place and kicked my feet up for the evening. It was nice to get some more rest. It definitely helped my back. I had two cans of tuna fish, two dill pickles and some chips for dinner. Wasn’t gourmet, but it was pretty yummy.

This morning I woke up earlier than I’d intended to. I wanted to sleep in until 9am, but I wound up waking up at 8. I had some really trippy dreams about my family. My mother and father were in them. In the dream they were dead, and coming after me here in Hall E. They weren’t zombies in the dream though, more like ghosts or demons or something. Almost like they were haunting me. Very vivid dream and very weird shit. I’m a lot creeped out right now talking about it.

Anyway, I washed my face, got my gear together, and did an early patrol of campus on the snowmobile. Nothing to report.

I grabbed the maintenance dumper and swung down to Gilbert’s place at quarter of ten. He was ready and waiting already. Old soldiers, man. We double checked our shit, and I headed down to the house in the truck, and he went down on his trails in the snowmobile. The road down was clear of danger, and when I got to Route 18 there were no tracks in the snow. Snow had fallen recently during some overnights and put a fresh coat on everything. It pained me to leave tracks in the snow.

Gilbert was sitting like a king astride a warhorse in the driveway of the house. I’d driven by it several times heading into town and hadn’t noticed the drums. I backed the truck in and he spun around the back of the place. I hopped out, slung up the M15 and headed to the back yard, checking the windows for signs of danger inside the house. I didn’t see anything.

The house was a small cape with a teeny one car garage next to it. Parked in front of the garage was a small pickup truck. The house itself was an awful urine yellow with lime green trim. Just being near the damn thing made me want to scratch out my eyes. In the backyard behind the little garage were the four 55 gallon drums. They looked brand new, still shiny and painted clean. Inside the drums was some kind of powdered pigment or something. The four colors for process printing work. We looked inside the garage and lo and behold the dude had some small printing presses in there. Looked like some ancient ass offset presses that he was printing business cards on. Probably ran an internet business out of his house. I always thought ink was wet, but maybe this dude mixed his own? Fucked if I know.

Gilbert and I tipped the drums out and turned the white snow into a Technicolor dream. Looked like a rainbow went on a bender and puked everywhere. Once rinsed, they’d be perfect for gasoline. We got the drums rolled around the front of the house and to the back of the truck. It wasn’t too bad getting them into the bed of the truck alone. Empty they aren’t too damn heavy, and as long as I was slow, it was fine. I had just gotten the fourth barrel into the back of truck when I heard glass breaking from nearby. Gilbert snapped to attention and drew his .45.

I got the M15 up and shouldered it after I made sure the barrel wasn’t going to fall off the truck and crush me. The window nearest us was busted out, and lying in the snow flailing around was a man. I think I yelled “freeze!” at him, but he ignored me, and once he got to his feet we saw he was dead. It was an older man, probably in his 50’s. He actually looked a lot like Charles when I got a good look at his face.

He was wearing slacks and a button down short that was torn open. He had bite marks all over his arms and shoulders and had bled pretty badly from them. As I was putting my front sight on his face I saw another figure come into the window frame he’d fallen from. It was an older woman and she’d been shot several times center mass. Her blouse was blown apart by what looked to be shotgun pellets. Through the hole in the shirt you could see her exposed ribs and ripped up stomach. Her guts were straining to pop out of the strips of flesh that were remaining. She also had a few bite marks on her arms. As I looked back to who I thought was her husband she tipped head over heels out the window into the same spot in the snow he’d just gotten out of.

I made the decision to draw the sword and do them manually, but then I realized I’d forgotten the fucking sword at Hall E. Durrr. Fail.

I re-aimed the M15 and flicked the safety. One squeeze later the old man was face down in his driveway fully dead, and as soon as the woman stopped moving around I put one into her face and she fell on top of her dead husband.

I wasn’t pissed at that point, but I was really disappointed we didn’t clear the house first. I mean that’s been my general rule for some time now. Maybe it was because Gilbert was there, or because we were giddy to get the drums. I don’t know. I looked at Gilbert in disgust and he nodded. We both knew it was a mistake not to clear the joint. I told him I was going in. I fished around in the dead dude’s pocket and got his house keys. I let myself into the back entrance and Gilbert said he’d stand watch at the door.

The house itself was even smaller on the inside. The kitchen was cramped with a dine-in table, and the living room was filled with a few too many pieces of tacky plaid furniture. Reminded me of 80’s rural décor. More Little Rock than Paris, if you get my drift.

The bottom floor had those two rooms plus a bathroom and what looked to be the master bedroom. There was a shotgun on the floor and blood all over the place in the living room and bathroom. Looked like one of them had been bleeding for whatever reason, and at some point the shotgun got involved. Hard to put the scene together after the fact, but the bottom line is they both died, and then came back as zombies.

Behind a thin interior door were the steps going upstairs. The steps leading up to the second floor were really steep. I had to duck to keep my head from hitting the sloped ceiling. At the top of the steps was another bathroom, and to each side was a small bedroom. The upstairs was empty. I checked all the closets and just as I was starting down the stairs I heard gunfire from outside. I leapt down the stairs and smashed my fucking forehead into the doorframe at the bottom of the stairs. Surprise, surprise, right on the fucking cut on my eyebrow. Blood everywhere.

I peeled around the steps and tried to look through the curtains to see what was going on outside as I distinctly heard a second kind of gun report. Gilbert’s .45 has a healthy throat to it, and this second sound was a snap, more like a .22 or a smallish pistol. I could see Gilbert. He had moved from the back door to the back corner of the garage, and was leaning around the side shooting through the driveway past the truck. I was scared shitless a tire would be hit.

Once I knew where he was shooting, I had a good idea where the threat was, and that was in the street. He was shooting slowly, and I knew he was waiting for me to join in. My heart was pounding hardcore and I decided I’d go out a window on the opposite side of the house from the driveway, and come around the front to flank. I slipped into the master bedroom and moved to the window. Literally as I was about to yank the curtains out of the way I saw a man walking all sneaky like just outside. He was doing to Gilbert what I’d planned to do to him.

He was a fairly middle of the road looking guy all bundled up for the cold in a hunter’s blaze orange jacket. He was carrying an over under shotgun and was clearly up to no good. I left the curtains where they were, brought the M15 up and snapped a round through the window into the side of his head. The glass shattered and the other side of his head blew out into the snow. He fell down in a heap and I paused to listen for any response from the foreign shooters. Gilbert’s slow fire kept going, one shot every five or so seconds. The snapping gunfire was still going. Apparently they didn’t hear me.

I cleared the glass out of the window frame and climbed out. Shitty to say, but I used the guy’s dead body as a step to get out easier. Morbid yeah, but effective. Fuck him right? He was gonna shoot Gilbert. I checked to threats, saw none, and went to the back corner to wave to Gilbert. He saw me, pointed at his forehead and then at me. He was wondering what happened to my head and why I was bleeding. I wiped the blood off my face and shrugged. I also made the DERP! Face and laughed. He laughed back at me, then returned to his slow gunfire. I turned and slow walked to the front corner of the house.

About 45 feet away on the other side of the road were two people leaning over the hood of a car. The car was covered in snow, so I knew it had been there for some time. I looked at the dude I’d just shot and saw he was wearing snowshoes. Sneaky.

I wanted to give these people a chance, so I waited and thought of what to say or do. Then it occurred to me that if these assholes were shoot first kind of folks, what good could come of trying to reason with them? I’d tried to reason with that Sean bastard and look what it got us. People who expect diplomacy to solve all their problems can kiss my fucking ass.

I got low and into a firing position. I assessed them, saw my two targets, and sent my first round into the figure on the right. He staggered back clutching his chest and eventually went down on his back, arms swinging wildly. The second figure stopped shooting and sort of half stood up to turn to their fallen partner. That gave me enough body to get a round off and into them too. That person just went down immediately, with no flailing.

I checked around and saw no other shooters. I hollered to Gilbert to cover me, and I walked slowly across the street. As I rounded the ass end of the car they were using for cover I could hear whimpering, and a really nasty gurgling noise. The last time I’d heard that noise it was coming from that dad who had been shot by his young wife at the gas station in October. Sucking chest wound is the phrase. A hole in the lung filling with blood.

I moved around the car and saw the two forms laying there. The dude I shot first was still on his back and he’d ripped open his jacket. He turned to me as I came around and coughed up huge wad of thick mucus and blood. I heard it thwap against the side of the car. He was a younger guy, maybe 25, and he had reddish brown facial hair. Not much of a beard, but it looked like he’d been working on it for months. He had so much pain in his eyes.

Once I was close enough I saw it was a woman next to him. She was down for the count. I think my shot zipped through her heart. There was a red stain in the snow getting bigger around the both of them. I stood there shaking my head getting pissed about it when I realized this kid was bleeding out slowly and painfully. I saw Gilbert coming out from behind the garage and I drew my Glock.

The kid tried to roll away, but all he managed to do was to roll over on his side. The snowshoes he was wearing made it hard for him. I shot him in the back of the head and he slumped onto his back. Despite forgetting the sword, I did remember to bring my knife, and I used it to finish the woman just as she started the twitching right before she reanimated. It grosses me out to do it, but stabbing them in the eye is effective.

Gilbert joined me as I cleaned the knife off on her jacket. He filled me in on the details as I wiped the blood off my face yet again. Apparently they’d started shooting at him when he went to check on the truck. He had no idea why. The girl was younger than the man, and the man with the shotgun was middle aged. I guessed maybe they were dad plus son and girlfriend. Hard to place any family resemblance with the older man’s face all swollen and fucked up from my head shot. No idea.

Gilbert snagged his snowmobile and followed the snowshoe trail a few miles down Route 18 to a house set back in the woods. He told me where it was and we agreed that tomorrow we’d check it. I got all their crap and put it in the truck. They had a Marlin model 60 .22 rifle, another .38 cal handgun, and the older guy had that 12 gauge over under shotgun. A Benelli, nice gun. Trap gun I think. He also had a Ruger P95, which is a decent 9mm. I was more stoked for his 9mm ammo frankly. They had a good amount of ammo on them for the four guns too, which excites me, because if they had ammo on them, they likely have ammo at home too.

That’s tomorrow.

Anyway, I got their guns, their ammo, their house keys, and got back in the truck and got the fuck out. I didn’t want to attract any more attention. Gilbert agreed he’d head home, and I told him I’d tell the Williams people what happened.

When I pulled in the campus Charles was sitting outside Hall A with his shotgun. He looked white as a sheet as I got out of the truck. He told me he’d heard the shots and they’d all gone to ground to hide in case something bad had happened. Reassured him it was all okay, and told him what happened. He actually gave me a big hug after, and I swear he started to tear up. Can’t tell for sure. It was nice to feel the affection from him though.

That sounded a little gay.

Anyway. I got the drums out of the truck bed and out of the way so we can wash them out in a day or two. All the new weapons are sitting on my kitchen table and tomorrow after we get back I’ll officially inventory them for my spreadsheet.

Earlier I ate more tuna fish, and I put some teeny weensy basil leaves on it. I probably shouldn’t be pulling basil off my small ass plants, but it smelled really good and I couldn’t resist. It was yummy.

How wrong is it of me to not feel bad about what happened today? We met three more people, and now there are three more dead bodies in our wake. Is this the way it’ll work from now on? We are going to get into a gunfight with 80% if not more of the survivors out there?

C’mon people, fucking smarten up.

I’m a better shot than you.

-Adrian

January 10th

No such thing as a free lunch.

I’m sure you’ve heard that expression Mr. Journal. It’s pretty appropriate nowadays. Maybe even more now than ever. Every time we get something there’s a cost. We are more or less picking the bones of society for free, right? We’re taking leftover gasoline, cleaning out abandoned houses, taking equipment and food as needed, and even when we don’t get shot at, or have to fight off zombies, there’s a cost to be paid.

Stress is our most common tax. I know I’ve got more grey hairs today than I did in June, and it certainly fucking isn’t because I’m six months older. We worry about doing things, then we are filled with anxiety and fear as we do them, then we deal with the guilt over what we had to do when we did whatever it was we needed to do. It’s a toxic lifestyle for mental health.

I’ll get back to the toxic lifestyle thing after I talk about the last two days a little. Yesterday and today were filled with lots of activity, both good and bad, and I want to get it down on this pixilated paper before my anxiety ridden mind taps out on me.

Yesterday Gilbert and I had decided that we were going to head to the house where our snowshoe wearing ambushers had originated from. We’d made a plan to meet at Gilbert’s place at 10am again. Just the same as usual lately, I wound up waking up early. I had more fucked up dreams again last night. This dream was more dead people hanging around, staring at me like I’m fresh meat or something. They didn’t get violent or anything, but it’s creepy as a motherfucker. I wake up, grab the Glock, and sit in the dawn light waiting for something move. Otis bolts when I sit up too, and that’s unusual. It’s starting to really irritate me. Not sure what’s causing them. I’m not eating late or anything, and I generally have a pretty clear conscience. Maybe I’m getting a touch of PTSD and I haven’t realized it yet? I don’t know. I do know I would love to sleep peacefully, and get more of it.

I snagged a decent breakfast and I went to Gilbert’s place. I did not invite Chuck or Patty, as I didn’t want to start another fight. Gilbert and I agreed that we’d both drive separately down to the house. I’d drive the Tundra, and he’d drive the big Chevy we’d given him.

The house was something like 6 or 7 miles away by road. We stopped in their long driveway and I hoofed it through the snow with the Savage until I could get a good spot to check out the house. I took cover behind a few large rocks and half a tree. Using the scope I could see a faint wafting of smoke coming out of the chimney of the log cabin. It was a pretty damn big cabin too. I’d guess at maybe 60 feet wide with a porch running the whole width of the place.

There were no lights on inside, which was to be expected, and after watching the windows for maybe ten minutes I decided it was probably safe to move the trucks to the house. I trudged through the snow in their driveway and Gilbert and I moved the trucks to their front yard.

The exterior property was sort of a mess. There were two or three cars in various states of repair. One up on blocks, one fallen over on a collapsed jack, and one that looked pretty fucking rusted out. In the back of the driveway there was a reasonable large garage also made out of logs. It had a single door, but it was one of those double wide doors big enough for two cars. The door was stuck about a foot from being fully down. Other than the disrepair of the yard, it was a pretty nice place.

I honked the horn and waited for a response. Because of these asshole’s previous tactics when I honked the horn I took cover behind the engine block of the Tundra. I watched the windows carefully for movement again, but there was none. I did however hear a lot of barking.

I hate dogs right now. I’m not saying I’ll hate them forever, but lately in the big scheme of things, I’m wishing dogs had missed Noah’s phone call to get on the Ark way back when. Gilbert knows about my dog thing, and after we’d waited ten minutes honking and stuff, he told me he’d deal with it, and headed up to the door himself. I think he lost patience waiting for me. After moving back and forth between the door and what turned out to be the dining room window, he shot four or five times through the picture window and he killed the dogs. Once inside we saw there were two rather large husky or malamute breed dogs too. No sense risking being bitten again.

We took cover and waited for retaliation. Nothing happened. If anything was going to get a response it was shooting the dogs. After our wait I headed to the door, found their house key on the keychain I got the day prior, and let us in. Gilbert held the door as I cleared the house.

As I said, it was a big fucking house, and it was a giant jackpot. It took me a solid 20 minutes to check the whole place, plus another 5 minutes to check the garage. From what I could piece together from the family pictures on the walls, it was father and son, plus girlfriend like I thought. Father and son had somehow lost mother and daughter along the way. The house was a disheveled mess, but it had more shit than we could carry out on our own.

For starters, I’ll list off the shitty things we got. The dad was about my size, and all his clothes were suitable for me. The house smelled really strongly of tobacco, so I’ll have to wash them, but new clothes are nice. It really makes me want to go back to my condo to get more of my own stuff. We also got clothes suitable for everyone else, which was awesome.

These people were avid hunters, and certainly gun enthusiasts. Shotgun hunters from what we found. They had a gun cabinet with four more shotguns. Three were pump shotguns, and there was one semi auto shotgun. All Benelli as well, which are expensive as all hell. They also had a small match .22 pistol which is a nice find to get Abby and Randy started on gun safety and getting them used to recoil and whatnot.

The real gun oriented score was ammunition. They had ten boxes of .22, which comes out to about 5,250 rounds. Not going to need a resupply of .22 anytime soon. They also had multiple boxes of various kinds of shotgun shells. There were 10 boxes each of Buckshot, Slug, and Birdshot, all in 12 gauge. They were the crappy 5 shell boxes, but that’s still 50 more rounds of each. We literally almost quadrupled our shotgun supply off these dinks. They also had 3 boxes of 9mm ammo, which added up to 120 rounds, as well as most of a box of .38, which was another 16 rounds.

Ohmysplatinypantsammo.

They had a really nice bow too. I forget the brand name, but it’s a compound bow, and it looks really expensive. They had a few dozen different shafts and arrow heads as well. Hopefully we can use that to mitigate our ammunition use. Might be a great idea to build a tree stand for deer hunting now.

These people were either really effective shoppers when the shit hit the fan, or they were already prepared for the end of the world. Personally I am leaning towards “gun nuts with a general distrust for government.” Gilbert and I counted 51 cases of canned food in their basement. Most were 12 packs, some were 24 packs. They had canned fruit, soups, stews, tomatoes, spaghetti sauce, Beefaroni, tuna, veggies, gravy, pumpkin, beans, evaporated milk, and much more. I can’t even describe all the cans.

They also had a dozen or so flats of food in jars. There were pickles, olives, onions, salsa, jelly, jam, instant coffee, and a few more things. They had shake and bake, bread crumbs, bread mix, flour in 10 pound bags, vegetable oil, and a fuck-ton more. There were four cases of beer in a dark corner as well as a half dozen bottles of wine and champagne. He also had maybe 25 cartons of various kinds of cigarettes. Wired into their electrical system they had a small gas generator, but it didn’t start. Gilbert thought it was busted. They did have five gas cans though, all full. They were five gallon cans.

In their garage they had a bunch of good tools, but we left them. We’ve already got a really ample supply of tools at the campus. Overall it was like hitting the fucking lotto. If these assholes had not tried to go toe to toe with us, they had enough food to last them for the majority of this year. Not to mention any other food they could’ve grown or shot.

Gilbert and I literally danced for joy. Hand in hand we circled their living room doing the Riverdance. (we’re both painfully Caucasian, and thus entirely devoid of rhythm) He headed back to campus in the Chevy and grabbed Abby and Patty to help carry it all out. I guess Chuck was still struggling with his back. The girls lost their mind when they saw all the food. I mean literally they started to get all emotional and weird. They’d spent so long eating next to nothing that seeing this food must’ve messed with their heads. I let them have their moment, and we got to work loading the Tundra.

There was much more that we took, but in all honesty it’s mundane run of the mill shit. As if all the shit I mentioned already wasn’t enough. Here’s the sort of morbid thing I am now realizing;

This was worth getting shot at, and it was worth killing three people over. Today, now that I’ve taken full stock of what we got there, I have no guilt over killing them. Although to be honest, I didn’t feel guilty earlier when I shot them really, but that’s not my point. Either I’m getting used to the idea of killing people, or I’ve finally come to grips with the fact that killing people can be worth it if the rewards are suitable enough.

I literally think this is why we go to war. At some point some powerful politician or decision maker realizes that the potential benefits of winning a war outweigh the potential losses for fighting it. It’s so elegant and simple to me now I feel like I’ve been retarded my whole life.

Heavy lies the head that wears the crown. I get that now. Really.

I noticed when we were leaving the log cabin yesterday there wasn’t a functioning car in their yard. I wonder today if they tried to kill Gilbert because he had a functioning truck? Doesn’t make a ton of sense though, because there have to be other cars in other driveways in the area they could’ve gotten without a fight. I dunno. They’re dead and it doesn’t matter anymore.

Yesterday we returned to campus en masse and got all the supplies loaded into the cafeteria where they’re under lock and key. I caught a little attitude from Patty about the fact that the food supplies were no longer free access, but I told her it was for security purposes. Plus with no idea how quickly we’d be eating up the supplies, it was a temporary measure until we knew exactly how fast we were eating. That seemed to calm her down. Gilbert gave her the stink eye the whole time she was being all attitude-y.

Whatever bitch. Hopefully she’ll understand what’s up and lose the hostility. She really wasn’t that bad. I shouldn’t throw her under the bus like that. Abby had my back the whole time though, which helped calm her down I think. Good kid.

After moving all that shit around yesterday I called it quits and just chilled out here. I tossed a movie in, and Otis and I did some gun maintenance. A clean gun is a happy gun.

First thing today I cleaned out the new drums Gilbert and I got. Down in the maintenance buildings there are some lengths of garden hose, and I dragged one back up here and hooked it up to the outdoor spigot at Hall E. I rinsed out the drums and poured the excess crap as far from the running water as I could. I didn’t want to risk any of it getting into the lake or the stream and killing fish, or contaminating our drinking water. Truthfully there wasn’t much left in the barrel, but I didn’t want to risk anything foreign in the fuel supply.

I loaded two of the drums into the maintenance truck, and moved two others into separate places across campus. One went to the maintenance garage, and another went to a small brick building about a hundred yards from here. Actually, it was the building I got the ladder from the night I got stuck on the roof of admissions.

Shudder. I had almost forgotten about all that. Man flashbacks are a bitch.

Anyway, I wanted to break up the fuel stores. As it stands, Big Blue is at Hall E, and I figure one drum can go to Hall A, and the other can go out of the way, far from the others should we get hit again. I actually put it as an “oh shit” supply near Gilbert’s place.

I didn’t ask anyone for help on this run, as I frankly wanted some time to myself, as well as some secrecy. Before I fueled up at the station I went back to the lime green castle. We never searched the place the other day, and I wanted to check it out and empty it myself.

It was largely a mediocre haul other than the shotgun that had been used in the firefight inside, and 14 shells in a drawer in the bedroom. The food situation was sort of meh, but they did have a morbid obsession with marshmellow fluff. There were 8 white containers of it next to 10 jars of peanut butter in a cupboard. I guess that’s awesome. Pure sugar in a can.

As I was leaving the lime green house I decided to make another swing to the log cabin where we got all the shit yesterday. It was just as I was about to turn left towards the gas station I just had this weird feeling I should check out the cabin again. I pulled in the cabin driveway, walked around, didn’t find anything, and left. I don’t know what made me go there to be honest. Combat sixth sense or something. As I was leaving the cabin and pulling out into the road, I saw a few figures walking up the road through the snow towards our neck of the woods. They were about a hundred yards away. I hopped out of the truck, snagged the .22, and checked them out with the scope. It was two more zombies shambling up the road.

I can’t be certain, but I bet it was the sound of gunfire that drew them up this way. They meandered a bit before I put them down with the .22. I really wasn’t feeling up to killing them with the sword either. Call me lazy, but with the extra .22 rounds we just found, I’m feeling a little flush. I didn’t bother checking them for shit, I just hopped back in the truck and went to the gas station. I’m glad I had that weird urge to go to the cabin. I got to kill two zombies in a fairly safe way. Huzzah for combat instincts.

Once I got to the gas station I had to laugh at myself though. I completely fucked up the fact that cranking the pump meant that one person had to be on the ground while the other held the nozzle up in the bed of the truck though. Whoops.

Soooooo… like a dipshit, I drove all the way back to campus and hit Hall A. I knocked, and I kind of overheard Charles and Patty arguing. It was in hushed tones, but it clearly was an argument. Chuck came to the door, and I put on a happy face. He was obviously trying to hide distress.

I asked him if he could come to the station with me, and he rubbed his lower back rather dramatically and said his back was still too painful. Patty heard him say that, she grabs her jacket, pushes him out of the way, walks past me towards the truck, and tells me “Let’s go Adrian.”

MMM…. Awkward.

I gave Chuck the “oh shit you are in TROUBLE SON face, and I left with Patty. Patty didn’t talk to me the whole way down to the station. We got there, I explained to her what we were doing, and she climbed up into the truck bed and held the nozzle while I cranked. It took almost 20 minutes, and I damn near threw out my shoulder doing it, but we filled the drums.

We returned to campus, and I filled the two drums I’d left behind in the two maintenance places. I left one of the two drums we’d just brought down to the store at Hall A and grabbed all our empty gas cans. We returned the station, filled our one remaining drum in the truck and the gas cans, and we got back to campus. There we emptied our remaining drum into the Hall A barrel, and I let Patty go with an awkward thank you. I think we exchanged maybe fifty words the entire time we were working.

I ain’t saying this is paradise, but we definitely have trouble. Marital bliss is not happening with those two right now. Hopefully they get their shit together and get happy. I don’t want to deal with this awkwardness. There is plenty of drama already around here without it.

I brought the remaining drum to Gilbert’s place, and asked him where we should put it. He actually suggested in the backyard of the house next to his. That way it was even more innocuous. That sounded good to me, so I dropped it off, and emptied all my gas cans into it. One more trip to the gas station to fill the gas cans later, and the Gilbert barrel was full.

I didn’t have the ambition to fill the empty gas cans again tonight, so I said fuck it. Gilbert had me into his place again for our ritual cup of instant coffee, and I told him about the drama between Charles and Patty. He didn’t like what I told him one bit, and told me to watch out for them. He suggested we get together for a “family meal” to sort of get a good morale started again, and we planned to do it tomorrow. I’ll head over to Hall A to tell them we need to have a planning meeting and that should draw them in.

I don’t want to spring my plans for Phase 2 on them when they’re being weird like this. I don’t think a major operation will do their relationship any good at all. I don’t want ripples in the water.

The remainder of tonight was me relaxing. My back and shoulder are sore as shit, so I’m taking a Percocet. I hate taking them, but I don’t want to eat up our ibuprofen supplies. I’ve literally been taking 4 to 8 a day for as long as I can remember, and at that rate I won’t make next Christmas. Either my liver will fall out my asshole ninja shit style, or I’ll run out of pills.

So yeah. Drama.

Don’t like it all Mr. Journal. No sir. I do like the fact that we just picked up a fucking ton of ammunition, but I don’t like the drama.

Gonna have to contain it and increase morale between those two. I don’t want it to fuck with the kids, or Gilbert and I, or Otis for that matter. Hopefully our dinner tomorrow will cheer them up. Maybe they need to talk to me about something and that’s causing the strife. No idea.

Till next we meet Monsieur Journal.

-Adrian

January 11th

I feel like things are starting to unravel here a bit. I’m not 100% sure why, but I’m pretty sure it’s a mixture of a bunch of things that are starting to come to light for me. We had our “come to Jesus” meeting today, and it went… well, but weird.

More weird dreams last night. Starting to piss me off. Lately I feel like I am moving from a waking nightmare, to a sleeping nightmare over and over. Rest is starting to become a scarce commodity for me, and I think that’s a contributing factor to a lot of our interpersonal strife. I think I might’ve unconsciously been a dickhead to my people.

I woke up early, and made some preparations for our late lunch. Gilbert said he’d be over at 11am to help so I started the stuff I knew would take some extra time to make. Specifically I made that reasonably yummy green bean casserole Gilbert showed me. It takes awhile to put together and bake. I also made a batch of stuffing, which takes a surprisingly long time to make when it’s not the stovetop version. Who knew? Oh yeah, mothers and wives across the world. Sometimes I feel like a dolt for having a penis. Somewhere a woman just laughed out loud. I can hear you.

So at about 11 when Gilbert rode in on his snowmobile chariot I jogged over to Hall A. The weather has been chilly, holding at a steady 32F, and we’ve gotten light snow flurries adding up to half an inch a day. I jogged over in my sweatshirt and rapped on the door. It was fairly quiet inside, and Randy let me in.

I sat down and bs’d with him until Patty and Chuck got done doing whatever it was that they were doing upstairs. Their demeanor was much better than the day prior, which was good to see. Randy was a little odd when we were talking. It reminded me of when kids at the school were having parental issues at home. Kids feel that shit more sharply than parents realize. Doesn't help Randy is weird too.

After the two of them came down I was all smiles, and I asked them if they were free for a “town hall meeting” over a late-ish lunch. Surprisingly, they both instantly said hell yeah. I was really pleased with that, and told them to come over at like 12:30 or so for food. They asked if there was anything bad going on, and I said no, just that we hadn’t sat down in awhile to talk, and that we had some information we really ought to talk about to make plans. They seemed relieved to be part of the process. Maybe they’d been feeling like I’ve been shutting them out? I guess that’s a downfall to being used to strict chain of command. I just expect them to follow whatever it is I’m doing without question because that’s what I’m used to. Seems like a huge flaw in judgment when applied to people unused to it. But really I have no idea. Figuring this out as I go.

I invited them over, they accepted, and I left after Abby came down to say hello. When I got back Gilbert had dug out the remainder of the venison. I’ve done a pretty good job of stretching out I think. Although I did eat a lot of it early on, so maybe I didn’t. He planned on getting the grill fired up just about at 12:30.

I cracked open cans of a few different vegetables, and as you might expect Mr. Journal, I cracked a can of cranberry relish. Seemed like the right thing to do. Gilbert and I worked in the kitchen for a bit and we talked about basic planning and whatnot. He told me how good a job I’d done with the campus, and was really thankful for bailing him out of the bad spot he was in the other day. I told him there was nothing to thank me for, and that he’d do the same for me, and he agreed. He gave me some quasi-religious mumbo jumbo about it being important to have faith in doing good things. That ultimately we would either be rewarded for doing the right thing, or we should try to make right if we’d done the wrong thing. But most of all, he said what’s done is done, and we needed to make it through our trials before any salvation came to us. Redemption is earned, not given. It definitely took a weight off me I didn’t know I was carrying after talking to him. Gilbert Donohue ftw.

Patty, Chuck & Co showed up late, and pretty obviously were arguing over something right before they came over. Randy came in the door and immediately went for the Playstation and Abby went straight to Gilbert and started helping him. Patty and Charles sat at the kitchen table and had this awkward forced conversation with me. It was fake as all hell, and it really bothered me. Reminded me a lot of how my mom used to treat us kids when she got into the sauce. We were burdens to be tolerated, and not gifts to be cherished. Put me on guard and into a pretty smarmy attitude in short order.

Gilbert and I got the rest of the meal together with Abby’s help in a few minutes, and I pried Randy off the Playstation. The meal itself was really nice. Gilbert has a gift with putting seasonings on pretty simple shit to make it much better. For example, he sprinkled a tiny amount of paprika on the corn, and it was delicious! I never knew I liked paprika. One more thing I need to thank Gilbert for.

We ate in about thirty minutes, and Randy asked to play Playstation again, and with Chuck and Patty’s blessing I said sure. Abby hung out with us as we got the coffee maker going. She has officially been promoted from the little kid’s table I guess. As we sipped on some really good coffee, I shared some of the news of what had been going on lately around. Since Charles’s “back injury” he’d been out of the loop, and seemed almost rejuvenated by all the good news.

I am pretty sure he was “feeling” some kind of fake injury to avoid getting into trouble. We saw it all the time in Iraq. Even the hardest soldiers could break, and I’d bet my left nut (that’s the big one Mr. Journal, so you know I’m serious about this) that he’s dealing with PTSD. It makes a lot of sense after watching him this afternoon. I’m pretty sure that’s why Patty has been so off as well, and if it’s even a little serious, he’ll be a beast to deal with around the house. She’ll lose her mind if I’m right and he struggles with it for any extended period of time.

You know... we have medication here that can deal with anxiety. If it keeps up, we might have to sit down and have a real awkward conversation about him taking it. How’s that for a post apocalypse dilemma? Do we force medication on the mentally ill? Fucking world.

I told them about everything that’s happened, including the short gun battle at the house near the gas station and the subsequent raid on their house. Patty and Abby already filled him in on the stash we got, and while really happy about it, they immediately raised concerns about the fact that they were no longer able to just take what they want, when they wanted it.

Can’t say I didn’t see that coming, and I really can’t say I blame them. I tried to explain why it was a necessity, but all that did was ramp up their feelings about being cut off. Gilbert actually stopped us, and ended the whole argument with a few calm words.

I quote the old man, “Patty, Charles, control of resources is standard military strategy and procedure. If we can’t control the food, we might over eat, and then we’ll starve.”

And for whatever reason, those words made sense to them, and our ten minute bitch session ended abruptly. Sometimes I just don’t understand what makes people tick.

We continued on for about 45 minutes, and finally there wasn’t much more to say. I told them a few stories about when I was clearing campus that I hadn’t told them already just to give them a better idea of the nutty shit I went through, and they got a kick out of it. Mostly the funnier stories like when I had the damn zombie bite my collar in the kitchen. Man I still almost shit a brick when I think about that. Funny looking back on it now, but man... Phew. Gilbert took off after helping me clean up. I thanked him for his help with everything, and he just patted me on the shoulder.

Randy hung out with me after the other three Williams folks left. He was trying to finish some quest in a game and didn’t want to leave until it was done, or he got to the save point. Kids make the best faces when they play games or sports. He was twisting his face into all these grimaces and smiles as he dueled with some giant dragon. He wound up killing it just barely on the first try, and I walked him back to Hall A just as it got dark.

I used my key to open the door for him, and just as he was about to walk inside, he stopped, threw his arms around me, and gave me a squeeze. He said, “thanks Adrian, you rock” and then headed inside. I like that kid. I really thought he was going to be a shithead, but he isn’t. I wonder if everything that’s happened to the family has mellowed him out. Death has a way of growing you up in a hurry.

That put a smile on my face. Although I worry for Abby and Randy because of Patty and Chuck’s problems, whatever they might be. The kids always pay the highest price. I think tomorrow I’ll take it easy and maybe try to hang out with Charles. He’s awkward, but maybe I can think of something we can do that doesn’t require physical labor. He’s a bright guy, maybe I can recruit him to plan something with me. I might even try and get him on the Phase 2 ideas. If he feels like a integral part of the plan, he might not react as strongly against it as I think he would otherwise. I know I feel better about things when I have a say in my fate.

Now that we’re out of venison maybe I can take him out hunting. Or maybe he and I can hit the archery range and work out that new bow. I don’t think he knows how to shoot a bow, and frankly, even with our newly refurbished ammo counts we should be using the bow as much as possible.

I dunno, maybe it’s still too soon for either of those plans. I really need him to be onboard on a run downtown, but I hate sitting here treading water because of an issue he may or may not have. I’m not a psychologist, but I am pretty sure he’s got issues to work through.

I know I do.

-Adrian

Midnight

Doctor Michelle Lewis was sweltering in the African heat, despite it being almost 10 at night. She sat in a small village in the south east of the Democratic Republic of Congo, deep in the heart of Africa. It was June 23rd, and almost at the height of mother Africa’s summer power. Every few seconds she’d take her small red bandana off the frail wooden table in the rundown bar she sat in and wipe away the steadily beading sweat on her brow. The back and armpits of her khaki shirt had turned a dark brown from the rings of sweat. The white tank top she wore underneath exposed a rather substantial amount of sweaty, glistening skin. Trying to cool off was an impossibility. All you could do was hydrate.

The natives here couldn’t take their eyes off her, but gave her a wide berth just the same. She was definitely not like them. Michelle was a valkyrie, straight from Asgard. Despite her 40 odd years, much of which was hard living in places like this, she looked great for her age. Her golden blonde hair was straight and smooth, highlighted by a few platinum strands that betrayed her age. She was tall, much taller than most of the small locals with their dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin. The man who ran the small bar she was sitting in was standing behind his three foot wide counter slowly drying a beer mug, staring at her as if she was a witch about to burn the place to the ground. She avoided eye contact with him and waited for her research partner to return.

Static filled music played off stolen CDs filled the African night. Outside she could hear men and women talking in a dialect she only barely knew. From what she could piece together, some of the men were bartering for some time with the women. Even here in the heart of the Dark Continent, the home of humanity, prostitution thrived. The AIDs virus was rampant, there was no education to speak of, and no money to spend to actually make things better. Living conditions here infuriated her.

Just as she sighed for the three hundredth time he returned. The half assed bar had no door, instead relying on a torn mosquito net draped across the opening in the wall where a door might’ve been once. Her partner Mike brushed the net aside and walked in, a boyish grin on his face. She knew he’d successfully confirmed what they’d come for. She sat forward in her rickety chair as he took a few large strides and pulled out another ramshackle chair and sat.

“And? Are we in business?” Michelle leaned over the table towards Mike excitedly.

Mike looked around and eyed the bartender. Even though they were here on legitimate research business, they both felt like they were doing something secret and dirty. The bartender watched on intently as Mike turned his attention back to Michelle.

“We are in like Flynn.” Mike grinned ear to ear. He was older than her, and looked just as young as she did. Mike’s dark brown hair was cut in a boyish trim and only showed a few of the grey hairs coming in at his temple. Mike had spent decades ranging far and wide on this continent and his enthusiasm as well as his connections made doing their research possible.

“Yes!” Michelle made a fist pump and sat back in her creaky chair. She let some of the beads of sweat run down her face. She blew her bangs out of her eyes and sent some of the sweat flying in the air. Mike admired the glow of her skin in the cheap light created by the third world light bulbs. She was so beautiful.

“We’ll have to drive for about an hour in the Rover to get there, but I found a guide, and a tribal elder that says as long as we’re quiet, we can watch from the back. Apparently it’ll be a pretty cool ritual. I guess the area we’re going to has been doing a unique ceremony to consecrate their dead for centuries. I guess it’s pretty special.” Mike’s exuberance was hard to contain in his hushed tones. Michelle could hardly contain her energy.

“Can we film?” Michelle really wanted to capture this on camera. They’d spent a good amount of their research grant on video and audio equipment and it seemed a waste to come this far trying to record ancient African religious customs and then not use the gear.

“Nope. That’s a huge part of the deal. We can watch and take notes, but we can’t film or record. The guy I spoke to said it’d mess with the diviner’s spirit or something. He said we were strictly to watch, and write. He didn’t want to risk the spirit of the dead not getting into the afterlife because we wanted a picture.” Mike seemed a little dejected by the restrictions, but they both knew this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. They both exhaled in disappointed unison, and smiled at one another anyway.

“We need to get moving. We’re following him out to the ritual site in about 15 minutes.” Mike winked at his colleague and stood up. Michelle stood up after him and sent a little wave at the bartender, who was still glaring at her.

He continued his cold stare as the two researchers left his place of business, and headed out in the sweltering African night.

*****

Michelle Lewis and Michael Reed were in Africa to continue their life’s work of researching ancient African religions. Specifically the two of them were fascinated with burial rights, and the concepts of the African afterlife. They’d gone from one end of Africa to the other the past five years. Malaria, dysentery, civil unrest, civil war, and running out of money were now their bread and butter.

They’d learned ten African dialects between the two of them, they’d been chased by Cheetahs, nearly trampled by elephants, and shot at by poachers who thought they were game wardens in the preserves. They’d suffered through broken bones, PhD research, and not one but two romantic flings with each other. Even if their research was a bust, they had discovered one thing in Africa; they shouldn’t try to be in love again. While still in Africa their passions in life left no room to let others in.

Michelle’s excitement grew as the two Americans drove out into the African wilderness. Trips like these were fairly frequent for them, but this was extra special. How people treat their dead, and pay them respect tells you a lot about their culture. It tells you how much they respect animal life, human life, and the world around them.

Michelle came from a long lineage of religious people. Her grandfather was a pastor in Utah, and her father was a missionary when they moved to Africa. Her mother was Jewish, Michelle had dabbled as a Wiccan, and for a while in college she was deeply, madly in love with a Muslim man. Religion was a huge part of her life, and she knew she’d study theology somewhere. It was in her blood.

Faith fascinated her. A person who doesn't have some kind of faith in their life never understands the truly magical power it has. Faith can heal the sick, end wars, and create life. Faith can be as evil as it is good though. Michelle had spent years reading about the atrocities carried out in the name of religions. Faith is a doubled edged sword. It can soothe and mend, or it can incite and destroy.

Michelle and Mike decided five years ago to study ancient burial rights in Africa for their newest project. What better a place to study religion than the continent where life had begun? Just a month ago in the depths of South Africa they’d witnessed a week long death ritual with multiple detailed, organized steps. Ritual sacrifice was involved in a few of the steps, as well as bringing in an outside man to sleep with the widow to “cleanse” her of the feel of her dead husband.

A ritual like that would seem alien to someone who had a lifetime of western style wakes and funerals, but to those people, it was the only way to consecrate their dead, and to mourn properly. Their rituals bound the entire village together as one, showing faith, unity, and support for one another for an entire week. It almost made Michelle weep for the lone hour westerners spent saying how “sorry” they were for someone’s loss. Sometimes the oldest, most backwards seeming cultures knew how to do things the right way. Sometimes their lack of busy schedules and technology gave them a pure, true faith that transcended anything modern people would ever understand. Michelle secretly longed for the old ways as she looked out at the thick line of trees in the distance, where they were headed for tonight’s mystical ritual.

She couldn’t help but remember the first time she’d really been touched by the power of faith. To this day Michelle didn’t know whether or not a God really existed, but ever since that day, she knew without a doubt that religion and faith had great power. Michelle’s mind drifted back to her memories as Mike followed their guide.

Michelle was just 7, maybe 8 years old at the time. Her mother and father had just moved the family to a small town near Lynchburg Virginia, where her dad was getting his Doctorate in Theology. They were traveling between the churches and temples there every Sunday to find the right one for their family. Her parents were powerfully religious people, and they preferred not to say what denomination or faith they were when asked. Her dad told her one day that no one church or faith had gotten it right, so what mattered more to their family was what church or faith made YOU feel right. Those words stuck with her to this day.

Her parents had dragged her and her brother Alex to yet another place this one summer day, and she’d long since bored of the process. They’d meet the pastor, or priest, then her parents would have a theological debate with him or her over something mundane. After that they’d sit through a service, and thank the pastor or priest afterward. Boring.

That day was forever different for little Michelle. After talking to the Priest, her mother and father seemed rather unimpressed. He was an unassuming younger guy who struck Michelle even at her young age as being very energetic in his love for God. They sat near the back of the small church and he started his sermon. As he talked about the price of sin on humanity Michelle found herself staring out the window, watching the colorful birds fly through the trees. They darted to and fro, almost dancing in the sky as the priest talked about the power of having faith. She watched the majesty of nature as his words began to make more and more sense to her. She understood fully that believing in something greater than you, even if you didn’t believe in God, freed you from your inner turmoil. Her single most vivid memory was the trees swaying in the warm summer morning breeze, the rays of sunshine coming down through the stained glass, the smell of incense intoxicating her, and her smooth skin tingling with an energy she’d never felt before as he said aloud what was still her favorite verse from the Holy Bible;

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” The verse was from Hebrews 11:1. It meant to her that having faith meant that your dreams were as real as you wanted them to be, and that so much in this world that moved mountains went by unseen every moment.

Michelle loved her life.

*****

Mike drove deeper and deeper into the rugged interior of the Congo. It was pitch black at night in Africa when you got away from the villages with electricity. Billions of stars above gave the night sky a soft blue glow but it wasn’t enough to illuminate the land to drive safely. He had the lights of the Rover on as they followed a rundown Nissan pickup truck out of the savanna and into the fringe of the dark African jungle. Most people would be horrified to even consider heading into a place like this. There were gorillas, spiders the size of your fist, and locals with centuries of cannibalism in their past here. The further into the jungle they drove the more likely it was they’d just…. Disappear.

Michelle listened to the groan of the powerful engine in the Rover as she held on for dear life. They weren’t driving fast, but the dirt road they were on was the definition of poorly maintained. Washouts, roots and rocks all made the ride almost unbearable. They would have a smoother ride on a jackhammer she thought. She might even have fun getting there that way. At this rate by the time they got to where they were going her ass would be pounded flat.

Mike issued a steady stream of profanities at the road. The wheel of the Rover jerked side to side as he attempted to take the path of least resistance. The jungle was thickening every inch they moved forward though, and after an hour of fighting the roads, the truck leading them into the cave of vegetation came to a halt in a small clearing. Three other beaten to death trucks were there already, and Mike pulled the Rover into the area with them.

Their guide hopped out of his truck and Michelle saw him for the first time. He was a tiny black man, with skin so dark he was nearly invisible once they turned off the truck’s headlamps. His yellowing shirt was the only thing visible until he turned on a similarly yellow flashlight, and headed to their truck. Mike and Michelle got out and grabbed their backpacks out of the back.

“Wilson, thank you so much sir!” Mike greeted the little man as he shouldered his heavy pack. Wilson stood nervously, looking around into the moist, hot jungle that surrounded them like a womb.

“No probs misteh Ree.” He didn’t finish any of his words apparently.

Mike smiled at him in the dark. Always nervous, this Wilson fella. Mike looked over at Michelle and could make out a golden gleam off her ponytail as she shouldered her own backpack. He turned back to Wilson as she came around the truck to join the two men.

“We are ready Wilson, lead on my fearless friend.” Mike shook his body and let the backpack’s weight settle onto him.

“No. Nuh yeh. Roos fust.” Wilson’s tone became very serious.

“Okay Wilson, rules first. Let’s hear them again.” Mike agreed with the man as Michelle leaned against the front fender to listen.

Wilson looked around once more, clearly worried that they were being listened to. Finally he cleared his throat and rapid fired out a series of instructions, “No pickchas. No tapehs. No tawken. You take pickcha, take tapehs or you tawk, spirit can’t go to spirit world. Den it trapped heyah, and nevah fine home.”

Michelle struggled to piece together his broken English. Mike turned to her, “You get all that?”

She considered everything, and nodded in agreement, “Yeah I got all that. No pictures, no recording, no talking.”

Wilson regarded her for a moment, evaluating her seriousness, but then seemed happy that she’d gotten the message clearly. He turned and pointed his dying flashlight towards the deep jungle, but stopped abruptly and turned back to the two researchers. His stare was the most intense thing they’d seen outside of the zealots that’d threatened them with AK’s over the winter in the Sudan. He uttered one last warning, then turned his back and started walking;

“And membah no talkie at midnight. If spirit canna hear da shaman, den it might get angree.”

Mike and Michelle exchanged glances in the pitch black jungle, and they followed the little man as he pushed his way through dense undergrowth, heading towards an ancient, morbid ritual that awaited them.

*****

They stumbled in the darkness of the jungle for almost ten minutes before Mike and Michelle saw the faint light of torches ahead through the thick greenery. Wilson stopped and let them catch up. The oppressive heat had caused them to stop once already so they could wipe their sweat away and get some water out of their CamelBaks. Their previous stop had caused Wilson to get a little angry with them. He insisted that there should be, “No duhlays!” This stop was different.

Wilson was silhouetted against the torches at least a dozen ebony skinned people held in a clearing ahead. It was almost like some god-like hand had mystically scooped out a glade in the middle of the jungle. Without the heavy canopy above them the night sky was revealed once more, showing a trillion pinpricks of warmth in a sea of black. The night sky was so pure and deep they could make out the faint tinges of blues and pinks from nebulas in deep space. Neither Mike nor Michelle had ever witnessed the majesty of the night sky quite like this before. The serenity of the place hushed the two researchers as they came up on their guide. He watched their faces and took in their expressions of awe at the almost supernatural beauty of the spot they were about to enter. He seemed pleased about their obvious reverence.

Wilson killed his meager flashlight and whispered to the two outsiders, this time with no accent, “You go inside for your church. We come here for our church.”

Neither the man nor the woman could argue his logic. This may not be a church with a steeple, or a mosque with a minaret, but the touch of the divine on this natural treasure was unmistakable. They continued to take in the serene beauty of the glade as he gave them more time to soak it in. A small trickling brook bubbled out of a crack in a large grey stone that had wide veins of rose quartz running through it. The stone seemed to be bleeding out the pure clean water, freely giving its own eternal life to the ground around it. On both sides of the brook the glade was flat, lush and grassy. There were small burial mounds dotting the area that were arranged in a radial, sun-like pattern. The locals carrying the torches stood naked in the outer ring of mounds, clearly showing reverence for the inner circles of burial places. They stood still, holding their flickering flames in front of them, almost like a gift and sign of respect. Mike and Michelle had never seen anything like it before. The closest thing Mike could recall was the Maasai tribes that burned their dead, but this was different, much different.

This felt… magical.

Without breaking the silence, Wilson spoke to them. Neither Michael nor Michelle registered the fact that his words were unspoken. He was somehow speaking directly to their minds, leaving his words on their souls.

Here is where it all began. This cold world became warm with life right here, eons ago. You are about to enter the true womb of the world. Take heed of my warnings, for our rituals are required to maintain the order of all things. He paused and regarded the circles of graves, and the worshippers about to start the ritual standing amongst them. They are especially of grave importance now, as the world bleeds. So much hurt, so much hate, and so many careless people wasting what has been given to us freely. Our reverence here helps to maintain the balance of all things.

Mike and Michelle were almost in a trance. On some level they knew what was happening was not of this world, but Wilson’s words echoed deep inside them and spoke to a place that had almost never been touched. Michelle had the overwhelming feeling like she was falling in love, and Mike experienced the exhilaration of victory from the man's words. Both knew intrinsically, completely and fully that this man was speaking an ultimate truth neither could deny. They would never be the same again.

Wilson continued his otherworldly lesson; We are not the only ones tasked to maintain faith, and the old ways. We are simply the first and oldest. All cultures give their true reverence in their own ways. Some do it in circles of stone, others in temples made for sacrifice. Some preach from pulpits, others pray in wilderness shrines. How they decide to maintain the necessary order of peace is up to them, so long as the rituals never stop. We cannot risk the ire of the divine. Wilson pointed once to the sky gently, and once to the ground forcefully. Implying there were more than one divine force at play.

Mike and Michelle nodded.

Tonight we bury our oldest keeper of the ways. His spirit is very strong, and will enter the afterlife and live forever, giving back to the world as much as it gave to him in life. We pay him respect as well as respect to the world that gave birth to him.

They nodded again.

If all goes well, he will rejoice until the end of time itself.

Without thinking about doing it, the two researchers of religion had intertwined their hands. Their fingers slipping between each other’s until their hands were one.

You must not enter the inner circle of graves. It is sacrosanct. You must not interrupt us, and you must not bring the outside world in with you. Leave all your belongings here in the path.

Mike and Michelle slowly gave up the other’s hand and started to take off their backpacks and gear. Wilson did the same, stripping off his dingy shirt and shorts. He kicked off his shabby sandals and strode naked out into the clearing, stepping into a glade where time itself seemed to stop.

Once they’d both stripped naked the two explorers followed Wilson deeper into the glade, taking each other’s hand again. Wilson pointed to a spot on the fringe of the glade, far away from the center where the still unburied elder lay deceased.

Mike and Michelle felt as if they were walking in a dream. The starlight mixed with the flickering flames of the torches gave an otherworldly glow to the grass and trees surrounding them. There was so much life right in the glade the world itself seemed to hum with vibrancy. Michelle noted absently there was an apple tree in the glade, just at the corner of her vision, but couldn’t quite understand the meaning behind its presence.

Wilson walked slowly away from them and headed to the center of the circle where his elder silently awaited burial. Despite being dead for almost a day, Mike and Michelle felt as if he were still alive. It was almost as if his spirit, his very soul calmly awaited this ceremony to move on. They were awestruck by the immensity of the moment.

The small African man gathered the other worshippers into the inner circle with him. They took each step with purpose, moving in a surreal unison that left both Michael and Michelle breathless. They were long, lean, exotic and their naked bodies were positively exuding supernatural power. Michelle found herself tingling down below as she watched them move. Michael stirred as well, becoming aroused at the worshipper’s lithe bodies.

The small black man reached the body at the center of the ritual and dropped to his knees beside it. He knelt and consecrated the form with water from a clay jar that looked older than the pyramids. Wilson started a chant in a dialect they’d never heard before. As soon as he uttered the first syllable they felt the ground resonate with power, and watched the stars above quiver with anticipation. His words were in tune with the earth and sky, heaven and hell, and he was giving a life back to the universe. Here was the true Ouroboros.

Wilson’s chanting ebbed at times, and reached a fevered pitch at others. It was almost as if his words simultaneously were the silent winds moving the trees, and the thunder of a stormy sky. His words became dry like the desert, and then dripped with the salty water of the oceans. In his words they were all transported to the pure Earth, and true reality. Finally, after an eternity of gently opening the invisible door between the worlds, his chant reached the end.

Michael and Michelle could hardly contain themselves. The grass beneath their feet was almost piercing their soles, like roots pushing upwards, giving the Earth’s energy back to them. The branches of the massive jungle foliage swayed in an ancient primordial rhythm as Wilson committed the soul of the elder back to the Earth, and back to the universe.

And suddenly there was silence. A complete stillness hit the glade like a freight train. A cold metallic taste crept into the mouths of all present as something foreign, and unknown to this place entered. The worshippers froze solid and spun their heads around, looking for the cause of what happened but seeing nothing. Their heartbeats became sluggish, weighed down by a mighty presence. Wilson’s eyes widened as he realized they were not alone anymore.

The torches the worshippers held snuffed out with a cold gust of air. Their smoke trailed off into the night sky with finality.

“Stop,” A voice spoke from the darkness. The voice was neither male nor female, nor angry or happy. The voice carried the weight of eternity with it, and everyone knew instantly they were in the presence of a greater entity.

Wilson dropped to his knees immediately beside the body of the freshly consecrated elder. He brought his hands up in front of his face and closed his eyes. He started gently rocking, whispering in the strange language he’d chanted in moments before. His fellow locals, the naked worshippers, dropped to their knees instinctively as well. Michael and Michelle, now snapped out of their transcendent state, stood frozen solid, searching with their eyes for the speaker. They too saw nothing.

The ethereal voice spoke again, echoing in the suddenly empty feeling glade, “No more of your kind are welcome in the beyonds. Your spirits have been tainted by your actions as a whole, and allowing more of you to return to the fold will undo all of creation. You hate for no reason. You bicker over things that do not matter. You wage war for things that should be given freely. But most of all, you have walked away from your defining humanity. You have become a pox on creation.”

It sounded to Michelle like a death sentence of epic proportions.

“One last catechism. Your ending starts where it all began. One final crucible starts this moment, right here. You will be tried by your dead. Those of you who survive their blind judgment will earn the chance to start again, and one day regain the privilege of eternal afterlife.”

Michelle’s skin had puckered with fear. Her skin was pebbled from the sound of ultimate judgment being passed. Suddenly she felt a presence just a fraction of an inch from her ear, and felt the cool, fetid breath on her skin, as one final statement was uttered, for her ears only;

“Your people will earn their redemption, or all will suffer with me for eternity. YOU will bear witness to their trials Michelle Annabelle Lewis. YOU will tell all those that listen.”

And the voice was gone, leaving a hollow void in all their souls. The worshippers felt the presence go and immediately started crying, feeling a pain they’d never had to experience before. Their connection to faith had been sundered, and it tore them up inside.

Wilson stopped his desperate chanting and began to sob in his hands, tears streaming down his face and through his fingers. In front of him the body of the tribal elder began to twitch. It started slowly at first, but shaking and squirming inhumanly and more rapidly every second. Wilson’s crying made him oblivious to the elder’s strange behavior. Some of the worshippers who had gotten their tears under control began to back away and point at the body, trying to get Wilson’s attention. The elder’s head jerked side to side as his soul was forced back into his body from the other side.

His dead face contorted into a strange rage and suddenly he went still. Wilson pulled his hands away from his tear streaked face and watched as the elder slowly sat up. The dead man’s muscles clicked and creaked as he lifted his torso up and twisted to face Wilson. The small black shaman absently wiped a tear away and watched, confused.

The elder’s eyes snapped open, revealing cataract filled eyes, and he lunged at Wilson. The diminutive black man that had swayed the soul of the glade minutes before was tackled to the ground by the feral dead elder. He pinned the poor man into the grass and bit into him with silent ferocity. Wilson started to scream but with a gurgle the elder tore his throat out, and his voice faded into a hoarse rasp, drowned out by the bubbling of blood. The elder tossed the chunk of throat to the side and dove back in to rip another piece of Wilson’s neck free.

Everyone in the glade screamed in horror. Nothing like this had ever happened here, could ever happen here. This was a sacred place, now filled with the disdain of the divine, and the horror of complete contempt for humanity. Some of the flock rushed in to aid Wilson. Two of them grabbed the arms of the elder and yanked him up and off, throwing him aside and into the bubbling brook that cut the glade in half. His tiny body dashed against the stones in the brook and Michelle heard bones snap.

Michael shook his head and snapped out of the shock of the moment. He started towards the previously dead shaman to render some kind of assistance, but he stopped cold when the shaman arose to his feet once more, standing ankle deep in the cold running water. The moonlight was starting to pierce the edge of the hole revealing the sky, and his dark skin seemed almost blue in the moonlight.

“Mike be careful!” Michelle yelled out to him.

Mike turned and nodded to her, then reached down to pick up a smooth river stone the size of his palm. On the other side of the brook Wilson’s gurgling had stopped. His life had faded. Instinctively Michelle knew his soul would be trapped just like the elder’s was, and he’d return to the same twisted mockery of life.

“Watch out!” She yelled to the worshippers near Wilson’s body, but they were fixated on the now risen elder. Wilson started his own twitching, and within seconds she knew he’d be a murderous corpse as well. One of the local men grabbed the burnt out husk of his torch and hefted it like a club. His movement attracted the elder, and with a few awkward, splashing steps he exited the stream and stalked towards the man with the torch.

Mike took a few silent steps in the grass, and came up behind the undead predator. He raised his hand under the glow of the moon, and brought the stone down hard. It crunched with a wet snap into the skull of the elder and he went down. Mike stumbled forward, clutching the bloody rock in his hand. He steadied himself and nodded to the man holding the torch. Michelle suddenly realized everyone in the glade was naked, and felt for a moment they’d fallen a few thousand years into the past. That scenario somehow seemed much more plausible to her than what had just happened.

A guttural scream once again broke the silence. Wilson had stopped his twitching and with dirty yellow teeth ripped a massive string of muscle off the arm of the woman nearest him. She had looked away for a moment to watch Mike kill the elder and paid the price for her inattention. She clutched at her arm and tried to roll away, but Wilson’s mute undead fury got to her first. He grabbed her around the hips and sank his teeth into her buttock, shaking his head like a shark and ripping a plum sized piece of flesh out. She kicked at him and screamed again.

Mike strode towards them but didn’t reach them in time to stop Wilson from biting the other woman who was trying to help. She was beating on him, trying to get him to let the other woman go. Her arm flashed in front of his face and stayed there just long enough for him to grab it and bite it. As he ground his teeth into her bones Mike reached them and brought the river stone down once more, smashing Wilson’s skull in. Wilson’s pale eyes rolled up into his head, and he went slack and slumped onto his back.

Mike was stammering, trying to catch his breath as the injured women moaned in pain. Six of the locals who participated in the ceremony took off running into the pitch black forest, completely naked. Those remaining had started to calm themselves and were rendering aid to the two bitten women.

Mike returned to Michelle and dropped his bloody stone. He gathered her into his arms and they held each other, naked bodies pressed against one another for some time.

*****

Without Wilson’s flashlight they took nearly half an hour to stumble through the impossibly thick and black trail to get back to the cars. They’d dressed themselves as best they could in the dark, with Mike cursing his foolishness for having gotten them into whatever it was that had just happened.

The others carried the two wounded women back along the trail, but by the time they reached the cars, it was obvious there was something very wrong with them. Michelle thought it had only been perhaps a half an hour since they were bitten, but they were already feverish and becoming weak. She thought it might’ve been the loss of blood, but this was something different. It felt wrong to her. Everything felt wrong to her now.

When they finally reached the artificial clearing where the vehicles were parked everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief. Mike threw open the driver’s side door and the interior dome light lit, shedding light on the inky black jungle. The dark brown skin of the women was covered in crimson streaks from their wounds. The woman who had been bitten on the arm had her ivory bones exposed to the air, and she bit her lip against the pain. Michelle admired her strength.

Mike tossed his backpack in the Rover and spoke to the survivors. Michelle didn’t speak the local dialect well, so their conversation was largely lost to her. She got her bag in the truck and sat down in the passenger side. She wasn’t looking forward to the jarring ride back to the village, but at least it would get her away from the madness she just lived through. Mike and one of the men spoke hurriedly for a minute or two, and then finally clasped hands. Mike jogged back to the truck and got in, shutting the door with a thud.

He put the keys into the ignition and sat next to her in the silence. Together they watched the others load the wounded women into the truck and get ready to lead them back. Mike spoke first.

“What the fuck just happened out there?” His voice was high pitched and cracking, she could hear he was close to tears.

“Mike I don’t know. I think we may have just witnessed something bigger than anything that’s happened in thousands of years,” she whispered back to him.

“What was that voice? The one at the end. Was it God? Allah? A spirit? A ghost? The Devil? What?” He sobbed once quickly, and caught himself, reining it in. He twisted the ignition and the Rover’s powerful motor roared to life.

“I don’t know Mike,” Michelle lied to him. She had a damn good feeling she knew who the speaker was, but didn’t want to make it any worse. Michelle reached over and took his hand once more. Mike squeezed it once, and put the truck in gear to follow their new guides out.

The road out was just as shitty as when they’d driven in. Michelle winced multiple times as her butt slammed into the seat of the Rover. They were driving much faster heading out too, which didn’t help. Mike was doing his best to weave side to side to make the drive as smooth as possible, but there wasn’t much room to do it in, and even the best routes were skull shaking. At one point their lead truck took a wrong turn, and they had to back up a few hundred yards to reroute themselves.

Michelle leaned out the window of the shaking truck and looked up at the orange and grey orb of the moon hanging low in the sky. It seemed lifeless to her now. Almost like a passive witness, illuminating the world with no cares as to what happened below. For no reason she could tell, a random tear fell out of her eye and streaked down her cheek.

“What the fuck?” Mike muttered beside her.

Michelle snapped back to the real world and looked ahead. The truck leading them back to the village was accelerating away from them suddenly. The truck swung dangerously left, then right, then hit a rut or a boulder, and careened up onto two wheels. The driver lost control and the gasoline powered missile went off the road and impacted a thick tree. The front of the truck caved in and the three front passengers launched out of the truck and into the tree like human projectiles. Michelle watched their bodies snap and mangle against the ancient tree’s trunk and slide to the ground. The few people sitting in the bed of the truck were tossed like ragdolls high into the air, cart wheeling into the branches of the trees, coming down somewhere in the darkness of the jungle.

Mike slammed on the brakes and the Rover lurched to an awkward halt perhaps twenty feet from the wreck. “Fuck me!”

Michelle undid her seatbelt and jumped out of the car with him. They bolted down the road to the demolished truck and started looking for survivors. They found none. Every human form they came across was dead. Mike reared his head back and screamed into the jungle canopy. Silence answered him.

Michelle sat down in the middle of the trail and hung her head. She wrapped her arms around her body and rocked back and forth, trying to wrap her head around everything that had happened to her that night. She felt Mike’s hand on her shoulder, and that made her feel better. Then there was a crack in the woods ahead of them. It sounded as if a branch had been broken.

“Holy shit, someone survived.” Mike quickly left her side and headed towards the sound in the rainforest. She started to rise to join him when it struck her that the movement might not be coming from the living.

“Mike, wait, no!” She yelled out to him. He stopped in his tracks, just inches from the undergrowth and turned to her.

“Wha-?” His question was never finished. Bursting from the jungle was one of the passengers that had been tossed from the truck. His neck was bent sideways at an impossible angle, and his staved in face was a sneer of blind malice in the harsh headlamps of the Rover. He was stiff and slow, but with less than a foot to get on top of Mike, his limited speed was more than enough.

His teeth sank into Mike’s chest and Mike screamed out, shoving his attacker away, toppling him back into the forest. Mike stumbled backwards and fell into the rut strewn road. His wrist bent too far as he landed though, snapping it viciously. That sent out another scream.

Michelle panicked for a moment, unsure of whether or not she should defend Mike, or try and get him to his feet to make an escape. Suddenly she felt a presence behind her. She spun, coming face to face with another dead passenger. Mere inches from her face, the female zombie stood passively, staring at her with large, lifeless brown eyes. It didn’t attack her, it just stood there.

“Jesus Michelle, RUN! It’ll bite you!” Mike yelled as he tried to get to his feet, cradling his broken wrist. Michelle was frozen solid, staring at the waiting zombie just inches from her face. From behind her she heard Mike scream again, and she turned just in time to watch Mike get pounced on by the same zombie that’d just bitten him. They crashed to the ground and Mike was pinned fatally in a tire rut. When she turned, the zombie that had frozen behind her pushed its way past, and stumbled towards her screaming partner. Just as the undead woman was about to dive onto Mike, she stopped again, and turned slowly to face Michelle.

With a tremendous, alien effort the zombie took a deep breath, forcing the unneeded air into her dead lungs. Michelle tasted the familiar metallic tang on her tongue as the temperature around her dropped suddenly. The dead woman channeled a voice to Michelle in scratchy, but familiar English;

“You will bear witness to either their redemption, or their failure Michelle Annabelle Lewis.”

Mike’s screams were drowned out by those words repeating over and over in her head.

January 13th

Progress has been made. Well, I think so at least. I decided after our luncheon meeting the other day that I really needed to spend time with Charles, so I made the decision to get him to hang out with me. Men need men time.

We got plastered with snow yesterday. We got a solid foot of thick, heavy stuff. It took me all damn morning to shovel out my doors and to make decent paths. I wound up grabbing the four wheeler and putting the little plow on it, and zipping around campus as fast as I could to clear out our sidewalks. It would figure if we were suddenly attacked by scavengers or zombies and had to wade through knee deep drifts. After that I got the maintenance plow and cleaned out the campus roads, and did a pass all the way up to Gilbert’s place on Prospect. He was shoveling his steps when I drove by. We waved. We’re so neighborly. Minus the zombies it’s like regular fucking sitcom around here.

I swung by Hall A yesterday around 11am in the hopes I’d get Chuck to come out with me. I wanted to try target practice with the new bow, and I just wanted a man-date. Charles was sitting at the table with Abby and they were chatting, and both of them agreed to come out with us. I was kinda hoping for a dude’s only session, but Abby is mostly dude by many criteria, so it was cool. Patty was napping and Randy was plugged into the Xbox as usual.

We wandered through the snow to the archery range, which I had forgotten to plow. Doy! I’m stupid. I dropped the bows with them, got the four wheeler, cleaned the range out a bit, and we got to our epic archery session.

Summation of said archery session: New bow is outstanding! Very accurate, very powerful. I am okay with it, Charles is okay with it, and Abby is actually very good with it. It’s a bit of a job for her to draw the string, but she’s actually damn good with the cheaper target bow I was using. I officially gifted that to her along with the arrows I was using. She seemed really pleased with that, as well as Charles. It didn’t feel as dangerous as giving her a gun, but I know I’ll sleep better knowing she’s capable of defending herself now.

We spent a few hours outside at the range, and wound up calling it quits when it started to snow again. Abby was cold, so she went inside, and I grabbed Chuck to do a ride along patrol of campus. He hadn’t been on one yet with me solo. I showed him things to look for, where to go, how to get around in the truck easiest, etc. He was definitely showing signs of anxiety though. Sitting slightly forward in his seat, rubbing his hands, nervous when I touched the Glock on my hip, etc. I definitely think he’s stressed out over the violence and whatnot. I’m sure he was an amazing provider and a great dad before everything went south, but now the status quo is different. He’s useless with his skill set. Judging from a few things he said I think he’s also suffering from a little inadequacy issues.

Spending the afternoon with him until dark did us both good. We joked, lightened it up, and I think Charles felt good on the patrol. He seemed comfortable, and I asked him if he’d feel comfortable with a handgun, and after 15 minutes of deliberation, he thought that’d be fine. We are going to opt for the Ruger P95 for him. We have “ample” 9mm now, and the Ruger has two clips, so he’ll have a spare mag for it. Plus 9mm is fairly low recoil, and it’s a decent gun for him. Sensibly the Sig is a better pistol but that’s MY 9mm. Call me greedy, but I’m hesitant to let him use it. We agreed we’d spend some range time so he could get used to the Ruger.

The rest of that night I relaxed. I actually slept well the last couple nights, which was super. No weird dreams either, which is pretty much the difference. If I have fucked up dreams, I don’t sleep well. Pretty simple. I never used to have bad dreams either. Ever since “that day” though, all bets are off. Everything is different now. I cleaned the weapons, went over the plan again for the runs downtown, and watched a few movies. Funny stuff to keep it light. I did a late evening patrol after the second snowfall stopped mostly to plow. I didn’t see anything when I was out, but I was nosy, and glanced in the Hall A windows to make sure everything was kosher, and it seemed that way. Randy and Abby were in the common room playing some board game together, and Patty and Chuck were at the table drinking coffee. Nice and serene. The picture of a happy post apocalyptic family. Hopefully things are getting better.

Early this morning Charles actually came to Hall E and hung with me. I was making myself some poor man’s breakfast via tin can, and he came in. He was nervous and excited about shooting the pistol, and while I ate, he asked a million questions. I let him handle the pistol as I ate (minus ammo) and he was definitely apprehensive at first, but as I talked about gun safety and basic firearms principles, he obviously became more comfortable. He hasn’t fired a gun since the shotgun spree when the Westfield folks came.

I took him out to a spot in the far back of campus near the staff housing buildings. There’s a flat stretch of road with a sudden bend that creates a decent place to shoot. I put some colored construction paper from the art room on the trees as targets, and we started shooting at about 15 feet. I’ve got spare holsters left over from my second trip to Moore’s and one fit the Ruger, so we started first on drawing techniques. I showed him how to pull the gun correctly, how to get the safety off at the right point in the draw, how to aim and target. All things that don’t require bullets. We did dry fire exercises for a bit, then I loaded a single round into the magazine for him, and we did live draw and fire drills in slow motion.

I’ll say this: as soon as a bullet went into the gun, he CLEARLY got nervous. I mean his hands were damn near shaking, and he got visibly more agitated. I told him we could bail, but he kept on. So he’d draw slowly, hit the safety slowly, aim slowly, and fire once. Reload, do it again. We did that until he could safely and smoothly draw and hit the paper at 15 feet. We took about 10 steps back to 25 feet, and did another handful in slow motion until he was safely and cleanly hitting the target.

We then loaded 2 rounds in at 15 feet, and had him draw and fire on two separate targets. I’m trying to drill into his head that slow and smooth is better than fast. We almost always have time to aim firing on zombies, so it makes no sense to panic if you’re at 15 feet. That’s like forever if a zombie is coming at you. Panic just makes you rush, and rushing makes you miss, and missing means you waste ammo. It took him a couple tries, but soon he was drawing and hitting both targets accurately enough for my needs.

As soon as Charles started to hit accurately, his demeanor changed. His confidence started to come back, he swagger returned (a little), and he even started to joke with me and mean it. I could just feel that he felt safer knowing how to shoot more accurately, and with my calm instructions, he was thinking slower, and smoother. And as we say, slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.

We did magazine swap drills for a few minutes, and he got to the point where he could swap them out really quickly and easily. I told him to practice that a LOT, because you cannot fuck that up if you need to swap mags. We’re also working on not leaving the mag on the ground. We need to save our clips, because we don’t have an endless supply. He said he’d practice at home. All in all I think we went through 40 rounds or so, which is a lot, but the practice was needed, our bonding was desperately overdue, and what it seems to have done to his mental state is invaluable. I loaded up his two magazines, and gave him an additional box of ammo. He kept his holster and magazine pouch, and now he’s on duty as a pistol carrying cowboy. Motherfucker has been deputized. I hope he feels better. I’m still nervous.

After shooting practice, I told him I was going to the gas station to top off the gas cans I never refilled, and he immediately said he wanted to go. That’s great news, right? We hopped in the maintenance plow truck, and drove down, clearing Auburn Lake Road of snow on the way. Weirdly enough there was no line at the gas station, and we filled the cans up. Charles provided cover as I pumped.

As I was getting the last can topped off, Charles tapped me on the shoulder, and pointed silently to the far back yard of a house across the street. Just on the fringe of the back yard was a solid 10 point buck. A big, beautiful deer, filled with venison. Here we are with just handguns, and we’re really at max range. I snuck around to the front of the truck and grabbed the M15, but when I was about to line up the shot, the door of the truck creaked as a breeze came through, and the deer bolted into the woods.

Shit. I already had at least a three quarters boner over getting more venison. When was the last time I mentioned I loved venison Mr. Journal? It’s been at least a week, maybe more.

I love venison.

On the way back I told him that Gilbert and I were thinking a trip downtown was going to be necessary soon. I don’t know if it’s his new pistol giving him confidence, but he seemed really interested to hear the story. I told him the basic plan on the way back, and he helped me put the gas away as I told him more. He had some good points, which will be helpful as we follow through. He also seemed to totally agree that the trip was worth it, especially after I mentioned the grocery store roof, and the potential for so many more weapons up there. He seemed disinterested in the prospect of finding food. So funny how getting a gun changes your priorities. Noob gunfighters always want bigger guns. I’m satisfied with a .22 as long as my belly is full.

Charles and I actually went back to Hall A together, and we chilled at the table to filled Patty in. She was skeptical at first, but after hearing the whole plan, she agreed and thought if we did it right, we could easily pull it off pretty safely. (Famous last words, right? At least it wasn’t me this time Mr. Journal)

When I left there the spirits were high, and everyone seemed fucking glorious compared to the few days prior. I think involving them more, and getting some of Chuck’s weapon anxiety out of the way has helped him a lot. I think he felt powerless here, and wasn’t needed. Like I said, he was a reasonably powerful, successful person with plenty of good things going for him before the end hit, and recently here, he was the shotgun wielding maniac that couldn’t do anything right that he needed to do to protect and provide for his family. Gotta feel for the guy. When I left their place I walked over to the school building and hit the library. In the medical section I found a few books on psychology, and I plan on reading up about PTSD so I can learn more. Yay for books.

So barring Gilbert shooting it down, we are heading downtown on the 15th. It’ll be Gilbert, Patty, Abby, Chuck, and myself. We felt that bringing Randy would be bad, and he’d be pretty safe here anyway. Tomorrow I’m taking Patty, Abby and Randy out shooting with the .22 pistol and rifle, and if Randy passes muster, I can leave him here with the pistol in the event that something goes terribly awry. I’m thinking he can just go to ground in Hall A if something happens. We shouldn’t be gone for that long.

Fuck. Jinxed myself. Moron.

So that’s my plan. Tomorrow I take the kids and Patty out shooting to get them reasonably proficient, and if that goes well, then we make our initial run to the police station the day after. If that goes well, we’ll look at making our next run a couple days after that.

Man… It feels good to be moving forward again. Starting to feel like our frayed ends might be holding on.

Downtown. Guess I finally get to see what hell has waiting for me there.

I should be more scared than I am.

-Adrian

January 15th

I don’t even know where to start. Legit. I typed out a few sentences about today’s run to the station, but then deleted it because it sounded hokey. Stupid even. I think I’ll rewind, and start on the events of the 14th.

Yeah.

So yesterday I decided that I wanted to take the non-Charles members of the Williams family out to my half-assed shooting range, and that’s just what I did. I stopped by the art room and got more colored construction paper and we all headed out on foot. The weather was nice yesterday. The snow has stopped, and the temps have rebounded up about 10 degrees, so it was pretty comfortable as long as the wind stayed down.

I took out the match .22 (which is a Browning Buck Mark UDX, which is a very nice target handgun) I also grabbed the Tac .22, and the Marlin M60 rifle. Unlike Charles, the rest of the family didn’t get nervous when the guns got loaded. Within five minutes of letting them handle the guns, Randy lost access to the pistol. Frankly I expected that to happen, but I wanted to give him a chance. Give 'em enough rope, right? He started twirling it like a cowboy with a six shooter, and I took it from him. Anyone who handles firearms regularly knows spinning it is something you see in movies. It’s strictly for show, and it gets people shot in real life.

He couldn’t spin the Marlin 60, and it’s essentially built for teaching kids how to shoot. Patty got the Browning, and I gave Abby the Tac .22. I am exceedingly fortunate we had lots of.22 ammo, because we had to burn a lot of it to get the shooting down. Long story short, here’s my training assessment:

Randy has played too many first person shooter video games. He fired off his entire ammo supply in 1/10th the time he should’ve done it in. It took me almost 200 rounds to get him to aim before firing. He’s also too loose in the shoulders to learn double tapping yet. However, once he slowed down and saw how accurate he was when he did that, he became a pretty competent shot. The M60 is a slow gun to reload too, which helped curtail his desire to rapid fire the thing. He blasts all 17 rounds in 5 seconds, then takes a minute and a half to reload the damn tube. Shooting slow = fun. Reloading = not fun. Pretty simple.

Patty was almost entirely unable to hit anything with the pistol. She held it like it was going to leap out of her hands when she shot it, and I just couldn’t get her to drop the nervous grip. Once we switched her to the Tac .22 though, she was ripping shit up. She had good posture, nice mechanics, was doing magazine changes smoothly, and was an accurate shooter. Model student.

Abby sucked with the Tac .22. Like, really badly. If she was in a rowboat, in the middle of the Atlantic, she’d struggle to hit the water, and sink her boat in the process. However with the pistol, she was sick. She’s steadier, calm, and just aims better. I think she can handle a heavier gun once she gets some time with the Browning in as well. Ultimately, they need time with guns in front of zombies for me to really tell how they’ll react. Got some of that today actually.

After our shooting session I dug out a suitable holster for Abby. I didn’t have one that fit the gun perfectly, but one of the generic automatic holsters held the pistol well enough. I wish I had another magazine to give her. Patty talked to me while Abby and Randy practiced, and we both agreed that Randy was not ready to be left alone with a loaded gun. With that in mind, once Randy was done, we dismissed him for the day, and gave Abby some time with the Marlin. She was still a little subpar with that rifle, but she’ll manage better than most. Abby’s new firearms are the Browning pistol, and the Marlin Rifle. I gave them one of the boxes of ammo we got at the cabin, and they are now proficient. Well, proficient enough to be dangerous.

The remainder of that day we all sat down and had a dinner prepared by Gilbert. We went over the plan ten times, talking about our “what if” scenarios, and we tried to be realistic, but gentle. Everyone was scared, but also pretty excited. Gilbert made some vegetarian casserole with canned cheese which was out of this world. Finding those bread crumbs the other day was fucking clutch. Awesome to have something prepared to eat, as opposed to just dumping out a can in a bowl and nuking it. Charles and I talked about what he felt comfortable using for a long weapon, and immediately said he wanted nothing to do with the shotguns.

Completely understandable given his recent 12 gauge indiscretions. I did a quick check on the weaponry, and suggested some stuff to him, and he actually said he’d been shooting before with his father, and had some trigger time with a Winchester 94, so we gave that to him. He’ll have that and the Ruger 9mm. Abby carried the Browning pistol, and the Marlin M60 rifle. Patty has my Tactical .22 rifle.

I slept like shit last night. Tossing and turning over and over. I just couldn’t get to sleep at all. I used to get nerved up before missions we knew were going to be dangerous back in Baghdad, and this was no different. Sometimes your brain just refuses to shut off. It’s like when you know you’re having trouble with a boyfriend or girlfriend Mr. Journal. You just can’t shut off.

We woke up early as hell. I think I wound up getting three hours of shitty sleep. I made one of the strongest cups of instant coffee mankind has ever had the displeasure of drinking, I mowed down a small amount of food, and then I went to Hall A after gearing up. Load out for this trip was the following:

Glock 21, with 4 spare magazines. (total of 65 .45 caliber rounds)

M15A4 with all 8 magazines. (total of 240 .223 rounds)

I had a sweet ankle holster that fit the little Beretta M80 cheetah, so I slapped that on. That’s got 10 rounds. That’ll be my suicide gun. Sad to put it that way, but….

I put my uncle’s knife on my belt, and I also took the short sword. My belt is really heavy now. For clothing I wore a heavy duty pair of Dickies pants I got in the cabin, a tee shirt, one of the Kevlar vests I got, and I wore my winter parka thing I’ve been wearing. In the maintenance plow truck I stashed my pump shotgun, and the Savage in the event we needed to… reach out and touch someone. Felt good Mr. Journal. First time in a long time I felt like a legitimate, for real, walking the earth badass. Gear does that to you.

The spare Kevlar we had was a little ratty, and no one wanted to wear it. Gilbert said if he got shot he figured it was his time anyway, and the vest was getting in the way of getting it over with. Sort of a fatalistic view of things, but he does have a point. When it’s our time, it’s our time.

We took the maintenance truck and the Explorer. Both are automatic transmissions. Patty, Charles and Gilbert rode in the Explorer, which was our tail car, and Abby and I rode in the plow so the roads could be cleared if necessary. We went over everything again, and at about 7am we set out to downtown. Randy was unbelievably excited to be left alone. He hadn’t been left alone in some time. However, he was pissed as all hell he wasn’t being left with a gun. We had to explain gingerly that the gun was more dangerous than anything that might attack him. An accident was more likely than an assault. He sulked, but when he realized he would be left alone with the Xbox, he was reminded of the freedom just ahead.

I didn’t get nervous driving the truck until we passed the log cabin we’d ransacked the other day. I hadn’t been any further away than that from campus in some time, and for some reason, it felt weird to be driving past it. Abby was amped in the seat next to me, but she was keeping her shit together. I had to drop the plow several times to blast away some of the worst of the snow drifts, but for the most part, we were able to just drive through the snow in the roads.

I made sure to keep my speed pretty steady, and as we’d discussed during planning Charles kept his distance from my ass. We agreed on a 5 car length buffer should something happen. As soon as we made the turn off Route 18 and onto the very end of Main Street we knew we were in for some shit.

Zombies were in the road as far as the eye could see. Now it wasn’t shoulder to shoulder, they were spaced pretty far apart, but they were there. I’d guess at maybe 5-15 dead folks per mile of road. I’d never seen them in the road there before, and certainly not in that kind of number. I dropped the plow and headed straight forward, and if they walked in front of the truck (which many did) they got plowed. I think we hit around 30 or 40 of them in the few miles we drove on Main Street. I think the word I’m looking for here is “cathartic.”

We passed the shopping area where the pharmacy was located, and shortly after that the grocery store. Nothing seemed to be different. Well, the number of undead roaming the streets was a “new” thing, but the buildings seemed intact. We drove by my old Camry, still propped up in the middle of Main Street on top of a shitload of zombie bodies. I miss that car. I was paying special attention to the roads, and I didn’t see any tire tracks in the snow. Just smooth white everywhere.

The fire/police station is on a side street just on the fringe of what I’d call downtown. Imagine the downtown of a smallish city from above. The densest parts of town have way more roads, right? So it looks like a grid, more or less. The further out you go from said grid the sparser the side roads get. Main Street cuts through the center of the dense downtown grid, and heads east-west. We were coming in from the western approach, and the municipal building we were headed to was the very first street that you’d put in the densest part of the downtown grid. It’s hard to explain, I’m terrible at this shit. My point is, if we were to go one or two more streets past the station heading east, we’d be in amongst the most heavily populated residential areas, retail and commercial areas, and getting into the largest buildings as well. (Mind you, the largest building in town I think is 5 stories tall)

We made the left hand turn onto the street the station is on, and in doing so, creamed the balls off three zombies that were almost thigh deep in snow. One of them I swear looked surprised as he got dragged under the truck. I think he might’ve just been an ugly bug-eyed motherfucker though. We had to slow down pretty much to a crawl to successfully push through the deep drifts and bodies, and I started to get a little worried that the snow would bog us down. Now I couldn’t remember exactly where the curbs were, so I was a little scared I’d run the plow into one and destroy the truck, so when I got to the parking lot of the station, I lifted the plow blade. We were basically cleaning the top of the snow off, leaving about 4-5 inches behind on the ground. Lucky I did that, because I hopped the corner of a curb on the way in. That would’ve blown had I hit it.

There was a smaller ambulance parked in front of the fire station’s front door, half on the sidewalk. You could tell because it was cockeyed, leaning sideways. The driver’s door was wide open, and you could see smears of blood all over the door and the frame. Milling about in the parking lot was about four undead, which was strangely very comforting. I was very happy with that number.

I dropped the plow again and did a swipe in front of the five big garage doors on the side of the building where the fire trucks should be. As I went back and forth the four undead worked their way through the snow in our general direction, and Charles parked on the edge of the parking lot as we’d planned. I cleared a big space for us to move around outside, and then stopped the truck, leaving it running.

Abby hopped out her side of the truck, I hopped out of mine, and we had some target practice time. (Admittedly, making noise was not the best idea, but whatever. She needed to shoot something moving and dangerous.) She used the Marlin, and with just 7 rounds, she managed to hit all 4 undead in the noggin, essentially clearing the entire parking lot. Both Patty and Charles leaned out the Explorer windows and hooted and hollered for her. It was a nice moment. Parents rooting for their child’s accurate zombie headshots. “Hey Suzie, how’d you do on your math test?” That shit’s history. What a trip Mr. Journal. How far the world has fallen.

Once we were sure we had a clear lot, Chuck Patty and Gilbert moved the Explorer into the lot near the plow, and we made entry into the station. Now our plan was that Charles and Gilbert would stay outside, making sure we didn’t get overrun, and the two women would come in and help me search the joint. Because the undead were so sparse, it was really a great plan. I swiped the card key on the fire station side, and as I imagined, the reader was dead. So the backup power here had run its course. Luckily McGreevy’s keys didn’t operate on electricity.

A few failed keys later, I got the right key, and the door opened. Now our plan was that I’d clear the sections of the building solo, and Patty and Abby would stand at the door until I hollered clear. At that point, Patty would enter with me, and the two of us would search through the place while Abby stayed at the door. If we got overrun, she could holler to us, and help the two men. If Patty and I had trouble, she could come in to help.

Worked like a charm. Well, for the most part. The one thing I hadn’t really accounted for in my planning was the utter and complete blackness of the interior of the place. There were almost NO windows. I also didn’t bring in my maglite. We had to pause while Abby got me a flashlight I could hold out of the truck.

Clearing a pitch black building that smells badly, is terrifying Mr. Journal. Once I got 20 steps down the central hallway into the building, I could smell rotten flesh and feces, and even though I was pretty sure it wasn’t fresh, the fact that the only light was the small white circle of light cast out by the flashlight gave me the fucking heebie jeebies. Every time I cleared a room that had a window in it, I propped the door open to shed some light into the dark areas.

The source of the pungent odor was dead fat guy in the kitchen break room. He had somehow been gutted, and was lying practically wrapped up in his own fucking insides. Looked like a dude meatball on a bed of dude pasta. Red sauce, obviously. (Shit, if he was in an alfredo sauce… what the fuck would that have been made out of? Blech.) He’d managed to bust open his bowels when he fell or stepped on them, and shit it was horrid. He’d had the back of his head blown out by a fairly large gun, so he wasn’t a threat. I checked the entire office area of the fire station and found nothing. I notified Patty to start clearing the area for supplies, and I headed into the garage area for the fire trucks.

Good news was all the trucks were still there. Bad news, there were some undead in the garage. When I opened the damn door it gave me some resistance, so I threw some shoulder into the door, and it immediately gave way. I heard something stumble away and hit the floor heavily. I fucking KNEW it was a zombie from the sound. Maybe it was the smell too once the door flew open. Either way I stepped back and brought up the M15 and the flashlight.

Two undead were right fucking there, inches away just on the inside of the garage, stark and pasty from the flashlight, and they were bearing down on me with a vengeance. I snapped off a couple rounds at the first, dropping him, but when he collapsed, he sort of fell sideways into the second one, pushing him aside. My second set of rounds went flying right through the space where the damn thing’s head should’ve been in. As I swung the barrel wide to re-aim, the fucking zombie was just close enough that I had to back pedal again, and he reached up and hit the rifle’s barrel as he lunged at me. My third shot sailed high yet again.

In the background the zombie that had been sent flying when I shoved the door wide open was now upright, and heading back to join the party. Reverting to old school CQB instincts, I spun the M15 around and butt-stroked the zombie in the face, sending him reeling backwards. I don’t even remember thinking to myself to do that, but I did. Yay for training. Thank you, Pentagon.

That gave me the space to put one down his nasal cavity, ending his ass for good. I entered the garage where I had more area to move around. The third zombie was stumbling over the dead body of the first one I had killed, which gave me time to draw the sword. In a pretty slick maneuver I swung the M15 on the sling around to my back, and drew the sword. Wish I had a camera, because that shit was a MOVIE MOMENT. Ramp up the slow motion, queue up the hardcore techno music, and flash some pectoral muscles into the fading sun. I felt like a fucking holy ninja or something. As the dead bastard cleared the hurdle of his buddy I backhanded the blade across his face, and chopped it wide open. He spun like a top from the force of the blow, and when he finally gathered himself again, I brought the sword down into his skull, and he was finished too.

Little bit of a toe-pusher there, but the consistency was thin, and it went down the drain with little work.

Patty burst into the doorway of the garage, rifle up, and was yelling my name. She couldn’t see shit though, and luckily didn’t shoot me as I told her it was okay. I could practically feel her heart hammering from ten feet away. It took her five minutes to calm herself down. Her eyes looked like they were fixing to pop the fuck out. Before I pushed into the police station side, we cleared the whole fire house. I checked the bodies of the zombies I’d shot, and with a little research, it was clear they were firefighters. I actually recognized the first guy I shot from his driver’s license picture. He lived in my condo complex. One thing awesome about fire fighters... they always have a Leatherman. I got one off of each of them, including a little belt holster for them. I feel dirty as shit taking stuff off dead bodies. Just wanted to put that on record in case anyone is actually reading this.

Extremely long story short, we ransacked everything that we thought would be of value. That wasn’t a whole lot. The place had already been hit, which makes sense. There were three of the nice Motorola radios and chargers to match. We got a pretty decent amount of bandages and wrappings which was nice. The biggest and best thing we got though, were the keys to the trucks. They were in a locked key box on the wall near the door heading into the garage. McGreevy didn’t have the key, so I had to smash it open with a fire axe. Oh yeah, we got a few of those, and we also got half a dozen substantially sized fire extinguishers, which was pretty badass.

Oh yeah, other bad part…. With no electricity, the garage doors wouldn’t open. Luckily there was a manual crank Patty found, and with a little bit of effort, we got it up. I started the ladder truck, and pulled it out and around to the lot on the side our two trucks were on, and parked it. We shut the garage door afterward.

Now the municipal station is really cut into four parts. From the overhead, the five fire truck garage doors are on the right wall of the building, pointing and exiting to the right. To the left of that is the fire house. On the far left of the building is the police station, and in the middle of that is another small garage where they park cruisers. It has one garage door that opens to the back of the building, so it’s not even visible from the street. I think they use it for booking. We’d cleared the entire right side of the building.

Patty covered me at the interior door that headed to the booking garage, and I started moving in that direction. The garage was empty. Like, fucking really empty. Someone had come through and cleaned the joint out big time. I used McGreevy’s key to open the police station side and with Patty at that door, I cleared it out. The police station side was about the same size as the fire station side. It was devoid of danger, and within ten minutes, we were clearing the place out. I should mention we brought bags with us to put stuff in, but in both places we found enough bags right there to use. Red paramedics bags in the fire station, and a few gym bags in the police station locker room.

In the police station we found three more of the nice Motorola radios, as well as the chargers for them. So my radio mission has been a success. That gives us a grand total of six radios, with six chargers to match. Very nice. Oh! The other cool thing is that the radios in the police station had smaller transmitters that attach to your collar, or your shirt. You know how cops always have a radio on their shoulder? Those things. Will be pretty sweet when we’re on the move.

The gun locker in the Chief’s office was cleaned out. Spotless. Obviously someone had come through and cleaned it out. Also, I should add that the Chief’s desk was also cleaned off. The only thing left behind was his name plate on the desk. Chief Brian Moore. Cool guy. Pretty young for a Chief of Police, but when your dad was a Chief in town, and your family has been in that town since God made little green apples, that’s how shit works.

In the police station we got more medical supplies than in the fire station. Go figure. They had a whole first aid kit that was pretty fucking industrial, as well as one of those portable, briefcase sized defibrillators. Kinda cool. To be honest I was really disappointed we didn’t find any non lethal weapons. I was really pulling for us finding a Taser, or some pepper spray, but we couldn’t find any anywhere. In one of the lockers in the locker room we did find 3 sets of handcuffs with keys to match. Those will be handy at some point I suspect. Patty and I called it quits when Charles and Gilbert’s gunfire started to pick up outside.

When we left through the fire station exit, there were a couple zombies trudging their way up the road towards us. Gilbert was giving Chuck a pretty good shooting lesson, helping him with his posture and mechanics with the Winchester. I could see in the road they had already shot maybe 5 or 6 additional undead making their way towards us from Main Street. The street in the other direction was devoid of anything moving, which I thought was a great sign.

We loaded the shit into the Explorer, according to our plan. I was to drive the ladder truck, Charles and Gilbert would drive the Explorer, and Patty would drive the pickup with the plow with Abby riding shotgun. Patty was under strict instructions not to attempt to plow, and she was to take up the middle spot. I led with the big rig.

Now our town’s ladder truck is not the two piece big fucking deal with the wheelman in the back like you see in the movies. It’s a single body, and has a ladder that I think extends up to about a five stories to match the tallest buildings in town. Now I’m not saying it isn’t a beast mind you. This motherfucker has brute force cock diesel power. It was like driving pure testosterone on the way back. It handled like you’d expect though. Felt like I was driving a sluggish refrigerator.

You know what’s good about driving a multi-ton sluggish refrigerator? It fucking pwns zombies. I made mashed zombie for five solid miles. Most of the dead folks that I didn’t hit with the plow on the way in had turned tail and started to follow us to the police station, but they hadn’t gotten that far. Many had also (amazingly enough) wandered into our beaten down tire tracks, or into the paths I’d plowed, so I didn’t even have to swerve much to hit them all. By the time we made the turn onto Route 18 I think our GTA hit and run zombie headcount was at least 50 or 60. Setting the high score for the win. High five myself.

Getting the truck up into campus was fine, despite all the ups and downs and my largely amateur plow job. (That sounded very sexual) I drove the truck all the way to the back end of the campus and parked it in the ass end of the staff parking lot where it was out of the way.

Patty parked the plow where we’ve been keeping it, and Charles went right to Hall A. We wound up congregating at Hall A where (by our standards) a huge celebration ensued. Randy didn’t kill himself, nothing got burnt down, no one got hurt, and everyone was in amazing spirits. To top it all off, Randy even loaded the wood stove and kept Hall A warm while we were gone.

Talk about a motherfucking huge victory. I mean total WIN! I have an erection. Just felt that needed mentioning.

We didn’t even use that much ammo either! Wow. Next trip down though, we are going to be boned, I can feel it. The noise we made will without doubt attract more attention from the more dense areas that are just half a mile away. I can just feel it that when we go back it’ll be worse. But, that’s in a couple days, and I will worry about that tomorrow.

After we had our few beers I actually passed out on the couch in Hall A for a couple hours. Adrenaline was gone from my system, four beers had worked their way into my bloodstream, and my body reminded me I had shit for sleep. I had a pretty sweet dream on the couch with Cassie in it. Was really nice. I haven’t had a Cassie dream in some time. Maybe that’s why I have a boner. Shrug. I like boners, I’m not gonna bitch.

We wrapped up our little after raid party and called it a night. I think we all passed out for awhile. I remembered to thank everyone, and tell them they did an awesome job too. I got a quick ammo count for what folks fired so I had a good idea of where we were, and I headed out to check the fire truck. Inside I found four of the Halligan tools, and another fully stocked emergency first aid kit. Left everything where it was except for one Halligan, which I moved to the back seat of the maintenance truck with the plow. Such a handy tool.

After I wrap up here I am going to plug in the radios and get them charged so we can start using them to communicate. Too funny. I expect once they’re up and running we’ll want to carry them around with us which is one more thing I’ll have on my belt, and one step further away from ever wearing sweatpants again. Fucking A. I really want to wear sweatpants out and about just one day.

Oh. One thing that I made sure to pay attention to was Chuck’s demeanor post gunfire. I definitely think he’s fine about today. He might still be struggling with the whole PTSD issue, but I think I’ve gotten to the real root of it.

When he was on his own with the family in Westfield, he had to kill something like 7 or 8 zombies, and he was fine with it. Little mentally roughed up, but more or less okay. Here’s the thing; when he shot at the Westfield assholes during our ambush, they were still alive. He’d just shot and killed living people, instead of dead people.

Make sense to you Mr. Journal? It’s like killing an animal for food, versus killing an animal for fun. One is a necessity (killing the zombies) and one is an atrocity (killing people). We suffered the same problem in the Army when a kid got killed by a stray round. I mean shit, we’d kill insurgents and barely blink an eye about it, but if a kid got killed….. shheeeeeeit man, we needed therapy. I think that might the root of it.

Pretty sure. I’m no Sigmund Freud mind you, but I’m pretty sure that’s a huge part of his deal.

Tomorrow we are going to take a more robust stock of the shit we got today, and generally relax. We don’t have much to do here on campus. I think tomorrow night, if all is well and we’re feeling up to it, we’ll plan our next trip downtown, which could be as early as the 17th. Yeah bitches! Encore up in this motherfucker!

I am plugging in the radios, putting some porn on the big screen, and doing something about this boner Mr. Journal. Put that picture in your mind.

-Adrian

January 17th

The expression “by the skin of our teeth” comes to my mind right now. That was fucking ugly. Toe pushing of epic levels today. Unlike my last entry on the... what was it? The 15th? I am not recanting yesterday’s mundane bullshit in detail. I’ll keep my notes on yesterday short and sweet.

I charged the radios, handed one to Gilbert, kept one for myself, and gave another to Chuck and Patty. We searched through the stuff we got at the station. It was good and useful. No one got hurt, no one argued, we didn’t see any zombies, or assholes trying to kill us.

I slept poorly last night just the same as the night prior our last raid downtown. Nerves once again. I might start taking something to sleep better at this rate. Something like four melatonin, or that tryptophan pill. I think I have those somewhere.

Just the same as our previous run downtown we woke up to get on the road by 7am. I went with the same weapons load out, and everyone else carried the same stuff. With our radios we were all high tech and shit though. We did a quick comms check, and made sure everyone was on the same channel. We did the exact same vehicle set up as before. Abby and I rode in the plow on point, and the others went in the Explorer doing caboose duty.

Things went smoothly to start, as you’d expect. You know what pisses me off? Everything went fucking perfect, but we were fucked over by random bullshit. It’s always the unexpected. The one fucking thing you don’t plan for packs your fucking fudge. Fuck. Grr.

Sigh.

Weather has held for us. In fact, it’s been damn near 50 degrees at high noon or so, and the snow has been attacked by the sun pretty effectively. That means the areas I’ve plowed are now almost bare pavement. That made driving a lot easier. We made our way down Route 18 same as the last time, and wound our way down to the main street area. Unlike last time though, the roads were entirely bare of undead. Seemed like good news, but it worried me. Don’t know exactly why, but the hairs on the back of my neck were on end as soon as we made the turn onto Main Street. Abby even asked me what was wrong. I guess I just looked weirded out. Told her to pay extra attention, and she got a little nervous.

We didn’t see any undead at all until we reached the grocery store region. It was a thin herd in the road, right where my Camry was disabled, perhaps 10 to 20 bodies at most moving around. Likely they followed towards our general direction the other day, and either lost our noise trail, or got distracted by something else. That’s my guess. With the roads a little more bare, I was swerving slowly here and there to hit a few of the dead people that I would’ve skipped the other day. I wound up hitting the better part of the batch in the road, and we kept on moving to the police station.

Now just as I was about to take the left hand turn onto the street the station is on, I realized that about maybe a tenth of mile further down the way on Main Street I could see a pretty good sized pack of the motherfuckers in the road. Now I mean shoulder to shoulder. I’d guess a solid 50-80 zombies. Like I said, it was a tenth of a mile. That’s like... A twenty minute shuffle for a zombie at least. I figured it was plenty of time and space for us to get in, get the truck, and get out.

I radioed to the Explorer and advised them to watch extra careful for movement on the huge mob, and if they were getting close to us at the station, to open fire with the .22 and thin em out. Patty radioed back in the affirmative and we were moving into the parking lot. Just the same as last time we pulled into the back lot and got in through the fire station door. Abby and Patty covered me at the door as I re-cleared the way to the trucks in the station, as you’d hope and expect the place was still empty.

I made my way to the appropriate crank in the truck bay and opened the garage door for the heavy rescue truck. It’s basically a massive ambulance. Sort of an ambulance on a dump truck chassis. Lot of cities have the same thing for Hazmat response. Big red bastard. It was also fully stocked when I poked my head into the back, which needless to say, was the fucking bee’s knees.

It started right up, and I drove it out and around to the parking area where the plow and the Explorer were. I hopped out, took a quick gander at the mob near the end of the street, then jogged back to the garage keeping an eye on it and cranked the door shut. As I was jogging down the hallway to get to the exit where Patty and Abby were, the door slammed shut ahead of me, leaving me more or less in the dark. Same as last time, I forgot my fucking flashlight, and had to inch my way the last 15 feet. The really scary part was as soon as the door slammed shut, I heard gunfire outside. Not a little mind you, but a pretty heavy barrage coming from several different guns. Something had gone wrong.

I felt my way to the door as fast as I could and hit the plunger bar to open it. Even though I wasn’t in the dark for long, the bright sunlight kinda blinded me for a second. Plus the damn gunfire was so loud I was sort of shell shocked for a second. It was like having a firecracker go off in your face. Patty and Abby were right there, standing more or less in a gun line, firing around the back of the station towards where the garage doors were. To their backs were Charles and Gilbert, firing in the opposite direction, shooting towards Main Street. Not fucking cool. Meant we were shooting from a dead end. Surrounded.

As soon as I got outside I had the M15 up and was trying to get a bead on targets. Chuck and Gilbert were firing into the mass of zombies that was still quite a distance away. That threat could wait. Once the heavy steel door of the fire station shut, I could see where Patty and Abby were shooting, and immediately knew that was the first problem.

Maybe 30 feet away rounding the corner of the brick fire house was a clump of undead ten deep, and at least a dozen wide. They must’ve come from the direction that was dead empty the day before. My heart started pounding hard, and I started to execute my hasty plan. As slowly and steadily as I could I walked behind the girls and began to move away, firing as carefully and accurately as I could. I hollered out to the women to slow their fire down. Shoot better, not more.

You know what burns my ass right now? I have no idea how I didn’t see all those undead when I came back through the garage. Maybe because I was walking backwards for a bit? God that’s terrible. Imagine backing up into that.

I walked about 20 feet away from the door, taking a shot every step or so. My main goal was to distract the zombies and try to split them up. I clicked dry, hollered to the girls I was reloading, and swapped my magazine. Now we’d gone over that when someone was reloading, if you had bullets, you stepped up and fired a little heavier than you were, and made sure that person reloading had time to get it done.

Patty was closest to me, and there were maybe 2 or 3 zombies damn near in between us. Patty turns, calm as can be, raises the Tac .22, and snaps off 5 rounds crisp and clean. Every one of the zombies just face planted in the parking lot. I think I yelled out something like “FUCKING YEAH PATTY!” and went back to shooting. Later when we got home I realized I had brains on me, but that was better than being dead.

Now I’m no math major, but twelve wide and ten deep adds up to a fucking LOT of dead people. I’d already burned 30 rounds, and in my head I knew Patty’s two clips would be dry any second, and Abby would be out shortly as well. I don’t know how my head keeps track of this during a fight, but it does. Ask me what I had for breakfast this morning, and I won’t have any idea. Ask me what the last movie I watched was… And I’m fucked. Now I can tell you right now Patty has 3 clips of 10 rounds each and Abby’s rifle holds 17 rounds. I’m fucking weird, I know.

I screamed out to everyone to get to the vehicles, and I laid down a hail of 5.56 at head height into the zombie crowd. I backpedaled away from the others and started screaming profanities at the top of my lungs to get the attention of the zombies. It worked some. Kind of. They’re pretty single minded when they see something they’re trying to kill. You gotta be pretty fucking persuasive to get them off track. I don’t know why I opted for profanity as opposed to say, reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, or maybe singing a Lady Gaga song, but cursing is my typical fall back, and that’s how I roll. Don’t judge me Mr. Journal.

Patty and Abby started to backpedal, and out of the corner of my eye I could see Abby starting to reload the Marlin, one little bullet at a time. She got maybe 4 or 5 rounds in the tube before I screamed at her, “Abby fuck it, get in the truck GO!” She was losing too much time and distance trying to reload the rifle. Patty hollered something out to the same effect and the two girls made it to the closest vehicle, the heavy rescue truck.

At that point, I didn’t think Patty could drive stick, let alone drive something that big. I continued to lay down fire and back away towards the other cars. I dimly remember now that somewhere around that point Gilbert and Charles turned to the side posing the greatest threat and started to fire into the huge mob as well. Of course by then they’d exhausted a lot of their own bullets, and had to reload just as they joined my fight. I know I swapped magazines two more times within a minute or two. That’s a total of 4 spent magazines, which is 120 rounds. I stopped firing because the shit really hit the fucking fan.

Charles ran dry with the lever action rifle, and instead of backing away and reloading, letting us cover him, he moved forward, right into the fucking thick of the remaining horde, and started trying to beat them all to death. Mr. Journal, you don’t have to be particularly imaginative to get a good idea of how that went. He ain’t that big a dude.

Charles dropped two or three of them with solid strikes with the butt of the rifle before a handful of them took him down to the ground. It was like he sank into quicksand made out of zombie body parts. Gilbert started firing right into the melee as I slung the rifle and drew the sword to try and get him out before he got bitten. At the same time, Patty got the heavy rescue truck started, and the big diesel rattled to life just behind us.

I’m a big dude. Over six feet tall, over 230 pounds. I am wide from shoulder to feet. My legs are thick from almost three decades of sports. I’m strong. Really strong. Back in my bouncing days I’d wade through masses of humanity to get into mosh pits like those people weren’t even there. I could just bowl them over if they were in my way.

Nothing stops me.

I am a force of mother fucking nature.

I snapped when I heard Charles scream out in pain. I lowered my head, got a running start, and hit that pack of zombies like a human battering ram. I took the entire bunch of them on top of Charles down and tossed them aside like candle pins. I wound up doing an awkward barrel roll to get away from their clutching grasps. Charles was crawling on his back towards Gilbert to get away, and I saw he was hurting. Gilbert himself kept hammering away with his .45, taking head shots one right after another. I saw his firing angle and started laying into the zombies scattered on the freezing pavement around us. Gilbert slowed his fire and let me work. I took a lot skulls apart.

Patty knows how to drive stick. And that bitch can drive truck like a fucking BOSS. As I was starting to gas out, I heard her throw the truck into gear, and suddenly the huge ambulance lurched backwards like a falling building. I don’t even have the foggiest idea how she did it, or if she did it on purpose or by accident, but she did a perfect J turn in the parking lot, and smeared those motherfuckers like person pate on a pavement cracker.

In about 3 seconds she killed more dead people than we had in 5 minutes of shooting. After backing up, she threw that pig into gear and swung around the lot, hitting about ten more, and finally backed it up next to us as Gilbert and I ran to Charles, who was screaming out in pain, rolling back and forth on the freezing ass concrete.

I flung the zombie goop off the sword, sheathed it, and drew the Glock on Chuck. I wasn’t risking shit. (funny to say that now, because not a minute prior to this moment, I’d launched my largely unarmored body into about 20 biting, scratching, and generally murderous zombies with blatant disregard for my own safety. I think that’s the literal, dictionary definition of retarded) I yelled at Chuck until he stopped screaming, and told him to take his jacket off. He was wearing jeans and a heavy skiing jacket. I couldn’t see any blood anywhere on him, but that didn’t mean shit.

Now after I yelled at him, I noticed his left hand was hanging funny, and the angle was all wrong. His left arm had been broken in the melee. Gilbert waved me off and got down to help him. Patty and Abby leapt from the big truck, both crying, and went to his aid. Meanwhile I jogged to the side of the fire station the huge mob of zombies had come from, and saw a few more undead stragglers headed our way. I had the Glock out already, and I dropped them with no pressure. My heart was still beating painfully in my chest, and my mouth was dry as a bone though. Unreal how your body reacts to stress.

As they figured out how bad Charles was, I went around to the side of the station towards Main Street, and saw that we were maybe two minutes away from having to deal with the Main Street of of zombies. That group was at least twice the size of the one we’d just dealt with, which meant we were completely fucking bent if we didn’t make like a ghost immediately.

I yelled out, “We gotta move!” And started back. Get this… Chuck hadn’t been bitten. He had circular bite mark bruises all over his arms and legs that we saw later, and his arm had been broken, but his skin was never pierced. He didn’t lose a drop of blood. Lucky bastard. We got him up, screaming and whining and all, and put him on the stretcher in the back of the rescue truck.

We quickly went over the plan, and decided I’d lead with the plow truck, Patty would be in the middle, and Gilbert would take up the last position in the SUV. Patty protested like a champ to get out of driving the heavy rescue truck, but I told her tough shit. She couldn’t pull a driving stunt like she just did and expect to not have to drive the damn truck. She was like fucking Mad Max pwning the Thunderdome up in that pig. Patty to the rescue.

We loaded up and got moving when the zombies from Main Street were just breaching the edge of the parking lot. I dropped the plow and followed the path we’d made the other day, and just started taking them down at the knees. The horde of bodies was a problem pretty quickly. The plow started to catch on the bodies I was running over, and was hopping up and down, chopping, slowing me down to a fucking crawl. The zombies I was driving past were getting the chance to hit at the windows of the truck, and that scared the hell out of me. There was a LOT of fucking zombies.

I raised the plow again, and that did it. No longer scraping over and getting kicked from the bodies, I got another ten miles an hour of speed, and we were off. Abby had the radio in the truck up, and was saying that driving over the bodies was causing Chuck serious pain. Makes sense. Shake the hell out of a broken arm. Just thinking about it sends shocks up and down my spine. Poor guy.

Once we made it to Main Street and hung our right to head home we were in the “clear.” Note the quotations Mr. Journal. On Main Street I punched it, and put a solid hundred yards between us and the mob of rotting dead. Almost immediately Gilbert came on the radio urgently. All he said was “I got a flat.”

Fuck me in the butthole.

I slowed down and pulled the most awkward nine point turn in the history of driving. Patty Just pulled over with the truck and rolled the window down. She asked what she should do, and I said to sit tight. Gilbert had come to a stop in the middle of the road with the truck kicked sideways a smidge. As I pulled up next to him, I saw his driver’s side front tire was blown out. He was getting out as I stopped. I told him to get the shit in the SUV together. I drove past the Explorer far enough to give me time to pull another shit-tastic nine point turn. We didn’t have much time though, the undead were not far away, and we’d lost a lot of time turning around. As I finally made it back to Gilbert we had maybe 25 yards before the mass of undead would be on us. I got out of the truck like lightning and grabbed the bags of supplies we’d loaded into the back. Heavy duty first aid kit, extra ammo, etc. I threw them as hard as I could up into the dump bed of the truck and Gilbert got into the passenger side.

As I came around the back of the truck to get in, two or three zombies that had apparently faster ground speeds were less than ten feet away. Maybe they were Kenyan. I stopped, went into my firing stance, drew the Glock and snapped off a few rounds, dropping them. Thank God for good shooting skills.

I got around to the driver’s side, got in, and we got the fuck out. I accidentally clipped the front fender of the SUV with the plow blade on the way past it, sending it into a spin. It came to a rest almost across the road like a roadblock. Guess it pays to be lucky. We caught up to Williams clan in the heavy rescue truck, and we took off. They followed as I led.

Gilbert wasn’t happy on the drive back. Too close for comfort, is the short version of the tongue lashing he handed out. It wasn’t directed at me, just a generalized outburst. Despite coming out of it more or less unscathed (minus Chuck’s broken paw) this was a complete fucking soup sandwich. We didn’t fully grasp how close we came to being completely bent until about an hour ago, after I did an ammo assessment. I’ll get to that in a second.

When we got him back to campus we got a splint on his arm in the ambulance, and got him into Hall A. Randy let his Xbox character get eaten by a dragon when he saw his dad’s condition. That little guy had a meltdown when he saw how messed up his dad was. Charles broke the top bone in his left arm, apparently that one is called the Radius. Snapped that bitch right in two. He said someone (hopefully one of the dead guys, and not me on my bull charge) stepped on his arm, and it snapped. He had also been bitten just about everywhere, but not once had his skin been broken. If I believed in miracles, this would be one. I do however believe in the tensile strength of denim and the overall quality of North Face jackets.

We doped the shit out of him. Once he was out cold from the strongest pain killers we could find, Gilbert and I did some field medicine on him and got the arm set as best we could. Surprisingly we didn’t have any cast materials in our rather substantial medical supplies, so we opted for a pretty swanky air cast we had. He’s going to be in it for some time. Weeks at least. According to our medical text books it could take him as much as six weeks to heal. The break was pretty shitty. Obviously we can’t do x-rays, but it took us some careful positioning to get it set just right so it seemed straight. We’ll check it every day to make sure it’s not getting worse, and if it does, we’ll have to cut him open and see if we need to attach the bone somehow.

Adrian Ring, Orthopedic Surgeon, at your service. LOL. Good thing he can’t sue me. He strikes me as the kind of guy who used to golf with lawyers too.

Several kinds of bad fallout over this. Chuck has a broken arm, and will be largely useless for at least 3-4 weeks. We can’t risk his arm healing all fucked up, so he MUST get rest, and must keep the arm immobilized. If he heals gimpy, he’ll be useless permanently.

Randy did not take his dad’s injuries lightly. He yelled, he screamed, he even cried some, and then came at me and started beating on me. He blames me for his dad getting hurt. Patty and Abby got him off me, but not before he scored a direct hit on the old twig and giggle berries. Fucking kids man. I swear to God they have this innate, youth given aptitude for smashing nut sacks. Nut seeking missiles.

So add my smashed nut sack to the bad elements of fallout.

We lost the Explorer. Remember during the Westfield firefight the Explorer lost a tire? Even if we returned with the express intention of getting the SUV, we’d need to get a damn tire first. So basically write it off.

Remember when I said 184 rounds of 5.56 wasn’t shit? I pissed through 122 rounds today. I now have a whopping 62 rounds left. *facepalm*

The reason why Chuck decided to go all Conan the Retardarian on the zombies? He’d shot all his fucking .30-30 for the Winchester, and had bricked on the fact that he had a fucking sidearm. He went down for the count with a loaded 9mm on his hip. I think we had 30 rounds of .30-30, and that’s frigging history. If he’d shot in the other direction first, things might’ve been much different. I can’t fault the guy though. He might’ve been a bonehead about it, but he stepped up hard when it mattered, and I cannot expect good fire discipline, and perfect decision making all the time. It’s unfair to hold him to my own personal standards. I can’t force my expectations into reality.

Patty and Abby torched some serious .22 rounds, but surprisingly, not as much as I’d thought. Abby said she went through two whole tubes in the Marlin, plus all 10 rounds in her pistol. That’s 44 shots. Patty said she shot all her mags, which was another 30 rounds. That’s a grand total of 74 shots fired by the women, and from what I saw, they were quality rounds downrange. Zombies got put down by Team Vagina with extreme prejudice. Suck on that undead horde. Estrogen for the win.

My Glock had a dry clip in it when I got back, which means I shot 13 .45 caliber rounds. Wish I’d known I had an empty handgun in my holster. That’s the kind of thing that gets you killed. Makes me feel like a dumb shit. Oh well. Lesson learned.

Moral of the story is this: we shot a lot of fucking bullets today, and we are effectively running a warm body lighter. We do have a heavy duty ambulance though, loaded with fresh medical supplies. We also found out that Patty is a demon behind the wheel, and that both the women perform under pressure. Hopefully they don’t start stressing out over it. When I left Hall A earlier, they actually seemed in really good spirits. I think stepping up to the plate and seeing that they didn’t fold under pressure did more for their confidence than I could’ve hoped for.

I am so fucking sore it’s not even funny. Going toe to toe with all those zombies when I got Charles freed up burned some of my candle at both ends. Not only did I damn near “bite it” but I also strained the shit out of my body. I didn’t start to hurt until about an hour ago, but right now, I feel like I felt after getting tackled about 50 times in a football game. My HAIR feels sore right now. I’ve got bruises on my fingernails. I pissed a few minutes ago and I swear I could hear it screaming for joy to get the hell out of me. I’m a dangerous vehicle to be on a ride with.

Sigh.

I just took a handful of ibuprofen. Otis is now rubbing up on me, which has cheered me up dramatically. I’m going to go fall down in my bed, which sounds like the best possible thing I could do, possibly ever.

I don’t know if I should chalk this up as a win Mr. Journal. It feels very much like a draw.

-Adrian

January 18th

I don’t like drama Mr. Journal. And regardless of how hard I try to avoid it, drama keeps finding its way into my life. Why is the world trying my fucking patience?

I almost made an entry late last night, which I guess would’ve been early this morning about what happened after we got back from downtown, but I decided to knock myself out with a vicodin. I know I shouldn’t be doing that, but after what happened, I don’t think I could’ve slept any other way.

I think I’m being betrayed. I think we are being betrayed. I’m not sure yet.

Last night when we got back I put my entry in and passed the fuck out. Literally face planted on my bed with exhaustion. I was having this weird dream about a police television show when I kind of half woke up, and realized something was wrong.

I was hearing the police radio. The one I forgot to turn off next to my bed. Our radio.

Need a moment to calm down or I’ll put my fist in a wall.

-Adrian

January 18th (2nd entry)

Back. I took a half hour to relax myself. Didn’t want to punch a hole in the laptop Mr. Journal. Was pretty close there for a second.

Stay calm.

Gilbert was on the radio at about 2am this morning talking to someone.

Fuck. I’m back to furious. Try this again later.

-Adrian

January 18th (3rd entry)

Alright. I think I’m calm again. I punched a few holes in the wall in a bedroom I’m not using. Scared the shit out of Otis doing it though, and now I feel like a fucking jackass. I hate scaring people when I’m angry. Otis is people.

Goddamn it man. Of all people why Gilbert? Making fists every time I stop typing. I am literally dangerous right now. And not in the zombie ass kicking way. I’m glad it’s late, and I’m alone.

I only caught maybe a minute of the conversation. It was definitely Gilbert, and a single male voice that I didn’t recognize. I know it wasn’t Sean, because I would definitely recognize that asshole’s voice. Captain Snowpants maybe? An as yet undisclosed asshole of unknown origin?

The general gist of the conversation was lost on me. I only caught the other person asking how Gilbert was doing. Gilbert said he was good, and that things were okay “up here”. The other person said that was good, and asked when “your” next trip out would be. Gilbert said he didn’t know, but he knew “we” had a plan for at least one more trip downtown.

What confuses me, is that when the other speaker asked what we were heading downtown for, Gilbert said he wasn’t sure. He just knew that we were planning one more trip. Now Gilbert knows we wanted to do one, possibly two more trips. One more trip to the station for the pumper truck, and once more to the grocery store to get the guns off the roof. But he didn’t say that. He either declined to say it to keep a secret from that person, or he’d forgotten, which seems really unlikely to me. Gilbert is far too sharp to have forgotten anything.

The other voice after that said something about okay, well you be careful, and then something like, don’t let “him” get you killed.

Really not sure what to make of that. On one hand, the part of the conversation I heard seemed mundane and harmless. On the other hand, it was Gilbert, telling people about MY FUCKING ACTIVITIES! Grrr.

I feel so betrayed. I haven’t said anything to anyone. Today was awkward. I wound up sleeping in because of the vike I took, and when I finally crawled out of here at noon, everyone was already in full swing. Took me just about every ounce of focus I had to not be a prick to people, and to not just scream out what the hell I’d heard on the radio. Man. So hard to not throw him under the damn bus. Abby and Randy were out gathering wood for their woodstove, and Patty was inside relaxing keeping Chuck company. He’s doing fairly well. His arm is a little swollen and red, but there doesn’t appear to be an infection. Trying to keep it mostly immobile. He was a little out of it from the painkillers we’ve got him on, but that’s for the best.

I made sure to rain praise down on the whole family. Everyone performed to a pretty high standard when they had to the other day, and they needed to know they did a good job. I am relying on these people, and if they do a good job, they need to know it.

Abby and Patty took the praise well. Even Randy did too, and all he did was hold down the fort. He still needed to know that in doing what he did, and being brave and well behaved was a big, important part to everything going well. He beamed. I felt like I was at work again, helping the kids. Made my day.

Didn’t make me forget about Gilbert’s bullshit though.

Patty wanted to know when we were going back down to the grocery store or the fire station again and I told her I didn’t know. I really wanted to hit the police station once more for the pump truck, but in reality it could wait. Our real priority, especially considering our recent ammunition consumption and Gilbert’s fucked up transgression was getting that ammo off the roof, regardless of whatever it was. We needed more bullets badly. If we get into a firefight with the Westfield people tomorrow, we are going to be up shit’s creek with the paddle jammed where the sun doesn’t shine.

Patty and Abby suggested that we roll out tomorrow. I said no, but their reasoning was solid. We take the plow and the ladder truck, and simply go to the grocery store. There only needs to be two drivers, and our time outside the vehicles will be almost nil. Patty can drive the ladder truck, as it’s just slightly larger than the rescue truck she handled the other day, and I can drive the plow and clear the lot for us to move around in.

Chuck, in his drugged up state even offered to sit in the cab of the ladder truck with a .22 and perform security while I hit the roof. Makes some sense too, as the Marlin 60 can take 17 rounds, so he won’t have to reload much, if at all. Abby can pull security as well.

Not sure about Gilbert though. Well, at that point in the conversation I’d decided to leave him out of it, but since then I’ve changed my mind. More on that in a second.

Abby, Patty and I all took a jaunt to the back parking lot and figured out how to operate the ladder on the ladder truck. Turns out, it’s fairly simple. We almost tipped the fucker over though when we forgot to put the stabilizers out. Oops. You’d think there’d be a safety setting to stop that from happening, but the truck is kinda old. It’s a small town. We can’t afford all the new high tech shit.

We got it down to the point where we could stop the truck, get it stabilized, and get the ladder up in five minutes. Not shabby at all. Hopefully we can avoid the undead, hit them with the plow, or get in and out before they get through the parking lot to us and our vehicles. With luck, this could be a ten to twenty minute operation.

After doing that for three hours in the cold, we decided the mission was a go for the 19th. Now what to do about Gilbert? My options as I saw them were this: I could tell him right then, and see if he tells other people about it first, and then I’ve got him by the short and grey hairs. Or, I don’t tell him at all, and then tell him when we get back. That, or I can tell him first thing in the morning, as we’re leaving, and then leave the radios on to see if he tells anyone while we’re on our way down… Interesting eh? So much plotting.

I have opted to stop at his place on our way out tomorrow morning and tell him we’re leaving. See what happens and see how he reacts. I’m not sure what the hell is up, and I don’t know who he was talking to last night, but I aim to find out. Not before he talks to them again mind you... I want to catch him red handed and see if I can get to the bottom of it all.

So yeah. Really fucking angry, but also kind of excited to catch Gilbert and all his espionage bullshit. I really trusted that guy, and to find out he’s talking to someone else on the side now.. Not fucking cool. Makes me regret being nice to him in the first place. I hope I’m wrong about whatever it is he’s doing. I hope he was talking to an ammunition manufacturer and was really putting in a giant order to be delivered or something.

Tomorrow we make a lightning strike on the grocery store, and if all goes well, we’ll be in and out in under 20 minutes. Assuming Gilbert doesn’t have something sketchy planned for us up his sleeves.

I knew that bastard was sandbagging me.

-Adrian

January 19th

Just wow Mr. Journal. What a fucking day. Rescued from the clutches of depression by a dramatic change in the world? Maybe. Still a little up in the air I guess. I’m rambling.

This could be the moment where the scales start to tip in Adrian’s favor for a change. Could it be? A change for the better? A streak of good luck? Yeah right huh? I’m sure all this good shit means my cock is gonna fall off, or I’ve got anal cancer.

Sigh. Positive mental outlook Adrian. Today was… pretty amazing.

We started our day bright and early. Mostly because early gives us a lot of daylight to work with, but also because I didn’t sleep for shit again last night. I sat there in bed, all damn night with the radio sitting in its charger cradle next to me. I waited for Gilbert to contact his “mysterious” friend, but nothing happened. I think I got perhaps three hours of broken up sleep over the whole night. Needless to say, I was up early.

Brutally cold this morning. Thermometer said it was five below, and that’s not counting wind chill. I screwed around with the ladder for an hour or so as the sun came up to make sure we knew exactly how to get it done. Patty wound up coming out and joining. Apparently Chuck woke up early too and was in pain. She got him half a painkiller and set him up with breakfast, and heard me down here messing with the ladder. We hung out together for awhile and got it down pat. She talked about her relationship with Charles, and having her open up some was nice.

I was more or less right. Chuck was struggling with the weight of killing those men, and feeling stupid and helpless, etc. He was also furious that Randy was being a dick over the Xbox lately, plus Charles felt like he owed me and could never repay it etc. Poor guy. She said the gun training and the being brought in on more things around campus really helped. She also thought (and this is weird) that now with his broken arm, he was, “in.” You know, like bloodied enough to run with the big boys. As weird as that sounds, it does make some sense. He’s got his battle scar now. He’s been in the shit.

After I felt we had messed around with the ladder enough, we went inside. Abby and Charles were more or less ready to go. Charles was in a good place for pain with the painkiller Patty gave him. Comfortably numb, but not entirely out of it. Abby was very much “all business” and I knew she’d be good to go. Even Patty was calm and ready to get to work. It really felt like we were becoming a team of ready people, as opposed to a bunch of scared people being led off a cliff like lemmings. Randy made the trip with us this time. His sole job was to reload the Marlin when and if Charles ran out of bullets, or to take over should Charles be unable to shoot. He looked nervous as balls, but excited too.

Weapons load out for us changed, as you’d imagine after our last run downtown. Abby was not bringing the Marlin, just the Browning .22 pistol. We vowed to get her some range time with a 9mm soon, as she seems ready for it. Charles has the Marlin now, and can shoot it out the window with one hand somewhat accurately. Patty is rocking the Tac .22, and my personal load is the same, except now I’ve only got 2 magazines for the M15A4. A lot lighter, but that’s weight I never want to come off me.

Not cool. I was definitely not happy about my ammo situation, but the more I thought about it, the less important it seemed. I mean shit, I went down to the grocery store in June with a .22 and a shotgun and made it out. I’ve got 60 rounds of 5.56, a great rifle, a great pistol, and three people with me that are field tested, and pretty good shots. Seriously, that’s a huge fucking improvement.

So once we were geared up, we headed to Gilbert’s place. Patty had no trouble driving the giant ladder truck, but I asked her to stay on Auburn Lake Road and wait. I didn’t want her trying to negotiate the cul de sac with the giant truck unless she had to. Abby and I zipped down the road to Gilbert’s place, and we knocked on the door. He came to the door in his peejays with a slightly surprised look on his face. He asked what the hell we were doing, and I told him. Last minute plan, everything should be easy, and he could come if he wanted.

To his credit, he said hang on, and got his shit together. We were on the road within ten minutes. When we rejoined Patty on Auburn Lake Road Gilbert got out of the plow and switched to the fire truck. Better visibility, higher off the ground, and all in all just safer. We did a quick comms check and we were off.

Now a comms check seems like it might be a bad idea, right? I guess that’s one way to look at it. If there was someone out there listening, we were basically telling them we were on the move. I specifically didn’t say anything about where we were going. All we said was “daily comms check, everyone check in please.” That way we weren’t tipping our hand. We had my radio, the fire truck radio, and then Patty had her own radio, so three voices chimed in. Gilbert didn’t bring his radio.

Anyway, I thought it was a good idea because if someone WAS listening, I wanted them to think we didn’t know about them. If they thought they had the element of surprise, I could misinform them at my leisure. Plus I didn’t want to tip Gilbert off to the fact that I knew he and someone else was up to something. That was my logic at the time, right or wrong.

And we were off. Like a herd of turtles, shuffling down the road. Once again the roads were decent for driving, even though we got a dusting of snow overnight last night. Nothing was amiss until we turned onto Main Street, which seems to be the rule lately. I don’t know why, but they never seem to make it past Main Street. I don’t know if they get to the end of the street and lose our trail, or they’re getting distracted by something or what, but that’s pretty much as far as they’ve gotten.

There was something like 15 or 20 zombies milling about in the road on Main Street. Mind you, we only went as far as the grocery store. Just as I was dropping the plow and turning into the parking lot of the store though, Abby pointed down the road at a pretty substantial gathering of undead. I’d say maybe two thirds the size of the group we left behind from the other day. They were milling about in the road, and as soon as she pointed in their direction, they started to assemble and head in our direction. I figured we had 15 or 20 minutes until they got to us.

I had Abby watch the clock in the truck and I started plowing the lot. Luckily the snow was loosely formed in the shape of the curbs so I was able to plow the way down to the store without smashing the truck at all. I knew our best approach was to get on the roof from the front of the store. That way I wouldn’t have to plow around the back. Time was everything on this trip. After 3 minutes of plowing, she called time and that was it, we were on to part 2.

I basically plowed straight down to the store, then cleaned an area that was roughly the shape of a giant lollipop so we had the space to park both vehicles, as well as turn around. Patty waited in the road until I was done, then I radioed her to “come on down.”

She parked the truck just about perfectly and we sprung into action. Abby kept track of time for us again, and she called time at 5 minutes once, just as we got the stabilizers down, and the ladder on its way up. As soon as the ladder was up, I told the women to pull security, and that I’d take care of everything else. It took me another 45 seconds to get the ladder just right, and then I was off. Up, up and away.

The front of the grocery store is pretty much all a façade. It’s a giant advertising sign. At the top there was a three foot tall ledge made of wood and vinyl. As soon as I got high enough on the ladder, I knew this was going to be a little more complicated. Milling about on the roof were three zombies.

They were dressed like the sniper who shot at me was dressed when I came here in June. Dressed for battle, or dressed for hunting. They were wearing ammo vests, and they were all covered in blood. They had to have been survivors from the shootout that made it to the roof that day, and must have succumbed to wounds, starvation, or were bitten by their dead friends. No matter how you slice it, they had to be put down.

Now the rifle was a difficult option on the ladder three stories up over the parking lot, so I opted for the Glock. By the time I drew it the zombies were almost at the façade, reaching across the open space at me, and I had to shoot quick. I braced myself on the ladder, radioed down that I was about to fire my weapon, and took my shots. It was a little windy up there, and freezing cold to boot, so I missed my first shot. It took me five shots to kill all three of the undead pricks. Luckily they dropped backwards instead of going head over heels over the façade.

Once I was sure there was no other lurking undead just on the other side of the façade I got up, put the Glock away, and jumped off the ladder and over the wall. I landed on my side in the snow pretty softly, and got to work as fast as I could. I brought an empty bag over my shoulder and searched the pockets of the people I’d just shot. They had a good amount of ammo on them, though I didn’t get to count it yet. They also all had handguns in holsters, and I cut their belts and yanked the guns off. They also had a few magazine holsters as well, which is awesome. Again, haven’t checked it all yet.

It took me almost ten minutes of kicking the snow around to find a bag. Hurt like a bitch when I smashed my toe on it too. It was actually more than one bag. There was a pile of rifles and shotguns in their own carrying cases, which was awesome. I didn’t look through them, I just leaned them up and kept scouring. I found a heavy duty gym bag that had about 15 boxes of various kinds of ammo in it too. They were moist, but I think they’re good for shooting.

I wound up hollering down to Abby for help. There was no way I could get it all down in one pass. She came up the ladder, a little nervous too, and took the bag of ammo, and one of the long guns. Once she made it down safely, I came over and grabbed everything else to head down. Before I did though, I took a good long look around at town. I hadn’t been this high up in town since probably last winter when I went to a co-workers party at her apartment downtown. She lived in the tallest building in town, which was the 5 story or so building near the center of town.

I could see her building, it was maybe a mile away. Trees, snow, and other buildings obscured me seeing anything ground level far away, but I could without a doubt see a lot of destroyed houses. It looked an awful lot like fire was unkind to that area. With no fire department, any house fire is a nightmare. I could see huge swathes of town were decimated, just flattened and blackened from being burnt out. Even the tall apartment building had areas covered with scorch marks, like a few apartments had caught fire.

I can’t even imagine the horror. One of the more disturbing things I saw, dotting the landscape in all directions, in every neighborhood, I could see signs of smoldering ruins. Dozens of fires either still burning slowly, or completely burnt out. That told me there were still people all over the place, and that they had recently burnt their own homes down somehow. House fires are a lot more common when people are using electric heaters, falling asleep smoking a butt, or using makeshift wood stoves. It would’ve sucked to have made it this far, just to die in a house fire, with zombies beating down your down, waiting for you to open up to escape.

Fucking creepy.

My town is ruined. It’d take years to rebuild it even if we had federal support and an army of builders. That’s all gone now. Everyone is dead or dying, scraping out some kind of life out of the ruins. Just like us.

Gunshots from below broke my trance. The giant pack of undead was at the edge of the parking lot, and Charles and Patty were firing at them, cutting the lead walkers down. I watched them shoot for a second and had a huge moment of pride. Charles was shooting all half assed out the window of the fire truck below, and Patty was leaning against the truck to steady herself. Both were shooting slowly, aiming carefully, and actually hitting their targets. I watched bodies disappear into the deep snow one after another.

It wouldn’t be enough though. There were at least a hundred of them coming, probably more like two or three hundred. I climbed down as desperately as I could, trying not to drop my armload of long guns. I actually did fumble one as I was getting off the ladder, and it poomphed into the snow. I was convinced it was going to go off and blast one of my ass cheeks clear off. Felt like I had that coming to be honest. Remind me to tell you my “how my friend got shot in the ass” story sometime. It’s a winner.

We tossed the weapons in the back of the truck pretty much simultaneously, and I started to get the ladder put down and away. It took less time to put away, thankfully. One minute and twenty seconds to be exact. I had Abby count that off too. Once the ladder was secured I hollered out to Patty that we were moving. She got in the ladder truck after taking one last head shot at a zombie 30 feet away. I tell you what….. deep snow makes for an amazing trap for them things. They can’t wade through it effectively, and they fall down a lot, tripping the others up. What a blessing that was.

We got the fuck moving. Nick of time too. The leading edge of the horde was maybe ten feet from the front plow blade before we got moving. Now I parked the plow in front so I could sweep our path a little clearer if needed, and it needed it. Now I’m talking about snow as well as zombies here. I gunned it, blasted through the handful that’d made it near us, and spun a wide arc to give Patty more room with the truck. Once I was off, she gunned her rig as well, and we were off.

That’s when the radio fired up. The first transmission was something like this, “Hey out there, everything okay? Hearing some faint gunfire is that you, over?”

Frankly, I nearly drove the fucking truck into a light pole. I was not expecting that at all. I grabbed the walkie handset on my collar and thumbed it to respond. I said something like this, “Everything is fine thank you. May I ask who this is, over?”

“My name is Jason. Who is this? This is an emergency police channel, over.” No shit. Jason the cop. I fucking knew that guy. He was probably the youngest guy on the force. Wowzas.

“Jason Chambers?” I asked trying to hide my excitement. Abby next to me was literally gaping in a half “holy shit” moment and a half “oh my God this is awesome.”

“Yeah? Who is this, over?”

“Adrian Ring. Remember me? You used to date a woman in admissions at ALPA? Amy? We met a few times?” I was amazed he was alive.

“Yeah holy shit man. Figured you were dead. Any idea what happened to Amy?”

She was dead. “Yeah Jason. She didn’t make it. Got bitten the first day I think.” Man I hated to tell him that, but he needed to hear it. I could see Abby frowning. I think she got along with Amy. Shit I got along with Amy, she was really nice.

He was quiet for some time as we drove down Main Street heading towards home, after a few hundred yards he responded, “Yeah well. Happened to a lot of people. That sucks.”

“Yeah man I’m sorry.” We were quiet for a minute. Long enough to get to the end of Main Street. A different voice came on the radio next, and I recognized it. I instantly knew it was the same voice Gilbert was talking to in the middle of the night.

“Mr. Ring, this is Chief of Police Brian Moore. It’s nice to hear another voice.”

No fucking way. Now I knew who raided the police station arms lockers. And Gilbert, that old bastard was talking to him? Man that set my gears spinning. I responded something like this, “Hey Chief. You realize there’s no government any more right? You’re sort of out a job really.”

He responded laughing, “Yeah, yeah. They keep telling me that here. Was that you guys firing downtown a bit ago? Our spotters said they heard gunfire in the distance. Few miles away.”

I did the math. Gunfire doesn’t travel much more than a few miles. They had to be within 5 miles or so of the grocery store at most. “Yeah that was probably us. Hey did you know there are a shitload of zombies out here?”

‘Yeah they keep telling me that too. We haven’t left in some time though, got it pretty well set up here. Plenty of room now too. We’ve got electricity and hot water. Hot food too.” Ever the fucking salesman.

“Where are you guys? How many are you?” I figured what the fuck, he might answer.

“We’re at Solar Technology Innovations Group, in the industrial complex going out of town. There’s about a hundred and fifty of us here now. We’ve got plenty of supplies, and food, and from the sounds of how you're doing, we could use your help too.”

Hm. Interesting. Hundred and fifty people. What the fuck was Gilbert thinking? How did he know what was going on there? Was he messing around on the radio? What was up? Lots of thoughts Mr. Journal, running rampant right now.

“Well Chief, I’m not alone, you’d need space for a few dozen.”

He responded after a minute, “Adrian please call me Brian. Like you said, I’m sort of out of a job right? Well, we can take that many. We had almost two hundred here to start, but lots of folks have left to go home, or go search for relatives, plus we lose people here and there to, well, you know. We’d be delighted to have you Adrian. You and your people.”

You know I always liked him. Stand up guy with a good family life. Not a dick cop either. Fair, smart, just a good dude. I liked his dad too, he owned Moore’s Sporting Goods where I got my first guns “that day.” Anyway, I wasn’t about to speak for everyone else right there.

“Well, we can communicate on this channel tomorrow, let’s say at six pm? I gotta talk to my people before I say anything else.” Figured that’d buy me some time.

“No rush. Take care of your people. Talk to you tomorrow around 6pm. Brian out.”

I didn’t use the radio again during our ride back. Half of that was because I didn’t want them to hear anything we said, and the other half was because Abby was hysterical over the idea that there were even a hundred and fifty people alive. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. I hate to admit it, but I was smiling too.

The ride back was uneventful. Nothing of note anywhere in the roads, and no flat tires either. Yay for the little things. When we got back to campus the mood was one of ecstasy. Well, once we got poor Chuck back into Hall A and medicated. His arm was fucking killing him, and I think he’d had enough of Randy breathing down his throat for two hours. All told, the trip was probably an hour and a half at most. Pretty good.

We kept one radio on and all sat down in the Hall A kitchen. Randy (who has become quite the talented stove tender) got the stove flared up some, and in short order we were all toasty again. I didn’t realize how cold my frigging feet were.

So yeah. Cocoa. We had a bunch of the sealed packs from somewhere, and after getting some water hot on the stove we all had one. Lots of chatter. Gilbert and I both sat back and watched them all. I mostly sat back and tried to watch Gilbert. He was reserved. Not sure what my read was on him just yet either. He’s a damn good liar.

I’ll boil down our three hour debate as best I can. Chuck and Patty think we should pack up our shit and go. Like tomorrow. They think the Chief will be able to protect them, and they think there are endless amounts of food and water and power and whatever else their heart desires there. Randy will do whatever his mom and dad want. Abby wants to stay here, as she’s comfortable here, and she has a general disdain for authorities.

Gilbert thinks doing anything quickly would be hasty. He’s set up in his house all snug as a bug in a rug anyway, so he’s not going anywhere I’d bet. Although, he obviously has some kind of connection to these guys already. Gonna have to get to the bottom of that.

I don’t know what to think. I agree that hasty decisions are bad. (Not that I don’t have a history of being impulsive lol) But I think we’ve got a damn good thing going here, and walking away from it would be a bad idea. We’d need to talk to them more, make sure we were compatible, and even visit their place. Shit, we probably have it better here anyway.

So here’s the plan. Tomorrow I take inventory of the stuff we got today. I dug it all out of the snow in the truck bed after our meeting and got it inside. I think we made out big time too. I saw some juicy morsels in those bags, and as long as they’re still working, we might be rolling in it. Oprah rich up in this bitch. Ooh. That rhymed.

After that we’re making the call to Brian to chew the fat. Our plan is this: be cordial, shoot the shit, and exchange as much non crucial information as we can. We might even see if we can start doing trades. I know we’ve got spare stuff and from the sounds of it, and so do they. Maybe we can open lines of communication through mutually beneficial trade? I also think tomorrow I will let Patty and or Chuck in on the fact that Gilbert is being shady somehow. I need allies against Gilbert if something is shifty, and they’re all I got. Otis might be my people, but he’s terrible when it comes to conversation or debate. He can only meow in so many ways.

So yeah. Awesome. More guns, more ammo, and potentially more people. More people that haven’t tried to kill us.

Yet.

-Adrian

January 21st

It occurs to me that frequently when I sit down to put an entry in Mr. Journal, I find myself either angry, or conflicted. I bet if I went back and took note of all the entries that I started out on a happy note, I could count them on one hand. It’s terrible.

I will start this entry out by saying I am currently feeling… mixed up. So much is happening, and things feel like they’re getting out of my control. I didn’t get the chance to do the weapons inventory I wanted to do yesterday. Too busy plotting and scheming. I knew I was supposed to be getting ready to talk to Brian on the radio at 6pm, and I couldn’t focus on what I was doing without getting distracted. Plus something very weird happened earlier today. I mean capital W weird.

I wound up doing a campus patrol on foot yesterday morning, and I stopped at the archery range and sent some of the fancy arrows from the new high tech bow flying. Got pretty good with it after an hour. Patty wound up coming out to talk to me about halfway through. She’s worried about Charles.

Patty is scared of the STIG people. She’s got a pretty substantial chip on her shoulder about the Westfield incident, and she sees the same thing happening again. Charles on the other hand has this “good feeling” about Brian, and thinks that moving the family to a solar power company is the best idea since sliced bread. She said he’s pretty dead set on the idea. Patty wants to wait it out awhile and get to know them more. She was worried about my plans on the matter.

I told her I was worried as well. I also told her that Brian Moore is a stand up dude who I respected. I told her I also knew the other cop on the radio, and that he was a good guy as well. If they had a hundred and fifty people there and were okay on food and water and energy, there was a lot to think about. Food water and energy are three of the four resources that are critical right now. (The fourth resource being security.) And like I said, we needed to THINK about it.

STIG is all the way across town. Miles past the furthest point into town we’ve been. Both times we’ve ventured out that far we’ve been overwhelmed by an army of undead, and if we’re planning on going that far again, then we need to make a strong plan. She agreed. I told her I’d come over to Hall A when I was about to contact Brian. We left it that we’d see how the conversation with Brian went, and then talk after.

Gilbert showed up on campus at 4:30 when I was jotting notes down. He knocked and I let him in to Hall E. I tried my best to hide my emotions, but I think he knows something is up. He didn’t say anything, I just had that feeling.

He asked me what my plan was, and I told him I had no plan yet. He scolded me for not having a plan, and then discussed a few of his own ideas. I’m sure he was planting his own seeds, but his ideas were strange to me. They definitely confused me about his role in the matter after the radio conversation I overheard the other night.

He said we should flat out not move there. More accurately, he said he definitely wasn’t moving there. Too many people in one place like that is just bad news in his opinion. He felt we needed to be close, but not packed in like sardines, and that’s exactly what those people were. 150 people in one huge building. That definitely sounds like a recipe for disaster considering the state of the world.

I had to agree with him. I definitely wanted to get in touch, stay in touch, and if possible, enter into a trade agreement. My worry was that with the Williams family split on the matter, it’d cause problems. I didn’t want Charles to be miserable here, and I don’t want Charles to be miserable there if his family splits up. It just seems like lose/lose to me. Gilbert agreed.

Here’s the pisser. What’s Gilbert’s fucking angle? He’s talking to them already, and judging from the conversation I heard the other night he’s already been talking to them. That tells me he either had a radio already, or he’s been communicating some other way. Come to think of it… He has been tooling around on that snowmobile a lot. And that clever bastard said he wanted a fuel barrel near his house.

Tomorrow I’m checking that barrel and seeing if it’s lower than it should be. I bet that’s it. I bet he’s been going out and making trips and somehow talked to them. Although a radio seems more likely. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow when I check the barrel. That also raises another question. If he’s been in physical contact with the STIG people, then he knows how to get there and back unscathed. Even if it’s on a snowmobile, that’s a highly valuable bit of intel.

Anyway. I guess the point is that I’m not sure what Gilbert’s angle is. He’s obviously friendly with them, but he’s telling me to be cautious in dealing with them. He’s playing both sides here, and that almost always ends badly. Of course, he was a Green Beret Captain, and they are well known for doing just that with great success. They train to build indigenous support, gather intelligence, subvert the enemy, and overcome with minimal resources expended.

What is he up to?

By then it was almost six, so we jaunted to Hall A. Everyone was gathered at the table, and we sat down. I had my notepad, and Patty had hers. At precisely 6pm on the dot, the radio fired up, and it was Brian. He was breaking up some, but overall the signal worked. We talked for the better part of two hours.

I won’t bore you with every detail. This was an ice breaking conversation. Brian’s side of it was recanting how he handled “that day” and how his wife died. I guess she died in a car crash near their house, and wandered through the neighborhood, killing two people and his beagle before he shot her himself. Insult and injury. His two kids and his mom lived, which was great.

After that he got the call that a few officers of his and a bunch of plant officials had set up shop at STIG. It makes total sense, and I wish I’d thought of it. The plant is over a hundred thousand square feet, and is almost entirely powered by solar energy. Part of the building is shaped like a donut, and has a courtyard adjacent to their cafeteria that can be converted into a garden in the spring, and they’ve got a ton of food. He said they’ve scrounged a lot from that side of town as well, and they’re good on food supplies.

The bad news he had was the fallout from “that day.” Like I said I lost all media and information access in short order, and the electricity wasn’t far behind that, but the police radios stayed up and running for weeks. They lasted as long as people kept them charged, and used them. Shit we’re still using them now.

Police and firemen used them to relay information to each other across great distances. The repeater towers for the cities and state went out when the power died so they literally had to “pony express” messages across the state. One radio to the next, passing the messages along like a game of telephone. From the sounds of it, that news was rarely good.

The two entirely new things he shared with me about the world were pretty fucking humbling. First off, people fucking suck. Remember the grocery store shootout I sort of caught the tail end of in June? Guess what? The store manager paid those assholes to keep Brian’s people out. Brian was attempting to procure the goods for his folks, and the store manager said fuck no. Brian said they showed up in uniform, with badges, and the store manager and his people still leveled guns at them. All those men were killed by Brian and his people. Killed by cops. I don’t know what to think about that. On one hand, if I were Brian, I’d do the same thing. On the other hand…. Did he have any authority at that point to appropriate food? Fucked if I know.

The second really shitty thing was disease. From what he said the undead hit in two heavy waves. The first wave was “that day” and the second wave was maybe 40 or 50 days later, sometime around the first week of August. The first wave of undead was starting to thin out, and people were beginning to think it was safer to move around again. People didn’t have access to a lot of freshwater in the urban environments, so they were drinking bad water, or they were all leading the undead to the sources of freshwater. Unlike animals in Africa, zombies observe no truce at the watering hole.

Lots of people got sick from waterborne parasites that exist everywhere. With no toilets people were shitting and pissing like idiots near where they ate, and that started all kinds of stomach illnesses, which couldn’t be addressed because there were like, no fucking doctors anywhere. E Coli, Salmonella from bad food, dysentery, cholera…. It was like diseases were on sale. Those deaths started the second heavy wave of undead. Now we’re left to handle the remnants from both major outbreaks.

Brian said he lost six people to a violent stomach bug in September, and they wound up killing nearly ten more after they died before he and his people got it under control. Luckily they’ve got good freshwater there. I guess the STIG building collects rainwater or snow and has a purifier. Yay for green technology. Pretty nice.

As I was saying, the second wave of undead in August was triggered by people starving, drinking bad water, and people getting sick. Hungry people make shitty decisions. Sick people the same. He said from August to December they couldn’t go downtown at all for any reason. The bodies were so thick in the roads it was impossible to get anything but large trucks through, and even then it became too dangerous.

That’s hardcore shit if it’s the truth. I’m inclined to think it is. He sounded legit.

I kept my side of the story close to my chest. I told him about my stories downtown “that day,” and coming up here because of the remote location, and the bridge as a security feature. Plus we had generators, freshwater nearby, plenty of land to start growing shit, etc etc. I told him I started meeting people early on, and that we had a “fair amount” here. All in all that conversation was pretty positive. I think we both wanted to just open the lines of communication. We agreed that we’d talk again tomorrow at six, which was today just a little bit ago.

After the conversation Gilbert said that went, “Goddamn perfect!” He seemed very pleased with how I handled it, and how everything went down. He immediately launched into this complex series of instructions on how we could build relationships with Brian, and how to integrate our group into his in a beneficial way. Charles of course was gung ho to get up and leave right then, and to be honest, Patty definitely seemed swayed after listening to Brian’s stories. I didn’t get a read on Abby about it, and Randy seemed lost. He plugged back into the Xbox and that was that.

I headed to Hall E and went over my notes. I drifted to sleep in the recliner with Otis in my lap. I had the radio sitting in a charger cradle next to me in case there were some illicit conversations. I heard nothing.

Early morning I was feeling bored. I made myself a decent breakfast, and did the campus patrol again on foot. I found a zombie at the bridge. It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen one there. It was a fairly normal looking guy, aside from the fact that he was bitten to shit. He had blood everywhere on his clothing.

I stood in the road near admissions and watched him. He was in the middle of the road, maybe ten feet from the first van, not quite on the bridge. His head was slung down, and his arms were hanging down straight, just slightly crossed, almost like he was clasping his hands together. He didn’t notice me at all. I figured now was as good a time as any to get some time with the bow, so I notched up one of the fancier hunting arrows, and lined up a shot.

Here’s where it gets weird. Now, the bow doesn’t have a scope. But anyone who uses gun sights can tell you that putting the sight in front of your eye brings things further away into focus. It’s like squinting. When I brought the bow up and lined up the shot, I noticed his hands.

On his left wrist was a dirtied watch. His right hand was pointed at the watch, and slowly, one tap a time, his index finger tapped the yellowing face of the watch. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Like he was waiting for something.

Like he was counting down the time until something would happen.

As soon as I realized that he’s tapping, he stops, and I look up, and now he’s looking right at me. Staring me straight in the fucking face with those milky, vacant eyes. I’ve got goose bumps now just writing about it.

Yeah.

I exhaled slowly, and let the string go. The broad arrowhead pierced his left eye and came out the back of his skull. He went down in a pile, and I vowed not to touch that goddamn body ever. I’d get someone else to move it. That or the thing would sit there and rot until Hell freezes over.

Fucking creepy. What the shit is up with that?

As you might imagine Mr. Journal, I have not left Hall E since. Not feeling safe tonight. I hollered over to the Hall A people to come to me for the radio session when I walked by earlier, and they showed up with Gilbert at about 5:30. I didn’t tell them about my freaky watch wearing zombie. Seemed far too fucked up to share right before our radio talk.

Brian opened it up again at exactly 6pm. Gotta appreciate punctuality. This talk was a little more business, and was the better part of two hours again. Most of it was logistics, and sharing information about what we’d experienced in the downtown area. Effectively his group has been working their way in from the east side of town, and we’ve been working in from the west, moving towards the middle. The northern and southern parts of town are almost exclusively residential, which is both good and bad. Houses likely means zombies, but it also means supplies. Most of the businesses in town have been tossed already, so the last remaining sources of supplies are industrial areas (factories, offices, etc) or houses.

From what he said, his side of town is pretty much overrun with undead. That’s the area my condo is in. That shoots down an easy trip home to get my shit. That’s also where Steve’s apartment is. I hope he got his nice car and never came home. That reminds me, I need to start changing the channel on my radio to see if he actually does make that call someday. I wonder if this thing has a scan feature?

Brian and I didn’t specifically discuss the idea of combining our groups, but he did suggest that there was safety in numbers. I told him flat out that wasn’t true. If we came down with another bout of something like bird flu or whatever we’d be up shit’s creek. That and until we were really sure our groups were compatible we needed to build a relationship first. You don’t move in with people you’ve just met.

He had to concede that point and suggested we open up trade. At the very least, it’d give us a damn good reason to get the downtown area a little more negotiable. He said he knew a route their truck could take that would be safer than the routes they were using before to go downtown, and if we were cool with it, he’d be happy to meet us at a neutral site where we could exchange goods.

I said that sounded good, and we decided we’d talk again on the 23rd and discuss what we had spare to trade, or to specifically ask for items we needed. Hopefully we have some stuff they want, because I know they have something I want.

After Brian said goodbye everyone was fucking stoked. Establishing mutually beneficial trading with another group was an amazing concept. As long as the trade was fair to both parties and went down safely, we were good to go. Plus if I could set up the ambush location um, er, meeting location, I’d feel more comfortable about it.

Lol. Freudian slip there much?

So that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Tomorrow I’m going to check that barrel near Gilbert’s place and see if he’s using more fuel than he should be. After that I’m going to do an inventory of the guns and bullets we got from the store, and take another quick inventory of food to see what we have spare. With any luck, Brian and his people will be in desperate need of spiral bound notebooks. Man if I had a single Twizzler for every one of those I have around here, I’d never want for food again.

Busy busy. I bet five bucks I dream of that dead guy tapping his watch tonight.

Five bucks.

-Adrian

London

Darkness.

Flashing images of violence.

The grating noise of staccato gunfire, then abrupt silence.

Tap tap tap.

“Mr. Whitten. Please wake up,” A female voice spoke from outside the darkness.

Kevin Whitten suddenly realized he was sleeping, and his eyes snapped open. The images of murder and mayhem disappeared. It took him a second to orient himself. He was on a small plane, a Department of State Lear jet. Kevin was sitting in a plush leather chair near the back of the plane. Next to him was his teammate Nate, and facing Nate in a similar chair was Corey, another one of his young security personnel. Standing next to him in the aisle of the government bird was a female flight attendant. She was really a government staffer. She was tapping him on the shoulder and waking him.

“Sorry, what’s up?” Kevin sat forward in his chair and rubbed the crusts out of the corners of his eyes. He noticed Corey was covered in a blanket, and looked like he was coming down with a bug or something. His mid 20’s face was cinched up in his fitful sleep. He had a film of sweat on his brow.

“There’s a call coming in on the satellite phone for you. It’s a Director Lancaster from DOS.” She was pretty. She had short brown hair framing a narrow face. Too skinny for Kevin though.

“Okay.” And with that, Kevin got up. He reached over and put his hand on Corey’s slick forehead before he walked away. He was burning up. Fucking Israel, Kevin thought. Even when you don’t get shot you still get sick. He followed the staffer to the front of the plane, walking past the slumbering Senator Henke, the man they were trying to protect. Kevin noted Henke was snoring in a low baritone, and seemed to be getting some pretty high quality sleep. His three aides were sitting in the seats surrounding him like sycophantic moons in orbit.

The pretty staffer picked up the satellite phone off the cradle on the plane’s wall and handed it to Kevin. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“This is Whitten.”

“You prepared to have your day get worse son?” Lancaster’s voice was distinct. Gruff, and throaty. He even did the clucking of his tongue Kevin remembered from their previous conversation earlier that day.

Kevin closed his eyes and contemplated how much worse his day could get. Things had been pretty shitty in his opinion. He had lost two men in a failed terrorist attack on the Senator a few hours ago in Jerusalem, and he’d watched some of the people killed in that incident get up from clearly lethal wounds, and then attack the living with mindless rage. He had watched the dead come back to life already today, and Lancaster thought he could make Kevin’s day worse. Fat fucking chance.

“Fantastic sir. I look forward to my new opportunity to serve my government,“ Kevin’s words dripped with sarcasm.

Lancaster chuckled, and then clucked his tongue again. “My GPS nerds tell me you’re about half an hour from putting down at Heathrow. We are getting some heavy and verifiable reports that whatever it is that was happening to those dead Jewish folks in Israel is now happening in England as well. Looks like your stay in the United Kingdom will be a short one, Son.”

Kevin couldn’t believe it. How the fuck could that outrace their plane?

“We are making arrangements right now to get you turned around fast. Your plane will put down at Heathrow on a distant runway, and you will be met by a British escort. I’m trying to get you some SAS bodies, but I think Royal Marines are going to have do. They will chopper you and your team to RAF Mildenhall. We’ve got a giant ass airbase there with a jet that’s gonna take you home.”

“Can’t we just land at Mildenhall? Isn’t that place huge?” Kevin was running over the maps of England in his memory. He knew there were a lot of bases to choose from.

“Airspace can’t be cleared for your landing. The 100th Refueling Wing there is balls to the wall getting everything that the Air Force owns up in the air to get home, or get somewhere else to help. The Department of Defense is shitting a cast iron brick right now.” The humor in Lancaster’s delivery couldn’t be missed.

“Wow.” Kevin didn’t know what to say. If the Pentagon was panicking, then things had to be much worse than he understood.

“Your pilots are gonna be in touch with the local gun slingers shortly, and when you touch down at Heathrow, they’ll be able to fill you in on the local situation. You got any questions for me? Might be some time before we talk again. Shit, we might not talk again at all. My shift is almost up.” Lancaster seemed happy at the thought.

Kevin had a few questions, “Lancaster who the fuck is this Henke exactly? I lost two guys for him which I know is the job, but now we’re jumping through some big fucking hoops to get this guy home. DOS bird on standby, now you’re trying to get us an SAS escort to yet another plane in waiting? It’d be nice to know why. Assuming of course it’s not above my pay grade.” Kevin smirked as he rested his head against the interior wall of the cabin.

Lancaster was silent for a few seconds, and then did his trademark tongue gymnastics. Kevin could almost hear the gears grinding in his head. “Son, you follow politics at all?”

“I vote.” Kevin rubbed his eyes.

“Have you ever heard of the title, President pro tempore of the Senate?”

“Nope. Never was big on Latin.”

“If the President dies, the Vice President takes over. If the Vice President dies, the Speaker of the House is after that. If he goes, the President pro tempore of the Senate takes over, and that my friend, is your human luggage, Senator Henke. He’s third in the line of succession for the Presidency, and given the rising level of bullshit in the world right now, there’s a good chance he might move up the line in short order.” Lancaster’s delivery was flat, and deadly serious.

“Okay then. That answers that. What about this fucking dead people bullshit? You know anyone that has any idea what’s going on yet?” This was the real question. One way or the other Kevin would protect Henke. It didn’t matter if he was the President or a plumber.

“Kevin we don’t know. You got the DOS briefing in Tel Aviv earlier today, so you know more than most already. What we’re hearing now is that it might be biological. Doesn’t seem to be a terrorist attack though. Too widespread, too indiscriminate. Plus the CIA is saying most of the terrorist players are dealing with it too. Their chatter is too panicked and disorganized.”

“So...? That doesn’t tell me shit. Is it a plague, Armageddon, what?” Kevin looked at his team resting in the luxurious chairs. Their Khaki pants and buttoned shirts were spattered with blood and dirt. They stuck out in stark contrast to the impeccably clean plane interior.

“I would lean towards the end of days Kevin. We do know this; all bites from the infected apparently are fatal, even little ones. And as you’ve seen, dead folks aren’t really staying dead. If you’ve got anyone near you that’s bitten, you get them the fuck handled.”

Kevin’s gaze locked onto Corey’s fevered and sweaty face. Corey had been bitten earlier.

“Kevin?” Lancaster sensed something was wrong in the silence.

“I got a bitten guy. I’ll handle it.” He shook his head. Lancaster had actually found a way to make Kevin’s day worse.

*****

Kevin settled down in his seat next to Nate and settled his attention on Corey. He started to do the math. They had been in the air for about 4 hours. Corey had been bitten about 45 minutes before that. It was a fairly small bite as Kevin recalled, somewhere on his forearm, or wrist. He couldn’t see the wound right now because Corey was covered up to his neck in a federal blue blanket. Corey was still asleep, but his fidgeting was getting worse. Kevin could see his color was fading as well. When he’d gone to get Lancaster’s call Corey was flush with the red from a high fever. Now he was pasty, had turned a bluish pink, and looked drained of life.

“Sir?” Nate whispered to Kevin.

“Yeah?” Kevin whispered back, never taking his eyes off Corey’s infected face.

“Is there any reason why you’re giving Corey that look? You look like you’re fixing to stab him for sleeping with your baby sister.” Nate leaned closer, clearly nervous.

“Remember the dead people in Jerusalem? The ones that got up and killed Alan and Mike?” Again Kevin’s gaze never turned from the slowly dying teammate sitting across from Nate.

“Yeah? No one’s dead on the plane sir.” Nate grinned in a failed attempt to lighten the moment.

“I just found out that if the dead folk bite someone, they infect them with whatever it is that that brings people back from the dead. All bites are fatal.” Kevin finally broke his stare at Corey, and looked intensely at Nate.

Nate slowly turned away from Kevin and looked at his Marine friend. Kevin could tell Nate was reeling on the inside, even though his face didn’t show any emotion. Marines are good at that. They are always strong no matter how bad it gets. They breed the quit right out of them.

“He’ll die soon from his bite, and when he does, he’ll come back and try and bite us, just the same as the rest of those assholes did in Jerusalem. Right now, we are minutes away from Heathrow, and we gotta figure out what we’re gonna do about him.” Kevin slowly pointed a finger at Corey.

Nate nodded, “I’ll do it.”

Kevin clucked his tongue this time. That seemed fitting. One Marine deserves another. He nodded slowly as he watched Corey again. The pilot gave their typical announcement about the plane being on approach, and to secure their safety belts for landing. Nate fastened his belt, but Kevin didn’t. He wanted no part of being restrained in his seat if Corey suddenly flipped on them and became murderous.

The pilot made another announcement, “I’ve just been notified by the Heathrow Control tower that two helicopters will be landing as soon as we come to a full stop off the runway. They’re going to take everyone onboard to another location. Best of luck people.”

Kevin knew the other location was Mildenhall, a giant airbase maintained by the USAF and the RAF. It was a substantial place, and if his memory served him correctly, was perhaps an hour or two by chopper from London.

The plane’s landing gear slipped down and locked into place, gently rocking the plane. Corey’s head came forward and sank into his chest, lifeless. Nate and Kevin exchanged worried looks. Kevin watched Corey’s chest carefully and realized it wasn’t rising and falling anymore. The plane’s wheels hit the tarmac making the jet lurch in response. Corey’s head swung side to side with no signs of consciousness. Nate reached across the space between and gently hooked the blanket, pulling it off his friend. Kevin noticed immediately as the plane’s brakes slowed them that Corey wasn’t belted in, and he was being pulled forward by the inertia, sending him directly into Nate’s lap.

“Ahh shit!” Nate exclaimed as he started pushing Corey’s limp body away. It was a losing battle for a few precarious seconds as the plane continued to slow, pushing Corey’s 170 pounds into him with tremendous force. Kevin inserted his left arm between the two men and pushed as hard as he could, relieving Nate. The rest of the team turned in their seats, trying to look towards the back of the cabin, attempting to make heads or tails out of what had made Nate yell.

“Corey’s dead. He’s gonna reanimate, we need to be ready when the plane stops to move out immediately!” Kevin hollered out to his team over the grinding of the plane’s brakes. As he finished speaking the plane let up on the brakes and they settled into a reasonable taxi speed. Nate pushed with all his might and sent Corey sailing back across the way into his own seat. The dead Marine landed awkwardly in the seat and stayed still.

“You still have this?” Kevin asked Nate, watching Corey for signs of movement.

“Yeah. Once everyone else is out I’ll take care of him.” Nate swallowed hard.

The plane made a sweeping turn and Kevin looked out one of the small port windows. He could see a lot of planes sitting on the runways and waiting areas. Airport gridlock. It looked to him like the airspace had been cleared for them to land. That or all flights had been flat out canceled. Either was equally plausible at the moment.

Kevin returned his attention to Corey’s apparently dead body as the plane weaved around haphazardly parked jumbo jets and airliners. They were scattered everywhere. Kevin could see passengers inside the planes gawking out the windows, some angrily pointing their jet moving freely. Nate unbuckled his seatbelt and slid his Glock from the holster on his thigh. He rested it in his lap pointing at Corey.

“Go. Get the Senator ready to move. I got this.”

Kevin stood and patted his man on the shoulder. From his belt he pulled his team leader’s white baseball cap, and affixed it on his head. He always felt more professional with the hat on. It felt like wearing a bullet proof vest. The rest of his team were rising from their seats and readying their weapons, ensuring a round was in the chamber. The Senator was still in his seat, obeying the “remain buckled” sign lit on the front of the cabin. Kevin walked up to him and got his attention.

“Senator, as soon as the plane stops and the door opens we are out. Our escorts should be arriving shortly after that via helicopter. You are to remain at my side, at all times. If someone looks at you funny, you tell me or my men, ok?” Kevin’s instructions were intense, and to the point. All the Senator could do was nod in response. Kyle, Kevin’s driver from earlier that day in Jerusalem was standing next to him. He was looking back at Corey’s dead body. After a moment he looked at Kevin and shook his head in disgust. Three men dead in one day. Worst case scenario for these men.

The plane suddenly braked again, sending all the men forward into the luxurious seats. Nate yelped again as Corey’s body fell once more on his lap. Kevin started towards him to give him a hand when Nate yelled again, only this time it was in pain, not surprise. Kevin burst forward, drawing his own pistol.

Nate was bringing the butt of his pistol down on the top of Corey’s head like a jackhammer. He repeatedly smashed the magazine into the back of his friend’s skull. Kevin got to the gap in the aisle and saw what was happening. Corey apparently had reanimated just as his head hit Nate’s lap, and he’s sank his teeth into the meaty portion of the thigh, right next to Nate’s groin. He was latched on and shaking like a shark, tearing the flesh inside the khaki pants savagely. Nate started screaming as the bloodstain quickly spread out from the destruction of his body.

Instinctively Kevin dove across the seat he’d been sitting in earlier and lowered the pistol to the side of Corey’s head, right at the temple. He threw his weight into Nate’s sitting body to keep him pressed back against the seat, and pulled the trigger. The heavy pistol slug boomed out of the barrel loud enough to deafen the entire group of men and women in the plane. Corey’s skull blew apart all over Nate’s leg and the white plastic wall of the plane, obscuring the small oval window. His jaw finally let loose and Nate was free. Over his shoulder Kevin saw sunlight coming through the cabin door of the plane as it opened, and he hollered out to his team to move.

“Get the fuck out NOW! MOVE!” He screamed as he got an arm under Nate’s. Corey’s body fell to the cabin floor, his open skull leaking brains into the plush carpet. Nate was bleeding out of his leg badly, and Kevin knew it was probably a severed femoral artery. An infected bite wouldn’t kill Nate, he’d bleed to death long before that. Nonetheless Kevin wanted to get his man out of the plane first, and say his goodbyes. He wouldn’t just abandon him to bleed out.

Kevin got his dying teammate out the cabin door as fast as he could. As they cleared the interior of the plane all of Nate’s strength faded in an instant, and he tumbled out of Kevin’s grasp and impacted the tarmac facedown with a wet thud. Blood gushed from his groin and pant leg over the grey concrete as Kevin heard and felt the thumping of helicopter rotor blades nearby. His team was split between tasks as Kevin came down the steps to the ground. Some were pulling perimeter security, using their carbines to scan the area for threats. Some were watching the choppers come down, keeping the Senator close, and lastly, Kyle was rushing to the aid of the fallen Nate.

“Noo!” Kevin had to yell to be heard over the helicopter rotors. The downdraft was whipping their clothes and hair all over the place as Kyle froze a few feet away from his dying teammate. He looked up, completely bewildered at the instruction his white capped team leader just gave him. He gave a confused shrug and mouthed the words “what the fuck dude?” at Kevin. Kevin’s slate smooth expression of anger told Kyle everything. Kyle took a step back from Nate’s prone body, and put his hand on the pistol at his hip.

Before Kevin left the plane he poked his head back inside the cabin. The two pilots and the pretty staffer that’d woken him were convening just outside the cockpit door. He couldn’t hear their conversation, but they looked worried.

“You coming?” He shouted over the increasingly deafening rotor noise. He saw the shadow of one of the choppers landing pass over the faces of the flight crew.

The plane’s pilot shook his head no, and shouted back to Kevin, “We’re waiting here for other embassy staff to arrive. Then we’re headed somewhere else. Not sure yet.”

He nodded, shook the pilots hand, and Kevin leapt from the steps on the plane door. As he landed on the tarmac he watched the two British Royal Marine fire teams hop from the doors of their twin Lynx Helicopters. The eight men fanned out and assumed cover positions quickly. Once the area was clear, the senior ranking Marine stood and approached the Senator just as Kevin reached his side.

“Gentlemen, who is in charge here?” The Marine Sergeant shouted at the suit wearing Senator. The senator was about to puff himself up and answer him back when the Sergeant turned to Kevin. Henke looked deflated.

“Kevin Whitten, WPG team leader. This is Senator Henke. We were under the instructions that you were to exfil us via helicopter to RAF Mildenhall for further evacuation?” The shouting was going to kill Kevin.

“Aye mate. How many men do you have? This everyone?” The Sergeant extended his hand and Kevin took it. They shook briefly. He looked around and did a quick headcount.

“Yeah, we lost two earlier today in Jerusalem, and we lost two more on the plane just a minute ago. This shit is horrible brother.” Kevin turned and pointed at the fallen body of Nate. Kevin’s face went white. One of the Royal Marines was attending to Nate’s body, and was launching himself away as Nate scratched at him, jaws snapping. Kevin drew his Glock and snapped off two fast rounds at Nate, hitting him squarely in the head. His body died again a final time, now oozing from the other end onto the tarmac.

The British Marine scurried back ten feet and got to his feet. Kevin noticed he was covered in Nate’s blood. The Marine Sergeant stared at the destroyed body of the WPG security guard laying in front him. After a few second’s contemplation, he barked out movement orders, and everyone started moving into the Westfield Lynx Helicopters. Kevin went to Nate's body and stripped off the body armor and weapons quickly. It was callous, but could be crucial. Kyle stopped Kevin before they boarded their bird and handed him his personal vest and HK416C. Kevin thanked him over the roar of the rotor blades, and they got in the helicopter.

*****

The helicopter pushed away from the ground with an abrupt burst of power. Kevin got his gear on and sat down in a seat a Marine Corporal pointed at. Kevin noted it was the Marine that had gone to help Nate. He was still covered in Nate’s blood. Once Kevin was situated he checked the other occupants of the helicopter. With him were the two helicopter pilots and four Marines that made up the Royal Marine fire team. The Sergeant that led the Marines was in the other bird. Also with Kevin in this chopper was Senator Henke, his platinum blonde aide Anna, as well as Kevin’s man Kyle. The Lynx was not a huge helicopter, and with that many armed passengers, they were almost at capacity.

Right above the seat was a set of headphones with microphone attached, and he put them on over his white cap. Immediately Kevin heard all the chatter between the pilots. He did not like what he heard.

“Roger that. We will head due east over the M4 before heading to Mildenhall,” the pilot’s voice was crisp and professional.

Another voice, presumably an air traffic controller somewhere chimed in, “Immediately clear Heathrow airspace. Civilian authorities are saying there’s a significant amount of looting and rioting going on and we need to get those planes off the tarmac. We’ve gotten you clearance to go over the city, just stay below five hundred meters please.”

Kevin watched the pilot react to the news that they were given clearance to fly that low over the city. Five hundred meters was exceedingly low in an urban environment. The pilot looked at his co-pilot with an expression of amazement. Quickly it changed to thrill as they realized they’d get to blitz through the city, “Roger that.”

Kevin waited until the radio traffic went silent before he turned to make sure Henke was alright. He and his aide Anna were sitting on a bench seat and holding on to each other for dear life. Clearly they’d never had an experience like this before. Kevin thought it’d harden him up good and plenty if he ever wound up making a run at the White House. Trial by fire.

“Who’s your suit?” The pilot asked Kevin over the chopper’s comms.

Kevin snapped back to reality, “He’s a big wig Senator. Gotta get him home and into a secure facility before the world falls apart.”

“Ha, before? Mate you need to look out a window. The world is falling apart right now. London is burning.”

Kevin took a moment and turned to look out the helicopter’s door window. They were only maybe a thousand feet off the ground. Helicopter pilots frequently use landmarks to navigate when they are low to the ground, and immediately Kevin knew the pilot was following the M4 highway straight east towards downtown London. He guessed they were doing a hundred miles an hour based on how fast they were passing the enormous amount of traffic backed up on the motorway. In every direction, as far as the eye could see, Kevin saw the flashing lights of ambulances and police vehicles coming up from the streets. Scattered columns of smoke rose from building after building, almost as if the entire city of London had gone back to fireplaces and chimneys. He counted thirty fires at houses in less than a minute.

Kevin watched a terrible car accident develop right below them on the highway. Somehow a pair of fast moving large vans had plowed into slowing traffic ahead of them. The first van collided with a nearly stopped car and launched into the air, corkscrewing multiple times before smashing roof side down into a series of smaller cars. The second van tried to stop, but when it braked the ass of the van kicked out, and it started to roll, throwing the driver out the window and fifty feet into the air like a ragdoll. The last thing Kevin saw before he lost visibility was the driver’s body smashing down into the windshield of another vehicle.

All Kevin could think of was that there were at least two more dead bodies that were going to sit up and bite someone. In every conceivable direction chaos was spreading. He could see people smashing the windows of small business and pubs, trying to get in to either gather resources, or to loot. Police men and women chased after them, but on more than one occasion, Kevin saw a cop lying in the street, bleeding badly. Sometimes the criminals win.

“See what I mean?” The pilot shook his head in disgust.

The co-pilot spoke this time, “We’re going to slide north a bit, taking a route over Hyde Park. We aren’t clear to fly over Buckingham Palace. Once we’re over east London we’ll turn northeast a bit and head towards Suffolk, where Mildenhall is.”

Kevin tried to remember the layout of London. It’d been a few years since he had spent time here. He looked forward out the cockpit window and saw the distinctive shape of Hyde Park ahead. The L shaped body of water in the center of the park called The Serpentine was almost world famous. He’d had an ice cream cone there once when he was on leave. He recalled amusingly they had strange looking black ducks in that pond. Just beyond Hyde Park to the east was Buckingham Palace, home of the Queen when she was in the city. Even from almost a mile away Kevin could see a tremendous police force arrayed around the palace. The back end of the Palace gardens was surrounded by an imposing twelve foot wall topped by spikes and barbed wire. Of course it was all cleverly covered by ivy and hedges, but make no mistake, the Palace could serve as a fortress.

The massive plaza in front of the Palace was covered with men and women in the black uniforms of the London Police. Kevin could see dozens of the small white police cruisers arranged to form an impromptu wall, stopping all movement to and from the Palace in all possible directions. Portable steel fences had been dragged out to control foot traffic and create an even more impassable barrier.

The helicopter banked slightly to the left, drifting them north so they would avoid flying over the Palace itself. On any day that’d get you shot down, and today there was even less sense in coming close to the Queen’s home. Kevin watched as a few of the Police opened fire with submachine guns on a crowd of unresponsive people heading towards the Palace. He had no idea if those people were dead or alive, but it didn’t matter. The Police had to protect the Queen and Palace one way or the other.

Moments later Kevin saw the bright signs of Piccadilly Circus. He saw the traffic circle and the statue of Anteros. The TDK/Sanyo sign looked enormous as they flew over it, even at their insane flight speed. Kevin noticed melees all across the open expanse of the Circus. At this height and speed he couldn’t see whether or not the undead were the perpetrators, but he could see blood on the streets. Rivers of blood ran into the cracks of the old stones. The pilots were clearly getting a kick out of flying such an intense circuit through their capital. Even Kevin was getting a rush out of watching the streets and buildings whizz by below. The pilot made a slight bank again and brought the plane abruptly up a hundred feet in elevation to clear some taller structures ahead. Kevin could swear he was going out of his way to get Henke to puke everywhere, and couldn’t help but grin at the thought. Trial by fire, right?

Unfortunately, hell broke loose. The corporal that had been sitting next to Kevin, the one covered in Nate’s blood, had been hiding an injury. Some of that blood belonged to the medic. Kevin’s sightseeing out the windows made him oblivious to the fact that the man had been bitten several times on the forearm. He’d gone to help the fallen American, and wound up getting a death sentence instead. He’d died on the seat right next to Kevin, and when the Lynx lurched upwards to gain altitude, he came back to life, and tumbled forward into the cockpit like an undead missile.

He was death incarnate. Kevin did his best to yank the deceased Marine off the pilot, but once he’d bitten that pilot, the chopper began to plummet to the ground, going into a powerful tailspin. The growing centrifugal force pushed the zombie further and further away as gouts of blood sprayed the canopy window of the helicopter. Kevin could hear the pilot gurgling, trying and failing to breathe through a crushed larynx.

As calmly as he could, the copilot spoke into his headset, “Mayday, mayday. Mayday, mayday.”

Kevin watched the streets of the city of London loom into the cockpit window, a crowd of innocent bystanders filling his entire field of vision before he blacked out from the chopper’s impact.

*****

Everything hurt. Kevin’s eyes protested with a creak as he opened them. He regretted opening them immediately. He was lying on the ceiling of the Lynx helicopter. They were upside down. Smashed together in the back were the forms of the Senator and his aide, as well as Kyle, and three of the four Marines. He twisted himself painfully around and looked into the front of the helicopter. The pilot was dead, his body pulped head to toe when the military helicopter impacted the structure they were pressed against. The co-pilot was breathing in raggedly, and Kevin could tell he wasn’t long for the world.

Kevin checked his own body for injuries, and realized he was beaten to hell, but nothing appeared broken, pierced, or most importantly, bitten. His back felt like a cricket bat had been taken to it up and down it for hours. He got himself upright and started to carefully check on his passengers.

Henke was in and out of consciousness, but alive. His aide Anna, the young blonde that served no apparent purpose other than to be pretty was hurt. Her foot had been caught in the seat somehow, and when the helicopter flipped over, her body had gone flying, but her foot stayed pretty immobile. Her ankle was nearly black from bruising, and her foot hung like a dead fish at the end of her calf. Once she came to she immediately started to hyperventilate, and Kevin had to soothe her.

The three remaining Royal Marines were in various states of injury, but none seemed too far gone. Within a few minutes they had gotten each other up. Kevin saw that Kyle was now leaning up against the busted frame of the helicopter, and was looking at his hand. His left hand pinky finger was broken outwards to the side, and he had a shard of metal three inches long lodged in the center of his palm. His blood ran in slow rivulets down his arm as he looked at the mess. Kevin watched as Kyle gritted his teeth, and twisted the finger straight. His eyes boiled red and a tear slipped free, but he didn’t scream. Tough fella, Kevin thought.

Once Kevin was sure Henke was alive and all set, he looked out the shattered door window of the Lynx. He’d been here before. They had crashed into Covent Garden Market.

One of the young Marines gave the helicopter door a tremendous tug, and it ripped loose from the warped steel of the frame. The three Marines exited the helicopter and started to create a makeshift perimeter about five yards from the chopper. Despite being in downtown London, the market looked like portions of bombed out Baghdad Kevin had been to. Kevin got Henke to his feet and they exited the shaky chopper. The open door revealed a scene of epic carnage.

Once Kevin was outside he realized the sun was getting low. They must’ve been knocked out in the helicopter for an hour or more. He was so confused with the time zones, plane flight and helicopter crash he truthfully had no idea what time it was. Kevin’s watch had taken a beating in the crash, and it was history.

“Marines! What time is it?” Kevin shouted as he looked around at the burning debris and dead bodies in all directions. They’d crashed right into the second floor outside balcony of the Punch and Judy restaurant at Covent Garden, and fallen to the grey cobblestone street below. The enormous weight of the helicopter crushed a dozen people or more in the process. Luckily there hadn’t been an explosion, but he knew they had to evacuate immediately, or they risked a spark igniting the chopper’s remaining fuel.

One of the Marines checked his watch and hollered back to Kevin, “1900 local mate!”

“How long ‘til sundown?” He hollered back.

“Hour, maybe two at most.” The Marine answered without taking his eyes off his gun sights. Far off in the distance Kevin watched living people scrambling, running as fast as they could to get away from walking undead, or sprinting to escape with their looted goods. Kevin could not believe how fast society was breaking down.

Kevin’s ear exploded with noise as his WPG earpiece burst to life. His teammates were hailing him from above in the other chopper, “Kevin, Kevin! Can you hear me, come back?”

Kevin thought it was John F, one of his elder operators, “Fitz is that you? What the fuck man?”

“Yeah it’s me man, you guys okay? What the hell happened, you guys did a nosedive right into that huge ass building.”

Kevin got Henke standing by himself and surveyed the sky. A few hundred feet above them Kevin saw the helo hovering with two of the Marines at the door, pointing their L85s down at the streets below, looking for targets. He could barely make out the shape of someone’s arm waving from inside the helicopter behind them.

Kevin waved up in return as he took in the scene and continued the conversation, “The Marine medic was bitten by Nate I think. He came back and attacked the pilot, and we went down. The pilot is dead, the copilot is dead, that medic is history, and Anna has one good leg. Otherwise we are downright brilliant.”

“Good deal. The pilot here is saying that if you can make it on foot south by south east to the Strand there’s enough open space there for us to set down and get you. It’s about 500 feet from where you’re standing.”

Kevin looked at the position of the sun, and oriented himself facing roughly south. The enormous twin glass roof of the market was to his left. “Alright we’ll be moving slow though, Anna has a busted foot.”

“Roger that sir. The Marines can give sniper support from up here. Pilot says to follow our lead and he’ll walk you to the landing site.” Fitz’s voice got unintelligible as the helicopter powered up and moved above them, dropping to just above the rooftops.

Kevin addressed his people on the ground, “Alrighty, we’re following the bird to an exfil site. The Strand, 500 feet that way!” Kevin pointed south. Kyle nodded and the Royal Marines leapt into action. Even without their leader they were professionals and acted immediately. He had tremendous respect for them, and was glad they were here. As they started to walk around the wreck of the helicopter Kevin noticed that many of the dead bodies were starting to move. Their infernal movements were hideous to him, unnatural.

“Move move! They’re coming back!” Kevin took a running step, then realized his HK416C was still somewhere in the downed bird. He spun and jumped back inside the chopper. The copilot strained like an animal in the front when he saw Kevin enter. He had succumbed to his injuries and was trying to break free of his harness to kill Kevin. His face looked almost comical as his helmet slid down over his eyes. He was a giant bulbous mouth. Kevin let a single “ha!” loose, and found his rifle, still stuck under the chair he had sat on, now upside down in the helo. Right next to his rifle he saw a small green satchel bag and impulsively he snagged it. He was pretty sure it was either medical gear, or spare clips, and figured anything might help. Beside that was the spare gear he'd taken from Nate, and he grabbed that too. He checked to make sure a round was chambered in his carbine, and left the undead pilot strapped in the helicopter, his teeth snapping together, biting the air.

The grey stones of Covent Garden’s plaza were stained a rust color from the blood. Kevin jogged to catch up with the others as the scores of bodies in the plaza began to sit up, or crawl in their direction. From far off in the distance Kevin saw scores more undead shambling towards them. Others must be dying nearby. Kevin’s breathing became hard, and his heart began to hammer. Adrenaline began to pump as he realized in mere seconds London would be the scene of a horrible massacre.

One of the Marines turned to check on Kevin and realized the undead behind them were awakening. Kevin saw the look of horror register on his twenty something face. He swallowed hard, and shouldered his bullpup rifle and started firing into the awkward, shambling masses closing in on them. His first few shots were to be expected, dead center in the chest. He had perfect form, perfect aim, and his shots were entirely useless against the dead.

Kevin raised his carbine and came to a stop. He put his aim point red dot on the side of the head of a chunky brunette getting to her feet five yards away. One gentle squeeze later and her head popped like a gore filled water balloon, sending her girth crashing into the smooth stones below her. Kevin looked up and saw the Marine looking at him, “Hit the head. Only head shots.”

The Royal Marine nodded and slowly backpedaled, shouting as he went, “head shots only men, destroy the brain!” The rest of the fire team responded by completely opening up, sending round after round of 5.56 into the faces and skulls of their fellow and now former United Kingdom citizens. Bodies began to pile two and three deep as they moved across the front of the giant open air market. Their group was like the pied piper of the dead, trailing a flock of ravenous ghouls.

Kevin moved closer to Henke as the senator helped his thin aide hobble along. To her credit she was moving along and being a real soldier about it. Kevin started to think he might’ve been wrong about her. Henke was sweating profusely in the warm London summer evening. He was older, and not exactly a physical specimen. Kevin would’ve helped him with his blonde charge, but keeping his gun up and firing was far more important.

Kevin fired round after round into to the masses of British undead. When they rounded the corner of the third and final portion of the outdoor mall and walked past the giant glass roof of the market they were assaulted by nearly a dozen zombies from the front. One of the Royal Marines was taken to the ground, a young black man, but his thick military uniform and helmet bought him time against the bites to fight back. Kevin rushed forward, spraying half a dozen rounds high into the standing undead near him. His shots killed two of the murderous dead. The Marine kicked savagely as he swung his rifle back and forth above him, clubbing the undead off of him enough to scramble free. He did a neat backwards somersault, and landed in a near perfect firing crouch, and opened up on the zombies that had nearly just killed him. After they were dead he checked his body for wounds and smiled. He had escaped unscathed.

Kevin was floored at the combat skill he’s just witnessed. The rest of the Marines were nonchalant about it, as if that kind of ninja-like prowess was to be expected. Kevin popped off another half dozen shots to support the break dancing ninja Marine, and they moved on. From above there were multiple gunshots as the Marines in the helicopter fired on the undead ahead of the group on the street. Kevin watched the spent shell casings fall from the sky, and bounce with a barely audible metallic ring off the street.

Five hundred feet in a city is a few minute’s walk. Five hundred feet in a gun battle is a marathon. A marathon in which people are trying to kill you every step of the way. It seemed to Kevin like the entire city had died while they were knocked unconscious in the downed bird. Kevin had brought eight magazines for his weapon with him when they left the Tel Aviv embassy that morning. When they finally were halfway down the hill and saw the Strand where the chopper was leading them he was slapping in the last of his magazines. Kevin amusedly realized there was a Wagamama restaurant to his left. Decent soup he remembered. He checked the small bag he grabbed out of the downed helicopter hoping there would be magazines inside it, but it was just some kind of spare electronics parts. They still had two hundred feet to go, and a broken radio in a bag was not going to get them there.

Kevin assessed his ammunition situation and realized he had to start using the pistol. Kyle had already taken a sidearm from one of the Marines. All he had was a Glock in the first place, and as usual, Kyle probably only brought five magazines with him. He had less than half the ammunition Kevin started with.

“Guys we need to move faster, we’re not gonna make it shooting this much, we’ve got to run.” Kevin ran up to Henke and Anna and snapped off a few rounds with his pistol. The Marines immediately started to pick up the pace. “Gimme,” Kevin said to Henke, gesturing at Anna. Henke let her stand on her own and Kevin threw her over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry. She let out a loud oof! as he got her body settled on his shoulder. Relieved of helping her, Henke started to move at double speed. Kevin’s sturdy muscular frame was more than up to the task of carrying the tiny blonde, despite his intense bruising all over. He grunted every few strides, but they moved with haste.

The benefits were immediate. The pack of undead behind them began to fall away, and the few undead coming onto their street from the two side streets were left in the dust as well. At this rate Kevin thought, as long as they didn’t meet a huge cluster of the dead at the end of the street, they’d make it.

Kevin threw his pistol back in the holster on his thigh and thumbed his throat mic, “Fitz you gotta clear the way for us, we’re almost dry on ammo down here.”

Fitz didn’t respond, but a second later the intensity of support fire from the hovering helicopter doubled. The fire wasn’t as accurate as their own fire had been, but the heavy downpour of lead destroyed legs, arms, and hammered bodies down into the road, sending the undead following sprawling as they failed to climb over the fallen. They were going to make it.

Reinvigorated by the wall of lead coming down behind them the crash survivors ran with every ounce of energy they had. Kevin watched as another Marine’s rifle clicked dry as he tried to shoot a zombie, and without stopping for a second, he smashed the rifle into the zombie’s head, sending it flying into a giant pane glass window of a restaurant. He had to take pride in these men.

The Strand opened up before them. The road was wide, and the traffic strangely clear. They had perhaps 50 yards of open space directly ahead and the chopper was setting down in the middle of it as they ran. The marines on that bird leapt to the street and began to open fire, taking accurate aim and dropping the closest of the shambling dead. Even with an unlimited supply of rounds, Kevin knew they’d never clear the whole street. It seemed like the undead were pouring out from everywhere, and killing everything that moved. Several civilians, still quite alive, ran at the helicopter, and the Marines shot them down too. There was simply no room for them on the helicopter, and no margin for error. If they were bitten, helping them could be the end for everyone.

Kevin sat Anna down on the floor of the chopper. She was bright red in the face from hanging upside down so long. She quickly pushed herself further into the helicopter to get to safety. Kevin watched to make sure she was safe, and then shook Fitz’s hand. The Marines greeted each other the way Marines in combat normally do, handing them more magazines for their empty guns. The Marines that had been with Kevin slapped the fresh mags into their L85A2 rifles, took a knee and began to fire with their brethren, literally sweeping the street clean of the horde of undead. Their efficiency and accuracy was remarkable.

Fitz and Kevin jumped onto the helicopter and made sure Henke and Anna were taken care of. Already on board this bird were the two other aides to the Senator, plus the two pilots. The two men sat huddled in the far rear of the helicopter, clearly about to lose their minds from the hammering gunfire and hordes of undead coming in from all sides. Kevin went to the Lynx’s door to check on the Marines outside and shouldered his HK416C once more. He took down three zombies coming across the street then motioned to the Marines to get on board.

The Marine Sergeant gave hand signals to the six men left from his two fire teams. They continued their suppressing onslaught as he trotted back to the Lynx. He grabbed one Marine on his way, dragging him back to the helicopter. He yelled something in the Marine’s ear, and without hesitation he nodded and jumped onto the helicopter next to Kevin. The Sergeant locked gazes with Kevin and simply nodded at him. The Sergeant said something into the microphone in his helmet, and Kevin felt the powerful helicopter engines flare, and the helo lifted up, leaving the five Marines and their Sergeant behind.

Kevin screamed and grabbed the single Marine that had gotten on the helicopter. As he yelled he realized it was the Marine that had done the somersault in the Covent Garden plaza. “What the FUCK?!”

“THERE’S NO ROOM! Helicopter can’t carry everyone, and your people are the package, not them!” The black Marine yelled at Kevin as he slid the Lynx’s side door shut. The noise dropped dramatically.

Kevin shook his head, “We could’ve thrown gear out, that’s fucked!”

“Sir. They’ll be fine. They are her Majesty’s finest. I fear for the dead.”

Kevin looked out the window as the ground shrunk below them. As their vantage point rose higher and higher he could see the masses of shambling dead coming towards the six Marines from every conceivable direction. Kevin noted with sorrow as the Marines grouped up, and started to move west towards Buckingham Palace, and hopefully safety.

More car accidents and burning buildings spilled out as the helicopter pulled further and faster away. Kevin saw the six Marines had an army of the undead in the streets of London to contend with before they reached any chance of survival.

London was burning.

January 23rd

Lots to report Mr. Journal. I don’t have a lot of time to explain all the boring shit, so I’ll cut right to the chase on the good stuff. No I won’t. First I’ll share the fact that I haven’t slept for shit the past few days. I’ve been half awake all night listening to the damn radio, and when I finally do fall asleep I keep having nasty dreams with my parents in them, or the bad fights here on campus when I was clearing it out. My recent dreams have been about Amy, the chick from admissions. I think I’m dreaming of her because I talked to her boyfriend Chambers on the radio the other day. It’s terrible. I don’t even want to sleep anymore. Sigh.

Yesterday I sat down and counted up all the guns and ammo we got off the roof of the grocery store. Sadly, it wasn’t a lot of ammunition, but what we did get was good. The guns we got were also quality finds. The big deal was a new Beretta 9mm with 3 magazines. One of the long guns was a .223 bolt action rifle, and there were 40 more rounds of ammo for it.

There were two Ruger M77 bolt action rifles (which gives us three total now) and a fairly large amount of .270 Win ammo. Big find there. That’s a lot of spare bullets for trade bait, and spare parts if they break down. There was also a Colt M1911 clone and 2 magazines for that.

There was more .30-30 ammo, .223 ammo, 9mm, .357, .45ACP, .270 Win, .300 Magnum, and 12 gauge buckshot. As I said the numbers weren’t astronomical, but there were good totals of good, usable calibers. It was definitely worth the trip for us, especially seeing as how no one got hurt.

I made a trip on foot out and about today to check out that fuel barrel near Gilbert’s house. To be honest… I really did not want to be alone and outside, but I had to go. Ever since that zombie with the watch incident on the bridge I’ve been kind of skittish. I can’t get the vision of him just… staring at me out of my head. That and every time I hear tapping my blood runs cold.

Shiver.

I walked through the snow yesterday morning to the house next to Gilbert’s place. He was in his place and I don’t think he saw me poking around in his neighbor’s yard. The fuel in the barrel seemed low to me. I can’t say for certain he’s using a lot of it, but it definitely seemed about five gallons light. I have no idea what kind of mileage the snow machines get. That might be a single gas tank, which wouldn’t be unusual at all really.

So that proves nothing. Gilbert may be using a radio, or he may be using the snowmobile to get in touch with Brian and his people. There’s no way of knowing at this point. All I can do is keep the radio close, and try to build a relationship with Moore’s people. Nothing undoes a devious plan like communication. I hoofed it back to campus and summarily locked myself in Hall E. Still not kosher being outside.

No word from Brian last night. In fact, no word from anyone really. The Williams clan never even came out to see me yesterday at all. I think Abby and Randy were on wood collecting duty all day. I spent the evening watching the boxed set of Trigun and cleaning the weapons we’d gotten. Vash ftw. I really like maintaining weapons. It’s detail work. I understand them. It gives me satisfaction, and lets me think while still being productive. It’s like knitting for people with penises. I did a lot of thinking about what I was going to talk to Brian about.

Slept like ass again last night. Had a dream about Cassie for awhile that turned sour. More undead eventually rampaging all over the place. That shit is irritating.

Today I chilled out. Abby came to hang out after lunch and we wound up throwing down a heads up Hold ‘em game. We used Ritz crackers as chips. Wasn’t quite the same as using money, but in reality, food is more important than cash. So I guess it was like using money. It was fun. She wound up getting all weird and quiet when we were eating our crackers at the end. (Turns out she’s pretty good at poker, and won and ate an entire sleeve of crackers off me) I asked her what was up, and she danced around it for a bit, but finally asked me if it would be okay if she stayed here on campus with me if her family left to go to the STIG building.

How do I answer that question Mr. Journal? She’s frigging 17 years old. Once she asked I started to dance around an answer. I mean fuck. Does age matter anymore? She’s obviously mature, capable, intelligent, and useful. I asked her when her birthday was and she said May. If I wanted to use the age of 18 as a negotiating tool, I guess that was an option. Mostly against her case though. Charles and Patty I’m sure would not want her all by herself, even if it was with me here.

I wound up with this as an answer for her; she was more than welcome to stay here on campus with me if her parents were okay with it. End of story. At first she didn’t like that answer, but then thought about it, and decided that it was pretty good. After all, what else was I going to say? Yeah sure and I’ll tell your parents to go fuck themselves? Wouldn’t be smart really. Plus if I get all excited about fighting to let Abby stay here I start looking like a creepy pedophile. At least I start feeling like a creepy pedophile.

She said she’d bring her family over a little before 6 for our radio meeting with Brian. And that she did. They shuffled their way in around 5:30 and we all gathered at the table to shoot the shit. Randy hung on his dad, which was nice to see. He’s been plugging into the damn video game consoles far too much for my taste. Gilbert zipped over on the snowmobile and knocked on the door at about quarter of. I was checking out Chuck’s busted arm. The redness has waned quite a bit, but it’s still swollen and very painful for him. I think it’ll heal decent, but it might have a permanent weird dent where the bones are knitting a little off. I think we’ll be safe in terms of having to do surgery on it. (Thank God right? Can you imagine how fucked up me doing surgery would be? It’d be like that chef on The Muppet Show. BORK BORK! CHOP! BORK BORK!)

Brian fired up his radio precisely at 6pm again. I like the fact that he is always on time. Once again our conversation ran long. I think we called it quits around 9pm.

We are meeting on the 25th. Brian decided that they knew a good route to skirt downtown with to get near us here. He said they’d take a shipping semi from STIG and load it up with the trade goods we agreed on. I guess the few times they’d ventured into heavy zombie territory they had good luck using the trucks. Good ground clearance, lots of power, and with all the extra wheels, the only flat tire that really would be a problem would be a front flat. Brian and I agreed that we would meet them at noon on the 25th where Route 18 meets Main Street. That area has been pretty clean of zombies since day one, and there’s no houses or businesses right there either. Tree line is pretty distant as well. Seemed safe for everyone.

I told him I’d bring myself plus no more than three others, and he agreed to do the same.

Now what did we agree to trade? Excellent question Mr. Journal. Here’s what I offered up that he had on his wish list:

1 Ruger M77 bolt action rifle and 15 .270 Win rounds to go with it. 500 rounds of .22lr (we’ve got over 6,000 rounds, so that’s pretty low value to us). 2 tins of juice, one tomato, one grape, 2 cans of peeled tomatoes, 2 cans of mandarin orange slices, and a 4 pack of Red Bull

That’s all he wanted for the moment. In return, he offered to deliver four solar panels, and 80 rounds of 5.56mm ammo. These are all things we have spare. I mean shit, he’s got spare panels, and he said he raided the police station arms locker, so I’m sure he’s swimming in ammo for the station’s rifles. He also made it seem like their need for sniper/hunting calibers was greater than their need for tactical calibers like the 5.56 rounds.

Here’s the kicker; four panels isn’t enough to really do anything. We really need eight panels run in series according to the research I’ve done. Also, I have no fucking idea how to hook them up. However, there are people at the STIG plant who do. Brian also said that if we were willing to trade goods for services, he could have some of the technicians come over with the four extra panels, install them for me, hook them into a building’s system, and then wire up some batteries in series so I could store electricity from the panels and the generator.

Sounds… yummy. I’m a little queasy about letting strangers into my home, but I felt that way when a plumber came over to fix my hot water tank at the condo. The other thing is this; I might know the technician that’ll come over. They’re probably from town here, and there’s a fairly good chance I already know them. I’m much more comfortable letting people I already know in the Hall.

So noon on the 25th we meet, and hopefully everything goes well. We said our goodbyes, and everyone here felt it went well. We were all super tired from the long day and night, and we decided that tomorrow we’d get together to figure out what our plan was. Everyone shuffled out in short order, and now here I sit, typing this.

I’m excited, for real. I think this is on the level. Tomorrow I’m going to make a few runs down to the gas station and top off all the barrels. We’re not low by any means, but I’ve got nothing else planned, and I’d rather have the fuel on hand in the event we need it. If I can build up the nerve I might take a jaunt all the way down to the intersection where we’re meeting to make sure that it’s clear of zombies. After that we’re getting together to hatch our plan for the meeting over an early dinner.

Tonight I think I am going to say fuck it. I found a bottle of Ambien digging around in the pill stash, and I am taking one. I’m so fucking tired from trying to listen to that radio all night every night plus all the shitty dreams when I finally do fall asleep... I just want to black out, and get some fucking rest. I hate being skittish and irritable all the time.

Pillow, meet head.

Later Mr. Journal.

-Adrian

January 25th

Well. That could’ve gone better.

Of course, it could’ve gone worse too.

Ambien might be my new friend. Although, I really can’t afford to take a whole pill. I was a zombie all day yesterday and I don’t want to risk getting mistaken as the real thing and get shot by my friends. Half a pill should be more than enough to put me down. I also realize that chopping it in half will probably fuck with the pill and make me sick or something.

I should just not take the pill, and sleep like a relatively normal post apocalypse survivor. Hilarious that I even have the option to take a sleeping pill. I can’t even imagine how many people in New York, or Paris, or Shanghai that are trapped in apartments and are eating rats and drinking leftover toilet water to get by. I eat well, sleep reasonably well, and feel pretty safe for the most part. I need to man up, and quit being a bitch I guess. Hike up your fucking diaper Ring.

Yesterday after I came out of my Ambien coma I made two trips down to the gas station. Patty wound up riding shotgun with me. I decided it wasn’t the best idea to go alone, and she said she wanted to get out. Abby stayed behind to take care of Chuck. It was horridly cold out the last two days. The thermometer has been reading in the negatives, which is cold enough to hurt. If you take a deep breath, your lungs literally flare up with pain. It blows goat cock.

Patty was nervous about the upcoming STIG meeting, and she was sick of dealing with Chuck’s gimpyness. I can imagine waiting on him hand and foot gets old rapidly. Granted, his arm is pretty fucked up, and it’s a painful injury to move around with. I believe getting her out helped rebuild her patience.

We cleared Auburn Lake Road with the plow on the way down, gassed the truck and all our empty gas cans up, and then we got brave and swung down to where Route 18 meets Main Street. It’s a T intersection with a single building near it. That building is a day care, which to be honest, I had no interest in checking it out. The idea of a daycare filled with undead children is just too damn much for me to wrap my head around right now. And you know what? Between you and me Mr. Journal, I can guarantee that building is filled with undead kids. Whole new definition of the terrible twos. I might just burn that one straight to the ground before I go inside it. Zombie children on fire for whatever reason scares me less than adult zombies on fire. I know, I’m strange.

Patty and I checked around to make sure things were quiet and clear, which it was. A quick glance down the Main Street area told us there were no walking undead, so as long as we made a quiet exit, the meeting tomorrow would be all set. (Famous last words) We made note of the places where snipers could hide, and doubled checked our exit strategies, and then we headed back to campus.

Patty was freezing to death so she called it a day. I refilled all the gas barrels until they were maxed out, and went down to the gas station again. I refilled all the gas cans so everything was full again, the way I like it, and then headed back to campus once more. Fuel supplies have been low enough to make me paranoid.

The rest of yesterday was lame. The furnace ran on overdrive all evening and through the night. So fucking cold out. I wound up keeping the heat low and hanging out under a few blankets on the couch downstairs. Watched more Trigun. Thank goodness one of the kids here on campus was into Anime. I’ll be neck deep in poorly dubbed Japanese cartoons for a year. Guess that’s cool. Otis wound up crawling under the blankets with me to stay warm, and he never does that.

No Ambien last night, and no weird dreams. Two for two. This morning when I got up I felt pretty good about life, and was pretty excited for the meeting at noon. I ate a good sized breakfast and assembled all the goods that we were planning on trading at the meeting. I also was feeling generous, and threw in a can of green beans. French cut style. The top shelf green bean. The Cadillac of canned vegetables, if you will.

At 10:30 we all gathered down in Hall A. Gilbert wound up showing up at 10:45. Over an early lunch of cereal and reconstituted milk we went over our “oh shit” plan should the meeting go south. I told them all I would much rather take Abby and Patty down with me. Randy and Charles are obviously useless right now, and I said that I wanted Gilbert back up here in the event this was a clever ruse to get us out of the campus. (In reality, I didn’t want him there because if he was trying to fuck me over, I didn’t want to give him more opportunity with allies present)

Gilbert put up a little protest, but conceded. Charles, in his painkiller fueled daze actually put up a pretty big stink over the fact that I was dragging his two women to a potential firefight. He was beaten into agreeing with us through belligerent logic though. That and the fact that he was lit like a Christmas tree on Percocet. Thank god for that. He was fucking steaming at me.

I grabbed some spare blankets in case we had to cover shit in the back of the truck. I wasn’t sure how they were going to bring the solar panels. At 11:30 Patty, Abby, and I headed down Route 18 to the intersection in two separate vehicles. Patty and I rode in the plow, and Abby drove the Tundra. Fucking cold again. We had to let the trucks run for 15 minutes to get them warm. My face hurt just walking from the Hall to the frigging door of the truck. How pathetic is that? It’s fucking cold this year. And it’s been snowing like a bitch. Mother Nature is a mean broad.

We left with the same combat loads as if we were going down to the police station. I had the M15A4 and the ladies had their .22’s. I wasn’t expecting trouble, but there was no reason to not be prepared for it. Of course, with my whopping 100 rounds I wouldn’t be able to accomplish much if the shit got thick. I shouldn’t say that. I could do a lot of damage with just 10 rounds if given the chance. Anyway, negative Nancy is done now.

We drove the plow truck all the way to the intersection, and Abby sat back about a hundred yards in the event she needed to make a fast getaway. Patty and I parked in the middle of the intersection and waited with the radio on. I think we got there at 11:50 am or thereabouts.

It was 12:30 when we heard the rumble of their truck in the distance. Brian came over the radio and let us know they were incoming, and we got out of the truck and waited. They pulled up in a diesel box truck. Looked like a twenty footer or so, and had the STIG company logo on the side of it. Following behind it was a large 4x4 Police Cruiser that used to belong to the department. The cruiser parked about a hundred yards behind their truck just like Abby was parked behind ours, and the meet was on.

Brian and Jason hopped out of the semi and were all grins. I mean they looked so damn happy. I was grinning too. We shook hands about as vigorously as you can. Patty was nervous as balls, but she was pleasant, and I think after a bit she warmed to the idea of them being here with us. Brian and Jason looked very slim. I think they’ve both lost 20 pounds easily. You can see it in Brian’s face. He looked stretched out, and tired. Jason was always a slim guy, but he looked out of gas. It was especially apparent because he’s young. I don’t know if their thin figures were because they’re strict on food rations, or if they’re lower on food than they’ve let on. Shrug.

The front of their semi was covered in goop, bits of flesh, and chunks of hair and bone. Most of it was still fresh and unfrozen as well, which told me they’d just recently driven through a real mess downtown. That was our first topic of discussion, the “ice breaker,” if you will.

They confirmed that the roads right near downtown were a fucking mess. They took a wide route off of the Main Street going through residential neighborhoods. They were fairly sure that once they were off the main road it’d be less populated with the dead, and I guess it was still pretty thick with roamers. Luckily their semi is a beast, and has good ground clearance. The 4x4 cruiser followed behind in the wake the truck made, and they made it all the way to the meet site with problems no more serious than frayed nerves. I thanked them for making the trip out.

After that Brian asked me about why were downtown the other day when they heard all the gunshots. That was the day we were on the grocery store roof getting the guns. I told him the truth. I told him that were down at the grocery store to get the guns off the roof of the store, and to possibly try and get any remaining foodstuffs out of the store. Of course with the impending horde heading into the parking lot we bailed before going inside, but we did get the guns.

He and Jason got a kick out of that. Brian was actually laughing and pissed at the same time when he realized that he and his group had totally forgotten to try and return to get the guns. Of course when they had their huge firefight there things were pretty messy at the time, and after they left with their food there were still survivors there shooting at them, as well as a growing population of undead from the recent deaths and whatnot, so I’m sure they didn’t have all the information I did. When I got there, everyone was dead except for what? Two or three people? The irony is that if I hadn’t killed that shooter on the roof, they probably would’ve been killed by the three dead friends that I found as zombies up there. Weird stuff.

Brian thought we made the best choice by getting the hell out after getting the shit off the roof. Then it got weird. He asked us how we got in, got on the roof so fast, and got out. I told him we had raided the municipal station for the fire trucks and radios.

He DID NOT like that.

At first he was all like, “What’d you do? You took the trucks?” And thought I was joking about it, but I told him we needed the ability to fight fire, and I knew I’d need the ladder truck to get on the roof, and plus I wanted the radios to communicate with, and that sent him into a little bit of a temper tantrum. At one point Patty and I backed away he was steaming so bad, and Jason had to pull him aside and calm him down. He didn’t get aggressive, or threatening, but he was pretty clearly pissed we’d taken the fire trucks.

After a ten minute relaxation period that was as flat out awkward as a 5th grade dance, Brian came back and apologized. He admitted what I’d done was smart, and he was a little pissed he didn’t think of it first. He also said it was a little straight up assholish of me to take town property. His line of reasoning was that the equipment was town property, and with so few people at my location, it made more sense to leave the fire trucks in town, where they were more accessible. (And don’t fucking think for one second that I didn’t catch his “with so few people” line. Starting to think he knows exactly how many people we’ve got. Fucking Gilbert.)

I see his logic, I just don’t agree with it. I agreed that yeah, it was a little greedy of me, but he had to realize that up to that point, I had no idea there were survivors anywhere near here. Plus, as I’d mentioned earlier, we’d had negative interactions with what few survivors, and I was worried we’d be firebombed at some point. Plus, and this almost set him off again, I flat out told him this, “Brian, this town is dead. Deceased. There is no more town, there is no more state, and there is no more America. It’s like the clock got rewound back to the 1100’s man. We’re feudal lords fighting over land and resources again. It sucks, but that’s the fucking reality. Only the strongest survive right?”

He got pissed again, but he knew I was right. I also told him that without him and his men who knew what would’ve happened to the people at STIG. Without his expertise, and leadership skills, those folks might’ve died a long time ago. He was a good person and had a lot to be proud of. I told him that eventually we might be able to get the equipment back into town, or maybe someday we could figure out a way to stage the equipment again so both groups could have access. I didn’t want a fight over this.

He was fine after a bit. I think he isn’t an intellectual, and hadn’t put it in perspective. Plus being a town official I’m sure for years his guiding principles were town town law law order order, ya know? He’s upheld the law for so long, it is his first instinct to preserve the old ways, and to hope everything goes back to “normal.”

Naïve really. This is normal now, and we have to adjust to it, or die.

We made the swap for stuff. I handed him the rifle, the ammo, and a milk crate with all the food. I even made sure to point out the extra can of green beans to him as well, which got a laugh. He said they’d had plenty of the, “Cadillac of canned vegetables.” I laughed. It definitely helped with the tension.

He and Jason got the solar panels and the boxes of 5.56 out of the truck. The panels were still packed in the shipping boxes, which told me they still had a warehouse full of them to trade. I made a mental note to make sure that any trades involving just panels would be done heavily in my favor. If they aren’t using them, and they have so many left over in their warehouse, then I don’t need to give up an arm and a leg for them. Now expertise on installing them, that’s valuable.

We got them in the back of the plow truck and that was it. We’d spent far too damn long outside in the cold already, and we knew it was getting too dangerous to stay here. He suspected they’d led an army of undead in this direction, and he wanted to get turned around and back before the horde reached here. I shook their hands, Patty shook their hands, and I think there was genuine satisfaction on all parts. Other than Brian getting steamed over the fire trucks, it went perfect.

We agreed we’d talk every other day at 6pm, and that someone would leave the radios on at all times in the event something went wrong. We also tentatively planned that we should start doing face to face meetings once a week where we could do trades, or share a lunch, or whatever. Basically just building up solid diplomatic relations. Two kingdoms breaking bread, right?

And that was it. We got in our plow, they got in their truck, we turned around, they turned around, and we all left. Abby followed us home, and when we got back to campus we had another mini celebration. Gilbert was positively elated we got the solar panels, and that we’d kept it civil after hearing about the argument. He patted me on the back quite a bit for keeping a level head. I wanted to snap his arms and call him a traitor, but I didn’t. I still need to figure him out.

Gilbert and Charles decided that they were going to make us a dinner, so we went to the cafeteria and got some extra food for the occasion. Abby and I got the solar panels stored in there as well, as it seemed as good a place as any for the moment. Randy and I threw down some serious Xbox action and the two elder statesmen got us a decent meal together. It was an early dinner, but it was nice to celebrate again. Seems like we’re doing less and less celebration, and more and more arguing, bickering, and potential backstabbing. Maybe I’m just bitter. Look Mr. Journal, it’s negative Nancy again. Can’t get rid of that bitch.

After our late lunch/early dinner meal we called it a night. I felt we had had enough socialization for the moment, and I headed back to Hall E. You know it’s weird. After getting some decent sleep I noticed I wasn’t skittish at all. I even started to think I was a weirdo for the whole watch tapping zombie thing. I mean shit, it could’ve been a complete coincidence. Spasm or something in the zombie’s hand right? Plus the zombie would have looked up when it noticed me anyway, right?

Right?

So for the first time in a long time I don’t know what I’m doing tomorrow, or the next day. I just redid all the fuel tanks, so that doesn’t need to be done again for a few days. I don’t have anything to do here in Hall E other than maintain my flourishing little indoor garden. I think I’m two or three weeks from some decent tomatoes, by the way.

I am actually feeling like we should clear some more houses on Route 18. I know they are spread pretty far apart if I head west towards Westfield, and it might be a good idea to just get them clear and empty. Peace of mind, plus who knows what the hell might be in the houses. I noted earlier today that the cafeteria food supply looked pretty well beaten up, so I definitely think we need to obtain more supplies. We’re not even into February yet, and the food is looking like it might be a problem.

The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. I could even use it as a training opportunity for Patty and Abby. They could probably stand to see how I do it in case I die. Man that’s heavy. I haven’t thought about dying in a long time. Changing the subject.

Might do some house cleaning tomorrow. We’ll see. Plus I think I might start making detailed maps of the area so I have a better idea of what is where, so I can keep track of shit. We’ll see.

-Adrian

January 27th

Busy as a beaver Mr. Journal. Feeling positive about things the last couple days. Strange eh? I guess negative Nancy got her eviction notice, and I hope that bitch doesn’t come back anytime soon.

Yesterday morning I awoke having had no terrible dreams. Very nice. I also managed to get a solid eight hours sleep despite not taken an Ambien. Really don’t want to get addicted to those things. I wound up getting up early, like 7am or so. I took a quick campus patrol on foot with the bow again, and encountered nothing. My paranoia about zombies with watches seems to have faded with a few good night’s rest. The temperatures have gone up about 25 degrees. It was in the negatives pretty much straight for about five days, and yesterday morning it seems to have gotten more tolerable. A balmy 32 degrees the last two days.

After checking and finding that the campus was clean of danger, I swung over to Hall A and knocked. Patty let me in and I sat down in the kitchen. They were getting together a breakfast of some form or another. Chuck’s arm looks about the same, but this break is a slow healer, so that’s to be expected. Randy was actually reading a book, which floored me. Of course it was Manga, but hey, it has words, and isn’t the Xbox.

I asked the family if they felt like going on a jaunt with me later to check on and possibly clean out some of the houses on Route 18. Chuck had just taken a painkiller, and he was in and out so he put up no fight. Patty and Abby were both kind of on the fence, but I sold them on the fact that it’s like 30 degrees warmer outside, and that there might be food or supplies in the houses. The icing on my cake was that I wanted to take them out shooting with a new set of guns. Specifically, 9mm handguns for them. They were fucking ALL ABOUT the gunplay.

I told them to meet me at our middle of the road shooting range in half an hour and we’d get some trigger time for them. I hoofed it back to Hall E and scraped up the two most appropriate 9mm’s for them. I grabbed that new Beretta 92F, and the Smith & Wesson 952. Decent capacity handguns with a little more stopping power than .22’s. I wanted to get them into handguns we had spare magazines for. I didn’t want them to “bite it” when they were putting bullets in an empty clip.

I grabbed 40 rounds of 9mm and headed down to the range. The girls showed up just as I was putting up new sheets of colored construction paper for targets. We went through the same basic instructions, skipping the draw and fire one shot deal. They’re experienced enough now to just load the magazines themselves and start up. We did however work extensively on magazine swaps once the girls picked the handgun they liked. They both wanted the Beretta, but it’s a little lighter than the S&W, and plus Patty would be using the Tac .22, so she had more magazine changes available to her with that. The Beretta has three magazines, and the S&W just two. (man that was rambling as all hell. Abby got the Beretta. Patty got the S&W. Short version right there for ya.)

They performed as I’d expected, which was very well. Once they got over the slight fear of firing a bigger gun, they were fine. Most people don’t realize there’s damn little difference in the lower calibers in terms of recoil and muzzle lift. The girls could prolly even step up to a heavier .45 soon. We’ve got spare clips for the Colt 1911’s now, and if 9mm gets really low, then we’ll think about it.

I gave them the guns, the spare clips, and a box of 50 rounds of 9mm to load their magazines with. We agreed to meet at the plow truck at 10:30 and we’d head out to find some trouble. I got my standard load for gear, plus the 12 gauge master key in the truck. We packed into the bench seat, trucked down Auburn Lake, and dropped the plow blade to make a path to the houses we wanted to check out.

Maybe half a mile down Route 18 headed west there was a house on the left. After that we saw four more houses within another half mile, then a pretty barren and empty stretch of road that winds its way up into the hills. That’s the direct route to Westfield, where Sean and his fuckrags came from.

We started at the end and worked our way back in the direction of the gas station. The end house we started at was a raised ranch similar to the style of houses on Gilbert’s unfinished cul de sac. About two or three hundred feet down the road were two more houses, directly across the street from one another. We made a deal that we’d clear those three houses and call it a day.

I showed the ladies how I had been clearing the houses. Park, honk, holler, wait, etc. I gotta say, having the two women handy made things go much faster. We could clear out the exterior and check windows for activity much faster for one thing. After we did our honking and noise making we checked the outside areas for movement, and checked all the windows as well. We saw nothing in the house windows, and after a few minutes to make sure, I kicked in the front door of the house. All three of us worked house clearing tactics together. I was on point with the 12 gauge, and girls came in behind me with their 9mm’s. It was nice having my back covered.

House was a split ranch, with one big floor up a half staircase, and the basement/lower floor below. Abby held the foyer on the stairwell while Patty and I cleared the basement. All was clear there. When we returned to the stairwell, Patty took the door, and Abby and I cleared the upstairs. Fortunately, the house was empty. Freezing cold of course.

The basement was a wreck due to the pipes bursting from the cold. I suspect we’ll be seeing a lot of that right now. Once we had the house safe, we proceeded to clear the bastard out. Of course I’d forgotten that the back of the plow was filled with snow, so as the women searched the house for supplies, I dug a shovel out of a closet in the house and shoveled the truck bed empty.

By the time I was done, the girls were finished tossing the house. Mr. Journal, there is a downside to bringing women on house cleaning duty: They take everything. I mean everything. They took the drapes, the throw rugs, the shoes, the rubber gloves under the fucking sink they plan on using to clean out the toilets later on with, and the dish drainer. It was like they were moving, and didn’t want to leave a single thing behind.

I literally laughed out loud as they took armload and box one after another to the truck. Just laughed. I suggested that we didn’t need to take ALL that shit right now. People wouldn’t be stealing drapes and dish drainers if they were scrounging for food and necessary supplies. Just more shit to store for the meantime on campus. Once we got all their “phat loots” loaded on the truck, we drove down the street and parked in between the next two houses.

We knew we had trouble as soon as we got out. The house on our right was an L shaped ranch. The house across from that was an old school colonial box house. Must’ve been a hundred years old at least. It had a huge driveway with about six cars in it. When we got out of the truck we could see in the windows of both houses there was undead scratching at the windows. Two undead per house actually, and all four were beating on separate windows. We made a quick plan to take down the undead right through the windows in the ranch first, but when the girls lined up to take their shots, we heard glass breaking from behind us, and we started scrambling. I told the women to take their shots, and I’d deal with the glass situation.

I took a quick look in the colonial’s yard from behind the hood of the truck, and saw there were two zombies stuck in the snow. They’d managed to break the ancient ass glass in the house and tumble out into the snow. Now mind you, we’ve been just shelled with snow this winter, so the snow is easily two feet deep.

The two zombies were about 30 feet from the road, so I knew I had some time. I unslung my rifle and rested the M15 on the hood of the truck. One loud crack later one of the zombies was poofed! Into the snow and just the one was left. I put the rifle on the hood of the truck and got the sword out of the cab. I heard about four gunshots from behind me as I sat and waited for the zombie to get across the yard through the snow. Honestly, it got kinda funny when Abby and Patty came around to watch. We stood there as this emaciated old man zombie trudged one inch at a time towards us, skinny arms extended, teeth snapping away.

Once the schleppy Methuselah was about three feet from the edge of the snow the girls back away, and with one giant ass sweep of the sword, his head got chopped in half across the bridge of the nose. Dude was so old I swear I saw dust fly from his brainpan. He went down into the snow like the first zombie.

Here’s where it got hairy. We’d spent so much fucking time watching George Burns come at us not one of us was paying attention to the ranch behind us. A third zombie from that house had come through a broken window and made its way all the way around the truck, and it tackled Patty. She screamed bloody murder as this teenage girl zombie took her down into the snow. I wish the fucking dead people made more noise Mr. Journal. Irritating that they’re so frigging good at being sneaky.

Patty’s a pretty tough bitch, and with Abby right there too, we managed to grab ahold of the shoulders of the zombie and yank the mother fucker off her and toss her into the snow. I had dropped the sword when we rushed to help Patty, so I went to pick it back up to finish off the zombie. When I turned to deal with the ambusher, Abby was already standing almost over it, and she put one round into the teenage girl’s forehead, executioner style.

Hardcore kid.

We got Patty up and other than a nasty bruise on her elbow and a shit smear in her panties, she was a-ok. Crisis averted, we decided to clear the L shaped ranch the teenage zombie had just came out of. Due to the slightly more violent situation we were extra cautious. Patty and Abby stayed behind me and I cleared the Ranch solo. It was pretty much open concept, so there were lots of clear lines of sight, and the likelihood of getting jumped was mitigated.

I found one more zombie in a back bedroom in the ranch. I hate to say it, but it was another little kid. Judging from the size of his body, he was about five years old, and he was as skinny as a rail. Distended belly and bulging eyes too. Looked like he had starved to death a long time ago. I got to wondering how that happened, and I think his parents and sister might’ve been bit, and they locked him in the bedroom to keep him “safe.” No way of knowing. That’s one thing that pisses me off about all this. I never get any fucking answers. Just more and more questions.

I wound up having to blast some buckshot through the door to kill the kid. He had the door barricaded and when I knocked on it, I could hear him scraping and scratching on the other side. One blast at belly button level and I’d ended his threat. Once I’d checked everything I started to head out, and just as I started to leave, I heard more gunfire from outside.

Patty and Abby were engaging a small handful of undead coming out the windows of the colonial. I think the count was about nine zombies. I sprinted the fuck outside putting a fresh shell in the Mossberg, and announced my presence behind them. Abby and Patty were standing at the truck, using the hood for stability, and were calmly and cleanly taking their shots. Luckily (actually, smartly) Abby had been facing towards the colonial and Patty had been watching the door of the ranch. They had plenty of warning when the undead started to come out, so they were able to stay ahead of the front edge of the pack.

I think they took about an even number of shots between the two of them, and I wound up just watching from the flank, making sure that they weren’t attacked from behind. The girls handled all nine zombies about as perfectly as you could. I was like a beaming father. Once they’d dropped them all, I waded into the snow to make sure they were all dead. Little nerve wracking to head into two foot deep snow with zombies hidden in it. However, I walked slowly, and the bodies were all successfully shot in the head.

Definitely proud of my girls.

Before we ransacked the ranch we cleared out the old colonial. I tell you what. Giant fucking place. Two very large floors and a full, rough stone basement. Solid twenty minutes of narrow hallways, locked doors, cobwebs, and the nasty ass smell you get when too many people try and fit into one place for too long. Judging from the dozen of undead we had, it was probably an extended family that had tried to batten down the hatches to weather the storm. God only knows what went wrong.

Once everything was clear in that house, we tossed the ranch. This time I told the ladies to calm the fuck down and only take important or immediately usable shit. Not just taking shit because it was free. They didn’t listen. Not one word. Too many neat things to take, and once you teach a woman how to shoot with a 9mm, there’s no telling them anything. Sigh. Team Vagina has asserted itself.

Oh well. I covered them from the street as they took everything out. And they took everything. I was surprised to find that despite having 10+ people in it, the colonial had a really ample supply of durable foods. In their rickety stone basement they had a lot of mason jars filled with jams and preserves that looked homemade, which was really nice. Too bad we don’t have any fucking bread to put it all on. They did have lots of soups, tuna fish, peanut butter, and spam, and all that other shit, so in terms of food, the colonial was well worth the trouble.

The ranch had next to nothing in it worth taking. I think those people lasted some time, and they depleted everything we would want. We did get some new movies and music though, which is good for maintaining morale, and keeping our boredom in check. There were no weapons other than melee weapons, and no tools to speak of, other than a new chainsaw in the colonial’s shed. Oh, they did have a five gallon gas can with fuel in it, which was pretty cool.

We called it a day after that, leaving the last two houses for another day. Our original plan was to hit them today, but we wound up tuckering out after we got everything back to campus and unloaded. As I said, the ladies took everything. Looked like the Beverly Hillbillies when we were coming back up the hill to campus. Abby said she wasn’t feeling well at all, and she rubbed her tummy and said she had cramps. Ruh roh. Makes me think about how many feminine hygiene products I’ve left behind. What happens when all the tampons and pads go out of date? Should we start looking for wine corks or spackle or something?

I let Patty take a bunch of the new food as a trophy into Hall A. Didn’t need to store it all in the cafeteria, and I think it really did help her confidence as well as Chuck’s when she came in with a big armload of food. It’s a tangible reward for the risk, and having Charles know that what we’re doing has benefits is important. Plus as it turns out, Chuck is into fried Spam, and we got several cans of it.

The rest of last night I finished watching Trigun, and I cleaned the weapons. I’ve been doing all the gun maintenance myself. Eventually I’ll have to teach the girls how to do it so I don’t have to clean their shit. But like I said the other day, I do enjoy cleaning the weapons.

Slept fairly well. Had a little bit of a hinky dream about Cassie. She was being all weird and standoffish in the dream. It was another one where it was like she and I were living together in hall E, like I’d saved her “that day” or something. Wasn’t a bad dream per se, but it certainly left a strange taste in my mouth.

As I said we decided to shit can going out today. That was fine with me. I did my two campus patrols on foot with the bow, and even got up the gumption to make some trips to the gas station again. The plow fuel tank was low as well as the Tundra’s so I made sure that was all topped off. It’s such a pain in the ass to drive off campus. I’ve got the vans parked forming a blockade, and every time I leave, it’s back up a van, get out, back up the other van, get out. Drive truck through, get out. Move van back, get out. Move other van back, get out. Such a pain in my ass. Wish I had something a little more effective, and easy to move. I might want to find a single semi truck to use as an obstacle or something.

I also took the time to check out the heating oil tanks for Hall A and E. They’re definitely getting low, and we’ll need to address that within a week or two. Luckily there’s a shitload of home heating oil all over the place. Almost every house has like a 250 gallon tank in it, and I’d bet I can get a shitload just on Auburn Lake Road. Siphoning it might be a bitch, but I’ll figure it out.

Brian and I had our official radio call a few hours ago at 6pm again. First thing he said was that he was sorry for acting like an asshole at the meeting the other day. He admitted he was wrong, and that we had just as much a claim to the fire trucks as they did. First come, first serve. He actually made a good analogy with hunting. If I come on your land, and kill a deer, I deserve to eat it. Whether or not you have five people, ten people or a hundred people. I did the work, and it’s mine now.

I told him I understood, and we dropped it. I think he was genuinely sorry too. We bullshitted and exchanged some stories about the “good old days” before the world shit the bed. You know, when he arrested normal criminals instead of fighting off hordes of the living dead. It wasn’t long before we got on the subject of doing another trade. He approached the subject asking if we could spare more food. I knew right then and there he and his people were probably not as well off as he’d like us to believe. I had him by the short hairs.

I told him we could spare some food only for one or two things. We needed more solar panels and the expertise to hook them up to the batteries. We also needed ammunition, and more food of our own. If he could pony up those things, we’d be more than willing to trade food. Since it doesn’t make sense to trade food for food really, we wound up settling on the following:

Six more solar panels, delivered here. 12 batteries to put in series to store electricity, and the cables, regulators, etc to use them. Two technicians along with the panels and batteries, and the time to hook up the gear so we have a battery system. As long as the sun shines and the panels and batteries last, we will have electricity. 12 rounds of 12 gauge buckshot, and 40 rounds of 5.56mm.

Now that’s what he offered up to me. Here’s what I offered back to him in return;

4 jars of the jam/jelly we’d just gotten out of that colonial house, 4 cans Spam, 36 cans of assorted vegetables and soups, 4 bars of soap, 2 tubes toothpaste, 4 containers of shampoo, and one bag of dog food (which I’ll get tomorrow from the farm on Jones road. I remember seeing the food in a closet the dog couldn’t open. That or any of the houses I saw dead dogs at really)

And that’s it. Didn’t seem like a huge price to pay for what amounts to permanent electricity, and a pretty big bump in the 5.56 stocks. 40 rounds is almost a magazine and a half. I’m thinking they got an adult sized fucking ammo dump out of the police station when they emptied the arms locker.

So they’re coming here on the 29th to complete their trade with us. We made strict and mutually beneficial rules for how they’d arrive, and how many people they could bring, etc. I’m starting to feel good about all this. Starting to get the genuine impression we might be able to have a long term relationship with these people, especially after we get the agricultural thing going in spring. If we can plant different crops and actually get them to grow, we’ll be golden.

After the radio call I ran down to Hall A and talked to the Williams clan. They had been listening on their radio and were stoked, although they thought it was a lot of food to give up. Patty however pointed out my little garden was coming out good, and so was hers. We’d be growing food in no time flat and anything we traded we could replace eventually.

We also agreed that tomorrow we’d hit the last two houses on Route 18 as well as stop and find that dog food somewhere. Come to think of it, that’s actually good news. If they need dog food, that means they have a dog. If they have a dog, that means they haven’t eaten it yet. So I guess they can’t be that hungry. Or it was a bluff.

Busy day again tomorrow. Exciting stuff. Talk to you soon Mr. Journal.

-Adrian

January 29th

Man what a whirlwind. We’ve been super busy here on campus. Yesterday started out with a nightmare, but it turned into a bit of a good thing.

Abby and Patty wanted to head back out to hit the last two houses heading west on Route 18 yesterday. I was all for that. The girls were feeling good about themselves. After all, we’d cleared three houses in a day, gotten a really substantial amount of food, and they’d dropped what? 10-12 zombies to boot? That’s like a positive on almost every level. I mean yeah, Patty almost died, but honestly we had it handled. Lol. Sounds funny.

The girls actually came over to Hall E and woke me up early. Well, they did as well as Otis sitting on my chest slowly kneading me with his little paws. His purring vibrates my rib cage. That’s his subtle way of telling me that his food bowl is empty. I think the girls were excited. They were banging on the door something fierce and hollering up for me to, “Wake up lazy pants!” I mean it’s nice to be woken by two ladies, but I was getting some decent sleep for a change. I skipped the morning shower after letting them in, and I downed a cup of instant coffee. Still not using the super fancy coffee maker I got out of that house on Auburn Lake Road. Seems stupid if I don’t have milk to steam.

A few snacks later, and I was geared up and we headed out. I think it was 9am. Just as we were getting into the truck to head out, we heard this terrible smashing noise from maybe a quarter mile away, down the Auburn Lake Road. The girls held fast and I drove the truck to the bridge. Gilbert came over the radio asking what the hell was going on, and a minute later Brian came over the radio asking if we needed help. I told them to calm down. Once I got to the bridge I saw what happened.

Remember those trees we pre-cut for the Westfield ambush? It was a little snowy on the night before the what? The 28th?, and the trees were chock full of snow, and when the breeze kicked up, it took one of them down across the road. Fucking tree falling down. I radioed that we were fine and that a tree had fallen down. I zipped back to the ladies, told them what happened, and we scored a chainsaw and went to the tree. After an hour of chopping the limbs off and getting it cut down to size, we got Randy and Gilbert on moving the fresh firewood back to campus for splitting. Crisis turned into supplies. Yay. Although that does make me worry about the other trees we prepped to cut. Shit I don’t even remember now how many we did. I’ll have to check that in a bit. (Kinda cool that Brian responded so fast from across town. Does seem to say something about his character)

We made the trip down to the last two houses and started the house clearing process. I let the girls do more of the work while I watched and pulled security. The only thing I really wanted to do myself was the actual door kicking, and room clearing with the shotgun. They don’t have trigger time with a shotgun time yet and they’re not quite ready for going into a house solo. I did bring Patty inside with me on one house and Abby the other, so we’re getting them good experience.

Both houses had no undead, but one did have dead bodies inside. I wound up getting the back door open and dragging the corpses outside so the women didn’t hurl all over the place. One house was a double wide mobile home, and the other a small cape with an addition on the side for a new family room. The mobile home had a suicide in it, which is a mixed blessing. The person did it with a 20 gauge pump shotgun, and where there’s one gun, there’s usually a few more. We picked up the 20ga, another 12ga pump, and a pair of muzzle loaders. Good thing about that is the black powder. They had 24 12 gauge shells, and 24 20 gauge shells. Nice haul all things considered. Fair amount of food too. Well, there were 8 cans of clams, which is… weird. Not a huge fan of canned clams. They were probably chowder enthusiasts.

Few good supplies, more gun cleaning stuff there. The cape was empty of people dead, undead, or otherwise, and had a reasonably good supply of food inside. I think we salvaged about 24 cans of food out of it, which was nice. I did notice the back door was already kicked in when we did our search, and the house was completely devoid of valuables. By valuables I mean electronics, jewelry, cash etc. I bet some asshole from one of the houses nearby stole it. Come to think of it, one of the next houses down the road is the house where I got my Xbox and PS3, and the big TV and all the movies. I wonder if that guy was the one who broke in there? Food for thought. At least whoever did it left a lot of food behind. Mostly soups and broths, but those have their uses. No clams either. WIN!

I think we were doing the house cleaning thing for three hours when we wrapped up. We’d lost time on the fallen tree that morning, and we’d taken our sweet ass time getting those two houses done. I actually showed the girls some basic CQB tactics, and explained the idea of violence in action. Doesn’t really apply versus zombies, but it’s still valuable to know. I also showed them how to slice the pie, which scared the beejesus out of them. Look that shit up Mr. Journal. Savage way to end someone’s life.

We jaunted back towards campus, and I decided to take a short detour to see how many houses we had skipped over heading east, and we found three just between the gas station and the log cabin that the assholes who attacked Gilbert were living in. We made a plan that within a few days we’d head to hit those, and that seemed to excite them. We stopped at two houses I thought I left dog food in during the clearing out process. I was wrong about the first house, but we went to the Jones Road farm, and there was definitely food there. We hadn’t plowed that road out though, so it took forever for us to push all that snow out of the way. Two feet of snow does not give up the ghost easily.

We got back to campus around 4pm. Time flies when you’re having fun. We unloaded our haul into the cafeteria like normal, and I decided I’d relax and hit the books. Felt like it’d been forever since I’d sat down and read. It’s at least been three weeks. I wanted to investigate solar power and electricity, and wouldn’t you know, our science section in the library had a few books on the subject. Yay for the green initiatives.

On my way back from the library I stopped in at Hall A and harassed the Williams folks. Everyone was in great spirits. The girls were really enjoying the fact that they were getting out and being profoundly useful and important. I even think chuck felt good about it because he fed off their happiness, and he also was home spending some decent time with his son. Long time I think since they had time to relax together. We went over our plan for how we’d deal with the presence of the STIG folks here on campus, and once everyone was on point with the plan, I headed home to Hall E. I spent the remainder of the evening reading the solar power books, and wondering what the hell I was going to do with 8 tins of minced clams.

I woke up this morning super early. I had sexy dreams of unlimited electrical energy, and hot water fueled by the power of the sun. Seriously though, I did. I dreamt about solar energy. That’s what I get after I read through two dry as hell science textbooks. Wasn’t the worst dream I’ve had, that’s for sure. I was up with the sun, which was a little unusual. I usually sleep in until 7 normally, and the sun has been rising around 6:40. It felt early as hell.

I did a patrol of campus and got my gear set up. My logic for the solar panels wasn’t entirely popular with the Williams clan. They wanted the panels installed on Hall A. I wanted Hall E. They said well there’s more people here, and blah fucking blah. My logic was that Hall E was larger, and only had heat if it had electricity. Hall A has the wood stove, so if they lose juice, they’re still fine. If I lose juice, I gotta relocate. AND… Hall E’s windows are already boarded up, and the back deck has the steps removed, so in a last ditch situation, we’d come here anyway.

They gave up. I think having the Glock on my hip helped. I can be very persuasive when I’m armed. Heh. Seriously though they were on board with the idea once I explained it. Plus it wasn’t like we couldn’t get more panels installed.

STIG radioed us at 8am saying they were enroute. The plan was to arrive at 9:30. If they arrived earlier, they’d radio before pulling up. At 8:45 they radioed, saying the trip to here was almost entirely devoid of trouble, and they were at Jones Road, waiting for our clearance. Abby was going to be outside patrolling campus, and Patty was going to be at the vans with the Tac .22 in case they made a run at the bridge. Gilbert was to stay at his house, and only come down if something were to go wrong.

I told them to roll the truck to the bridge. Once the truck pulled up, I saw Brian and an unknown man in the cab. Brian hopped out and we shook hands. He seemed excited to be here finally. We bullshitted for a bit, mostly about their trip over. He said there were all of maybe five zombies on the way here, which was awesome. They ran over as many as they could (and they had the splat marks on the truck to prove it) and got here in what amounted to almost normal travel time.

As per our agreement, Brian opened the back of the truck for me. He had two more people bundled up in there holding the solar panel boxes still. I recognized both guys as Tim and Tom Murphy. I knew they worked at STIG before everything went down, and man was it nice to see them. Tim and Tom were as Irish as you can get. Skinny, pale as hell, hard drinkers, and they loved to laugh. They reminded me of my buddy Kevin something fierce. They were brothers from my side of town that I knew through some of our other friends. Townies to say the least. I greeted them with a mile wide grin, and knew this day was going to be worth it.

Once I was sure they didn’t have a Trojan Horse to bring on campus, Patty and I moved the vans off the bridge, and let them drive the truck over to Hall E. As we agreed, only two of their men would be armed, and that turned out to be Brian and the other guy in the front, who turned out to be a guy named Darryl. He was a bearded, burly ex-logger that found his way to STIG after “that day” because his wife worked there. He had a police issue 12 gauge and held like he knew how to use it. I was instantly envious of Brian for having so many able people. I was also a little concerned that Brian had so many capable people.

Here’s how it went down. The techs were not to enter Hall E until the panels were installed on the roof. I drove the ladder truck over to Hall E and got the thing raised for them. They said it was the easiest roof work they’d ever done. Tim and Tom did these installations for a living, and they worked fast as hell. The panels they were putting in were strictly electricity generators. They could put some in that just heated water, but electricity is far more important than hot water at the moment. They brought their own tools and had the panels installed in three hours. During that time, Brian and Darryl were to hang out with me outside watching to make sure the techs were okay. They wound up running some heavy duty cabling down the side of the house and had to drill a hole in the wall to get it through.

Fortunately, where they had to drill to patch the solar energy into the Hall was near the basement fire door which I’d almost entirely forgotten about. I never use the damn thing. It’s on the side of the Hall where the deck is, and I never go out that way really. So, once they had that panels in, and the cables installed, I let Tim in through that bottom door, and he installed the batteries and paneling and hooked everything fully to the Hall’s power grid. Abby came inside the hall and sat on the stairs to make sure he didn’t try to get upstairs to sneak around. He was inside for about two more hours. By then it was about 3:30, and the sky was getting dark. Clouds were drowning out what little sun we were going to get that day, but Tim showed me the energy being generated on a voltimeter, or voltometer, or whatever it’s called. Point is the needle was moving. He explained how much energy could be use for what, and how much it’d help out the drain on the generator.

After my instruction on how to operate the panels and batteries and circuits, and a whole bunch of shit I don’t recall, he handed me about five manuals, and we walked out. They were packing up to leave, and I got their stuff for them. I had it all in a large Sterilite container that the kids in a dorm room were using as an impromptu hamper. Brian counted everything, and then he handed me the box of 5.56. I shook everyone’s hands, and thanked them. Once the trade was complete, and they had the stuff in the truck, you could see the tension lift. Just from body language alone Darryl looked so much happier. I’m betting he was completely sold on the idea that this was an ambush and they were walking into a trap.

But it wasn’t. If anything, I’m pretty honest. Mostly.

I’m in business folks. And it went smooth as a ninja shit being pushed down the drain by a toe. Awww yeah boy! I’m mature, I know. It’s something I struggle with day to day.

When they left Brian and I agreed that we’d talk again on the 31st, and he mentioned that if we came across anything useful or had spare of things, to let them know. He mentioned that 150 mouths are a lot to keep fed, and any spare food would be traded for immediately. I told him I’d keep an eye out for him. I mentioned that my plan is to clear out more and more houses, one by one, and as we came across food and supplies, anything extra I’d be more than happy to share. He said they were waiting for spring to do the same on their side of town. He also mentioned that he had some spare police oriented equipment like Tasers and pepper spray, which definitely got the saliva flowing.

Good to know we’re on the same page on multiple levels. We shook hands again, and they drove their truck across the bridge. Patty and I got the vans back into position, and once Gilbert arrived on campus about 15 minutes later, we knew the coast was clear. Gilbert was our rear guard to make sure they didn’t bum rush the campus. He said that the Police 4x4 stopped exactly at the end of Prospect and sat there, waiting for something to go wrong. He said he saw four people in the cruiser, which makes sense.

Bringing a vehicle loaded with armed folks was against our rules for the meeting, but then again, so was Gilbert’s rear guard action. Now I also left Gilbert out of the equation to make sure that he didn’t talk to Brian again. So far, they haven’t met yet, and I’m trying to keep them apart to increase their tension/disorganization. We’ll see how it pans out. Of course it occurs to me now that Gilbert easily could’ve waltzed down to the end of Prospect and shot the shit with the cops in the cruiser all damn day.

Sigh.

So yeah, little bit of the juice. Nice. Tomorrow we’re going to hit the three houses heading east between Auburn Lake Road and the log cabin. More than likely they’ll be empty, but I’m hopeful we’ll find something. (my guess is the cabin folks cleaned them out already)

We’ll see what happens after that! Hoping for sunny days ahead.

-Adrian

January 30th

That motherfucker.

They hit my gas station.

Sean, wherever you are, I hope you’re real fucking happy tonight.

I’d like to think you have no idea I’m coming for you.

-Adrian

January 31st

If one more person shits in my cornflakes, I will tear every last human being I encounter apart. I have fucking had it with people. Absolutely fucking had it. The human race deserves to rot.

Gonna go punch holes in the wall now.

-Adrian

January 31st (2nd entry)

Better now.

That’s a complete lie. I am not “better now.” I am calmer now. Definitely not better.

At about 9pm last night I was getting settled for bed, and I heard a loud boom from outside. It sounded very far off though, and I thought it was another one of those trees we pre-cut for the ambush falling down again. I went to a window facing the bridge to see if I could see anything, but when I went past a window facing north-ish, I saw light on the horizon. I did the geographic math in my head, and realized it was somewhere near the gas station. Just as I was putting two and two together there was a huge flare of light, another booming noise shortly after that, and then I KNEW it was the gas station.

First, there was rage. Then some worry. I got my ass dressed as fast as possible and headed over to Hall A, weapons in hand, expecting a full on assault. Of course I didn’t get there fast enough, and Patty came over the radio asking if I heard that explosion. A few seconds after that Jason over at STIG came over the radio and was asking if we were okay, and if we needed assistance. I was happy to hear that they were keeping an ‘eye’ on us, but I was pissed that it got to them that something bad had happened. I didn’t want them to think our survivability was damaged. Then I started to think that they answered so fast because they were awake, and about to hit us, having just been here to campus. Made sense, right?

I radioed back to him that we had heard some kind of explosion in the distance, and that we were checking it out. He said to let them know what was up, and that they were able to head over if we needed help. By the time I got to Hall A, I could hear a snowmobile moving in the woods nearby. I made sure the M15 was ready to rock, and I hoped to God it was Gilbert coming and not the Westfield people. I took cover in the snow bank and watched the machine pull in. It was Gilbert.

He hopped off the machine and I hollered out to freeze. He stopped immediately. I don’t know why I did it. I was so pissed, and sick of all the bullshit. I called his ass out immediately.

“Gilbert, what were you and Brian talking about on the radio the other night?” I leveled the M15 at his chest. My heart was pounding in the cold moonlight.

Gilbert slowly lifted his hands and extended them out to the sides. He didn’t want to get shot, and I didn’t want to shoot him. He said this back to me, “I’ve known Brian for years Adrian. I was friends with his father. He and I have been talking for months now on the radio I have in my basement.” His voice was laced with concern. He must’ve known I was in a bad place mentally. I literally could just pull the trigger.

I said this back, and arguably, it was not my finest moment as a human being. “You fucking asshole. Why didn’t you tell me this from the start? We could’ve been talking to them weeks ago, a month ago, or more you fucking dink! And I turn on the radio in the middle of the night and lo and behold I hear you two talking about me? What the fuck man? You have any idea how fucking betrayed I feel?! Why the fucking game?”

“Son you lied to him too. You told him we had more people here than we did. You told him you have less food than you actually have. You were smart, and you told him just as much as you had to. The only difference between you and me is that your feelings are hurt that I protected myself, and mine aren’t.” Man he could stare. I felt my soul shrivel.

“Fuck Gilbert, you’re like the first person I’ve met that didn’t try and fucking kill me. I thought we’d be on the level man. You know, you gotta trust someone sometime right?” Not gonna lie. Started to cry. Not cry like a bitch, but my voice was breaking a little, and my eyes were watering. I’m gonna blame the cold air.

He shook his head. “Adrian, I have never lied to you. I have not told you things a few times that made my situation better son, but at no point have I bald faced lied to you.”

God help me, but I believed him. I lowered the rifle a little and he lowered his hands. He spoke again, “Look Son. This world is fucked. There’s food, ammunition, fuel, and trust. Anything else doesn’t matter, and off that list, trust is the hardest to find, and worth the most. Now if your feelings are hurt because I don’t trust nobody, then tough shit son. But I can tell you this: I coulda thrown in with Brian’s men long before I met you, and I didn’t. I’m right here, right now, and you gotta trust that when it gets thick, I am here for you, Son.”

The damn cold really started to irritate my eyes again. I was still angry over the explosion, but I wasn’t angry at him anymore. I realized then that Abby and Randy were on the porch of Hall A beside us watching and listening. They had no idea about any of this, and Abby’s face spoke volumes. She was practically scowling at Gilbert.

I nodded slowly at Gilbert. He started walking into Hall A, and I followed him after wiping my face. Abby patted me on the back, and I thanked her. Inside, Chuck was on the couch trying to keep his arm elevated and Patty was stalking up and down the hallway with her 9mm, waiting for an impending assault. Once inside I calmed myself, and told them I was going to head down on the snow machine to see what happened. Gilbert said he could show me a trail that dumped out down the road from the station. I agreed, and we were off. The ladies stayed behind and held down the fort.

Gilbert watched as I ran back to here and snagged up my Kevlar and the Savage. I wanted the scope for vision purposes. I slung that and the M15 across my back, and I trotted over to our snowmobile. I met Gilbert on his machine and together we dragged two of the plywood sheets with nails back out into the road. It was a bitch to get them past the bridge, but we did it, and pretty fast too. Adrenaline is a wonderful thing. After that he took me to his place. He pointed out how to get to Route 18 near the piss and lemons house, and he said he’d take a route that came out on the other side. I shook his hand, and we zipped off.

It was 15 minutes before I got to the road. I drove very slow as I got closer to the road so the machine was quieter. I actually wound up parking the machine right near the garage that Gilbert took cover behind the day we were attacked by the cabin folk. I ran down the road towards the gas station about three or four football fields then dropped low and slow crawled until I got a reasonably good view via scope of the flames coming from the gas station. It was roaring on fire. Like, raging. It had been torched, and not only that, but there was a large truck parked in the road that had been set on fire as well. The wreck was just on the east side of the garage, so we couldn’t drive downtown without letting it burn out.

Now through the scope on the ground I could make out two people moving, backlit by the fire. I knew right then and there they’d die where they stood. It was a long shot, I guessed it at 500 yards solid. I prioritized targets, estimated the range, guessed windage, adjusted the scope, slowed my breathing, thanked McGreevy for his excellent choice in hunting rifles and optics, and killed the man facing in my direction. I threw the bolt to reload as the other dork started spinning, looking for the shooter who’d just killed their friend. They were about to dive for cover when I killed him too. Both were dropped with shots to the chest. Easily the best combat kills I’ve ever made. And I’ve made some good ones.

I displaced on foot about 75 yards ahead in the road as fast as I could smash my way through the two feet of snow and low brush. I was moving in solid cover, and even in the decent moonlight there was no way they’d see me. I dropped to the ground again and watched the scene through the scope. Rushing to the aid of the assholes I’d just dropped was another figure. I readjusted my scope with a twist, and sent one more round downrange with a swift kick to the shoulder. Whoever it was went ass over teakettle and managed to fall on the burning truck. I could hear them screaming for a few seconds while they bled out and burnt up. I waited there for two solid minutes before I saw the flash of headlights, then the vague light of vehicle tail lights moving away from me from the other side of the fire.

I sat there for another minute, and then started to slink slowly through the snow and brush to get closer. I switched to the M15 when I was a hundred yards out, and I started to jog to the wrecked truck in the road. By the time I got there, all three dead bodies were sitting back up as zombies. Pisses me off that every time I kill one of these assholes, I wind up having to do it twice unless I can shoot them in the head the first time. I dropped to a knee in the middle of the road and snapped off two shots. One killed the zombie that was on fire from falling on the truck, and the second shot killed the male zombie that I’d killed first. I got closer and went to draw my sword, but once again, I forgot the fucking thing at home. I drew the Glock and blew the dead woman’s head apart. I vaguely remember hearing her body sizzling as it burnt. Incidentally, after seeing a zombie actually on fire, I find myself emotionally detached.

I checked around the area and found no one left alive. The gas station was a flat out raging inferno. There were tire tracks in the snow heading west. I stood there, watching the flames gout up from the underground storage tanks for at least five minutes before Gilbert rode up on his machine. He ushered me to fuck off out of there, and after I grabbed their guns and searched them for ammo, he gave me a ride to my machine. We then rode back to the campus.

Hall A’s inhabitants were walking on pins and needles. Chuck was fucking furious about this, and Patty was stressing big time. Abby, as usual, was keeping it together and keeping Randy surprisingly calm. They had heard the gunshots, and knew something bad had happened. I told them we killed three more people at the station, and I showed them the lone wallet I’d collected off the bodies. It had a Westfield driver’s licenses.

Shocking, right?

I radioed to Jason at STIG and Brian answered. I told them we were alright, and that there had been an attack on the gas station near here that we used. I told them that we had been attacked weeks ago by people from Westfield and that we fought them off. This was apparently their attempt at revenge.

Brian immediately asked if it was, “Sean’s group of people.”

MMmm. Not cool Mr. Journal.

I told him yeah, and waited for him to tell me they were coming to kill me because I’d just attacked their allies or something. Surprisingly, he laughed. Apparently this Sean asshole was a state senator before the world shit the bed, and was well known as an asshole. According to what Brian said I guess back when they were still in radio contact before the state signal repeaters shit the bed, Sean had all these grandiose plans to re-launch the state under his guidance. Brian said they broke off contact before the repeaters died because he was a Grade-A giant bag of douche.

Hearing that pleased me a great deal. Brian said if we needed support, he and a few of his men could get there in less than an hour, and to call. He said they had men on the radio 24/7 monitoring in the event something went wrong, so just holler. I thanked him. Gilbert spoke up then too.

He said, “Brian this is Gilbert. I told Adrian that we been talking, so he knows everything. Don’t feel like you have to hold back anymore.”

Wow right?

Brian was silent for a good thirty seconds. His single response was this, “Adrian, we need you more than you need us. And you need to know that. Shit I think you probably already know that. We’re low on food something fierce, but we’re in the safest place you can imagine. After all this bullshit, you really need to consider coming to us and staying here until it all blows over.”

I looked at the faces of the people around me. Chuck was nodding in agreement, and Patty had her head hung low, clearly thinking about it. Randy was tearing up, and Abby was looking at me, wondering what I was thinking. She looked so skinny and tiny to me in that moment, and I felt a little bit of my heart break off for her. Such a young girl and in such a scary world to finish growing up in. Gilbert was looking at me too, but I could fucking tell he was looking to me to show support, and strength.

“Brian, those of us here are free to make whatever decision they want. If anyone wants to join you, they are free to do so. However, this is my home now, and I plan on staying here. I am more than happy to help you as much as I can though. Give us some time to figure out what we’re doing please.”

He said no problem, and wished us safety and good luck.

Chuck immediately said, “We’re fucking gone tomorrow.” He rationalized it, and it made sense. A lot of sense. If Westfield was willing to destroy an entire gas station to get revenge on us, then they were willing to burn the campus down, building by building to get at me. Not at them mind you, me. This shit was personal, and everyone knew it. Sean wanted ME dead, and if the others died too, well that was just fine to him.

I said we should sleep on it, and discuss it tomorrow. That’s when I put my small entry in last night. I had to say something to someone, so I chose you Mr. Journal.

No one slept. Gilbert moved his truck to the end of Prospect Circle and sat in it all night long, waiting for more Westfield assholes to show. I wandered campus almost all night, stopping only to piss and shit inside. I grabbed a few of the leftover granola bars we’d accumulated, and I kept at it. I wound up blacking out from exhaustion sitting at the kitchen table sometime around 9am this morning. I slept for three or four hours before Abby woke me up banging on the outside door. She was red eyed from crying. My radio had died. I forgot to charge it.

We gathered in Hall A again for a meeting I wish I could forget now. Chuck and Patty had discussed it all night, and they were leaving. I said that was fine. They were bringing Randy and Abby with them. Abby had waited for me to tell them no. She wanted me awake to support her assertion to stay here.

I didn’t support her. She should not be near me right now. I’m dangerous to her, and the Westfield assholes are dangerous to her as well. If she stays here, she’ll get killed, I can fucking tell. She actually hit me in the face when I told her to leave, she said some horrible things too, but she had a right to say them.

“You liar! You said I could stay with you! I don’t want to leave, this is my home now, I can take care of myself. We’ll be fine, everything will be fine!”

Lots of stuff like that. I let her hit me a few times before Patty intervened and grabbed her. She felt betrayed by me, and I can’t blame her. I told her why she should leave, and she argued until she collapsed from exhaustion. I don’t think she slept at all last night.

I sat at the table and waited for Patty to get her down and asleep on the couch. Charles was crying, and Gilbert was rubbing his face, showing his frustration and sadness over everything. I sat silent until Patty returned.

This is all I said to them, “You need to leave. Tomorrow if we can get them to come get you. You can take some food, some medicine, a few guns and some ammo, and a vehicle if you want one. I will deal with this on my terms, and believe me, you don’t want that much blood on your hands.”

They had no answer, so I stood up and asked them straight up, “Are we making the call or what? Make your decision, stay or leave.”

Chuck and Patty looked at each other painfully for a minute, and then reached for the radio.

I walked out of Hall A.

-Adrian

February 2011

February 1st

Goodbyes are always painful Mr. Journal. This one more than the usual.

When I got back to the dorm last night I cried. A lot. It got so bad I inevitably started to think about Cassie, and how much I missed her. I wanted desperately to have her support right now. Jesus I miss that woman. I’d give it all up to have her back for just one hour.

Just one hour.

But that’s not happening is it? Like Gilbert said, I’ve got to earn my redemption. One day, God willing, I’ll make it to the big campus in the sky, and hopefully, she’ll be there waiting for me. Until then, I’ve got blood to spill.

I wound up sleeping for about six hours until dawn again. Terrible dreams again Mr. Journal. I don’t remember what the dreams were about, but I remember violence. Otis was long gone and hiding under the couch when I woke up. He does that lately when I have bad dreams. Once I’m awake though he’s fine. I got him out from under the couch, got him some food and water, and took a long, hot shower.

I knew from the radio conversation last night that Brian was rolling in at high noon to get the Williams family, so I had work to do. First thing after I got ready was to head down to the gas station. Outside I could smell the odor on the air of a burnt home. You ever been near a house fire? Lots of nasty chemical smells in the air, and this one was extra bad. I hopped in the plow, made sure there was a chain in it, and I headed down to the gas station. I had to move the spiked boards we dropped in the road. I approached it carefully, and made sure there was no one around. Of course, someone with a good rifle and some time behind a scope could kill me from far enough away that I’d never see them, but fuck it, I’m feeling a little down in the dumps today.

I hooked the chain up to the burnt out truck, and then hitched it to the plow. I dragged the heap into the gas station yard and searched the station for anything usable. Wouldn’t you know, but there was nothing left. All that was left was just a few standing remnants of frame, and the warped metal of some tools and shit.

I headed back up to campus. As soon as I pulled in I saw the Williams people in the windows of Hall A, gathering what few things they wanted to leave with. I suddenly got really fucking paranoid that they were going to steal valuable stuff I’d need to replace, but I calmed myself down. Everything that I couldn’t live without was already in Hall E, under lock and key. Whatever they took from Hall A they could keep.

After I parked the plow I gathered up the stuff I wanted them to leave with. I had a rough idea of the 9mm ammo they still had, and I knew it was around 50 or so rounds, and I wanted them to have more. I grabbed them 25 more rounds to take with them. I anticipated Charles would take his shotgun with him, and that’s fine, but I really wanted him to take a pump action as well. I snagged one of the Benelli pumps that we got from the cabin, and a box of 12 shells for him.

I also wanted them to keep the Marlin and the Tac .22, so I grabbed another box of 500 rounds. I wanted to give them one of the .38 revolvers we’d gotten, but I couldn’t find the one I wanted to give them. I think I left it in one of the gun cases and I didn’t bother looking for it before they left. That seemed like more than enough ammo to keep them safe and sound. I had no idea what kind of drugs they had over at STIG, so I made sure to grab them some antibiotics, ibuprofen, aspirin, vitamins, and some painkillers. I also grabbed them some food.

Out of the cafeteria I snagged a flat for 48 cans, and filled it with various different foods. We had a full bag of chips spare, as well as two tins of juice. I also grabbed a few random tidbits like granola bars, a few chocolate bars, etc. I got it all in some cardboard boxes and moved it over to Hall A. I left it just out of the way of their sight, so they couldn’t see my surprise parting gift for them.

It wasn’t much after that when I saw Charles trying to get my attention through a window. I headed inside. We sat down at the table and had a really awkward conversation that turned a little ugly.

“Adrian, we’d like to leave here with a fair share of the food.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve got a package of food ready for you already, and you can take whatever you want from what you’ve got here in the dorm as well. I’ve also got some weapons and ammo I’d like you to take.”

“Oh wow, that’s great, thanks. We can load it all in their truck when they get here.”

“Yeah I’ll help you guys. It’s not a ton, but they’ve got food there, and I’m sure we’ll be trading more soon. That or you guys will come back once this is dealt with.”

“Well how much stuff is it? I mean, we were thinking a straight split of the food. There’s five of us, and just one of you, so we were expecting to take you know, about 75% of the food.” He seemed confused that I wasn’t just giving it all to them.

I got angry, but I stayed calm. “Chuck, in that case I think it’s fair that you guys take whatever it is you gathered on your own. Which is nothing. What I’m giving you, is what the girls and I gathered the past few days together, plus extra food, plus several weapons, and a shitload of ammo you didn’t come here with. I think I’m being far more than fair.”

He was steaming, “So you’re just gonna throw us out on our asses with next to nothing? That’s ridiculous! If you’d just talked to Sean instead of fighting him this wouldn’t be happening! This is all your fault goddamn you!”

I stood up and pointed a finger in his face, calm had gone the way of the dodo. “You fucking brought this on ME you asshole. YOU led them to MY home, the one I almost died to make safe, and I KILLED people so you can sleep here at night. Sleep right near the wood stove I found, out of a house I cleared by myself. You eat the food I gather, and have electricity from the generator that I PUT HERE!” I nearly smacked him across the face bitch slap style but I turned and walked to the door.

At the door I said one last thing, “Chuck. You’re leaving here with more than you came with. Get your family safe, and have the best life you can. Don’t regret this decision. Own it.”

And I walked out.

I didn’t see him again until when the STIG truck pulled up to the bridge. I didn’t move the vans away this time, I just stood there, waiting for them to come out of the truck. I had the weapons packed into a single rifle case from the grocery store roof, and I had brought the big box of food and ammo out too.

Brian jumped out of the passenger side of the truck and his sidekick Darryl waved out the truck window at me. Now that there’s some trust established, he seems to have warmed to me.

Brian’s first words to me were, “Holy shit man. What happened at that gas station?”

All I did was nod solemnly. He knew not to pry. He shook my hand for sometime ad eventually we grabbed the box of stuff and brought it to the back of the big truck. He threw the door up, and we hefted into the back. After a good shove inside I wiped my hands off, and stood there, waiting as the Williams family trudged their way over the bridge in our direction.

He finally started talking, “What’re you going to do?”

“I killed three of his people Brian. They were waiting in ambush at the gas station for us after they torched it.” I remember licking my lips a lot. They’re dry and painful right now, too much time outside. I need to look for Chapstick.

“We saw the bodies and it serves them right Adrian. If Sean’s fucking you over like this you know you’ve gotten underneath his skin. This is a power play Adrian. He’s trying to show his people that you’re a threat, and that you’ll be dealt with.”

I laughed. He didn’t know the whole story yet. “There’s more to what happened at the gas station than you know Brian. After I dropped those three people I searched their bodies, and took their guns.”

“Good, anything decent?” He asked. He seemed excited at the prospect of new weapons and ammo coming into town.

“Brian their guns weren’t loaded.”

I let him think about it. He spat on the ground when he put two and two together. I spoke up before he had the chance to, “He had me kill those people on purpose. He knew I’d do it, and he put patsies out there with empty guns for me to kill. I eliminated that cocksucker’s competition. I murdered innocents for him Brian, and he will fucking pay for it.”

Brian nodded slowly. “You want help? I’ll give you Jason, he’s got some military experience, I’m sure he’ll be useful.”

I shook my head. “No, but thanks. I need to do this solo. I’ve got some ideas on what to do and how to do it, I just need to think about it. I do know this; if he’s killing off his own people like this, then that means he’s not very popular at home right now. My bet is if I kill him and only him, the rest of his people will throw in the white towel and call for a truce.”

Brian agreed. I’ve got some planning to do.

Just about then the Williams people arrived, and it was a mess. Charles wouldn’t look at me at all, and Patty was crying. She hugged me, and we got her up in the back of the truck. Randy hugged me too, and he was falling apart. Poor kid was just sobbing, begging his mom and dad not to make them leave. Abby didn’t look at me either, she was still angry. Chuck couldn’t get into the back of the truck because of his busted arm, which pissed him off even more. Brian wound up making him ride bitch in the front.

I helped Patty and Randy up, and Abby told me, “I can do it myself.” Gotta love that kid’s spunk.

Brian handed them a flashlight, and pulled the truck’s door down. As the door slid shut I could hear Randy sob. Talk about a heart breaking moment. I completely felt like the Nazis loading the Jews onto the trains headed to the concentration camp. I mean, that was the moment in a nutshell. I was sending people off I knew might not make it. I was hopeful.

Brian and I shook hands again, and he offered any assistance I needed. I thanked him, and said the same. I told him I’d be in touch once I knew what the plan was. He said he appreciated it, and he got in the truck. I watched them back up the hill and disappear.

A couple minutes later as I was walking back over the bridge I heard the distinct noise of snow crunching underfoot behind me, and I dropped and brought up the M15. Running down the road and crossing the bridge was Abby. She had all her shit with her and was running, all elbows and knees towards me. I damn near shot her for the second time. Kid is stupid sometimes.

She ran right up and slid to a stop about 5 feet from me. Her nose was running and her eyes were red. She steadied herself, cleared her throat and said one thing to me.

“I’m not leaving you here alone to deal with my family’s problem.”

I gave her a hug. Such a strong kid. She had banged on the truck to stop and told her family she couldn’t leave me alone. She apologized to her parents, kissed her brother on the head, hugged her mom and dad, and ran back here. I really don’t want her here, but I have to admire her standup attitude. She’s taking responsibility where her family can’t. It’s what a strong person does. They do what is required and responsible, despite being afraid. Hope she didn’t learn that from me. I’m a terrible role model.

We got her shit set up in a room down the hall from me. Despite the fact that we have the woodstove functional in Hall A, we’re gonna be here in E. More resources, weapons, the solar panels, etc. Plus there’s no in splitting up and wasting twice the fuel on two generators.

Damn little sense now that the gas station nearest to me is gone. I don’t know how I am going to deal with getting fuel. We’ll need to hit larger stations further away and really make substantial fuel runs. None of this 20 gallons at a time bullshit. We’ll need to load up all our drums and get 300 gallons in one trip. Otherwise we’ll be wasting too much fuel just getting the fuel. Now in my moist, wet dreams I envision us finding a fuel truck on the side of the road somewhere.

Fat fucking chance right?

So the rest of the afternoon was getting her settled, eating some food, and making murderous plots to end this Sean motherfucker. Oh, and Brian radioed us to let us know they made it back safe. Guess I don’t have to worry about them anymore.

Now, all my thoughts and evil intentions are fixed wholly on Sean.

Hear that you little bitch?

I’m angry, and I’m on my way.

-Adrian

February 2nd

It’s about 11pm. There was another explosion outside about twenty minutes ago. It was loud enough to shake the plates in the cupboards, and send Otis scrambling.

Since then there have been a series of smaller explosions. The night sky is glowing orange from the fire and it flat out lights up the clouds for miles around when there’s another burst.

I can’t exactly pin down where the explosion was, but my educated guess is that it’s more than 10 miles away, and probably on the other side of downtown somewhere.

I sent out a radio call five times now to the STIG people and they haven’t responded.

I think STIG is right about there. Abby is starting to freak out.

I’m not sure what to do.

-Adrian

Guilt

Charles and Patty watched their 17 year old girl turn from them and run away down the rural road towards her old private school. She’d left them, and they both knew it would never be the same again. This wasn’t like the time they’d brought her to the boarding school when she was a freshman. This time she was leaving them for herself and her needs, not theirs. And she wouldn’t follow them where they were going anymore.

Abby had banged on the inside of the back of the truck they were in until Darryl and Brian in the cab heard her. Patty had tried to stop her daughter, to calm her down, but when Abby’s mind was made, almost nothing would derail her. Especially not now, not since the world had ended, and little Abigail had grown up. Patty had a flash of memory from just a few days ago, when her daughter had stood over an undead teenager with a pistol and blew the girl’s head off at point blank range. Abby had done it to save her mother’s life. Dirty Harry had nothing on Dirty Abby.

The Williams family, father Charles, mother Patricia, daughter Abigail, and young son Randall, had survived on their own in their family home for six months following the apocalypse. The end of the world came at the hands of the dead. One day, Wednesday, June 23rd to be precise, the dead refused to stay deceased. All across the world they had risen, and bite by bite their ranks increased until the remaining living was scattered, starving, and scared.

Their daughter Abigail had been at her private school the day the world ended. She’d been trapped alone there overnight and was eventually freed by a staff member at the school named Adrian Ring. Abby had left Adrian behind to return home to her family in their small town of Westfield, but when she left, he told her she and her family could return. He was going to make the school’s campus safe to live in, and they were welcome to return.

The Williams family had hidden in plain sight, windows covered, moving only at night and silently when they did. They ate everything they could find, and only decided to do something about their situation when all the food in their neighborhood was gone and the town’s remaining survivors were closing in to scavenge their home. When things became desperate for the family, Abby lobbied hard and won her parents over to the idea of going back to the school to be with Adrian. Adrian was a tough man. He was smart, clever, and knew how to use weapons effectively. Abby knew he would still be safe, and she knew they could find safety from the undead with him.

They arrived on campus Christmas Day. The trip through the hills between the two towns was treacherous, and they ran out of gas. Fortunately they found one of the school’s trucks on the side of the road a couple miles from campus, and with a little luck, it started for them. The last few miles they rode packed into the front of the Ford. Adrian welcomed them in, gave them a warm place to stay, and that night he even fought off an attack by the scavengers who had followed them from their hometown.

They ate like kings with him. He taught them how to shoot, and together they helped turn one of the dormitories into a new home for their family. He even led them into his town on their own scavenging raids. It was scary, but every time they went out they returned with the things they needed. The worst thing that’d happened to them in the month they’d been with him was a broken arm suffered by Charles. And frankly, everyone knew the injury could’ve been avoided. His arm was stepped on by zombies when they were being overrun at the police station downtown. He thought he was out of bullets, and ran in trying to save their group and kill the zombies with his bare hands. He’d forgotten about the loaded pistol on his hip. Live and learn Charles had mused.

The scavengers that ran their town of Westfield hailed from the high school there. They were led by a man named Sean Stockwell. Sean was a state senator, and with his asshole buddies on the force they had formed a council and were controlling the entire town. Sean had followed the Williams clan to Auburn Lake Preparatory Academy, and when Adrian told him to leave, they attacked. Adrian had killed two of the men before Sean ran off, but just a few days later, Sean returned in force.

Down the street from the school there was a lone survivor who had befriended Adrian. His name was Gilbert Donohue and he was retired from the restaurant business. In a prior life before that he was also an ex Green Beret. He and Adrian had set an ambush, and when the Westfield people returned to take the food and the campus by force, they walked right into the trap. It was a bloodbath. All but two of the Westfield people were killed in the ambush. Sean escaped.

Things quieted down, and eventually the Williams family, Adrian and Gilbert wound up getting in contact with another group of people in the same town. This new group was led by the local Chief of Police, Brian Moore. The same Brian in the front of the truck they were in. His group was much larger, over a hundred survivors, and their sanctuary was a solar panel manufacturing plant across town. They had successfully completed two mutually beneficial trades, and the future was starting to look very bright for both groups. Even if the walking dead were not gone, some civility had at least finally returned to their lives.

Today was February 1st, and on the night of January 30th, Sean’s people had returned and ignited the small gas station down the road from the school. It was a convenient source of fuel for them, and with it denied by destruction, their life would become much more difficult. Despite earlier arguments to the contrary, Charles and Patty decided to move the family to the solar plant immediately, and join the other group. Sean’s vendetta was against Adrian, not them. Charles had argued with the big man Adrian over food and supplies, but with a broken arm there was no forcing Adrian to do anything. Even if Charles had a shotgun there would’ve been no forcing Adrian. That was akin to trying to scare a rock with a Pez dispenser.

The family had just left the campus in a box truck that belonged to Solar Technology Innovations Group, or STIG. Brian’s group was set up in the STIG corporate headquarters and manufacturing plant. Patty, Abby and their twelve year old boy Randy got in the back of the truck with the weapons and food Adrian had given them. Charles couldn’t get up and into the back of the truck with his broken arm easily, so he rode in the front with the former Chief and Darryl, a burly, bearded hulk of a man wearing a Husqvarna cap. A blind person could’ve told you Darryl was a logger. He permanently smelled like fresh pine. When they’d gotten the truck backed up about 500 feet to a wider spot in the road, Darryl swung it around and that’s when they heard Abby banging inside the back.

They’d all piled out and opened the sliding door to see what was happening. She wanted out of the truck, and out of this plan. Charles and Patty pleaded with her not to go, but she was firm in her decision, and she didn’t care that she wasn’t 18 yet either. Laws didn’t matter anymore, only right and wrong. And she knew it was wrong to leave Adrian to fend for himself alone against Sean’s raiders. She would stay with him and help as best she could. She felt their entire family owed it to him, and she didn’t want to feel guilty the rest of her life about it.

So she left. She’d taken her pillows, her blankets, the 9mm on her hip Adrian had given her, and the backpack filled with all the clothes she owned. Patty and Charles watched her jog down the hill and across the bridge blocked with vans and onto campus. Adrian stopped to meet her, and they walked away.

Patty cried.

*****

The rest of the trip to STIG was easily the most horrifying hour and a half of their entire lives. Charles had moved into the back of the truck after taking one of the pain pills Adrian had spared for him. Charles knew his wife needed him badly then, and pain be damned, he went to her. The majority of the ride was not only bumpy, but blood curdling. Charles tried to keep a tab on how far they were going, but he couldn’t be sure, there were no windows in the truck.

Twenty minutes into their journey to the STIG plant the family started to hear and feel the truck shudder from impacting the walking dead. They could envision it in the blackness of the truck far too easily. There would be a thumping noise followed by a vibration coming from the front as a body hit the grille. Moments after that the front of the truck would run over the fallen body, and you could hear a series of crunching noises followed by the tell tale bursting pop as the zombie exploded under the tires.

This happened over, and over. At least twice the truck had to slow, and they heard the Chief shooting a heavy shotgun out the window at something. In the dark the gunshots were so much louder than normal. Charles could feel Patty and Randy flinch every time the trigger was pulled. Charles kept telling them that every hop, every crunch, and every ripping noise was one less zombie. Every time the gun went off, it was one less dead person that could hurt them. And every second they moved closer to STIG, it was another second further away from the Westfield danger.

The truck swung a wide arc that sent them sliding in the back. Brian banged on the front wall and they heard him hollering, “We’re here!” That little burst of excitement and relief went a long way to temporarily alleviate the departure of their daughter Abigail. The truck’s transmission jerked into reverse, and with a short grinding of the gears, they sped backwards, coming to a gentle stop as the truck’s rear guards bumped into something solid. They heard the clacking of the door latch being flung open, and suddenly they were blinded by the white glow of fluorescent light.

“Howdy! I’m Tim!” They heard through their closed eyes. It was a young voice, with a hint of the hoarseness that drinking too much cheap whiskey can give you. Tim helped Charles to his feet and within seconds he saw the man. Tim was tall and thin, and Charles recognized him instantly as one of the men who had come to the school campus to install solar panels they’d traded for a few days ago. In fact Tim was still wearing the navy blue jumpsuit with the STIG logo on it that he wore that day. Charles thanked him and winced at the pain in his shattered forearm. Even with a fresh Percocet in his system it still hurt badly when touched or moved.

“Welcome to STIG, best place to live in this giant toilet of a town!” Tim presented the interior of the warehouse the dock door led into like a game show host presenting a prize behind curtain number one. Scattered pieces of warehouse racking reached up nearly three stories to the metal ceiling above. The cavernous room was brightly lit with fluorescent light streaming down from huge overhead fixtures. Far in the back of the warehouse Charles saw a huge metal door marked “flammable.” He hoped that was a huge room filled with fuel to keep them warm. No sooner had Charles looked around in the industrial warehouse the lights started to snap off with an electrical zap. A middle aged woman wearing a puffy skiing jacket near the dock was throwing the switches on a panel and turning them off.

“Gotta save the juice for the night. We leave one light on in the warehouse, and another in the plant. We actually live in the office portion of the building.” Tim gestured towards a large opening in the wall running away from them and to the right.

Suddenly they heard the booming of multiple weapons firing outside. The woman who was turning off the lights drew a large revolver from her waistband and carefully opened the heavy fire door that led outside. Charles gathered his family and pulled away as Tim drew a small revolver from his jumpsuit pocket. He went to the door with the woman, and a few loud gunshots later, Darryl and Brian jumped through the opening, and the woman yanked the door shut behind them.

Brain leaned over and put his hands on his thighs, chest heaving. He looked over at his logger friend Darryl and grinned. “Not bad, not bad. Only what, ten or twelve got to this side this time? Getting pretty good at this.”

Charles was mortified. “Ten or twelve what, got to this side? What are you talking about?”

Brian swallowed hard and stood. “Charles my friend, this building is surrounded by undead. The entire town is outside now. We trick them into moving from one side of the building to the other side when we need to get out.”

Charles and Patty were speechless, and he suddenly felt like he had made a terrible mistake coming here.

“C’mon, I’ll give you guys the guided tour.” Brian put his arm gently around Charles’ good shoulder, and they started towards the opening in the plant wall. From somewhere outside, they heard a faint gunshot in the distance.

*****

The tour was both impressive and humbling for Charles and Patty. Poor young Randy was very much scared about everything. He had lost a very comfortable home with this move, and the nearly pitch black ride through a zombie infested town had done nothing to sell him on this being a good place to live.

The STIG facility was a technological marvel. Having been originally designed as a “green” building it had every environmental sensibility in mind. The plant and warehouse had skylights and solar panels running the entire length of the roof. The toilets flushed with little to no water, and the water removal system on the roof collected melted snow and rainwater into a purifier for drinking. The front of the building where the offices were was made of smoke tinted glass with transparent solar panels built right into them. STIG was pioneering the technology of transparent solar panels, and their corporate headquarters stood as their crowning achievement, and biggest sales tool.

Brian led them through the dark and idle manufacturing plant and into the offices. There his little girl Sarah jumped into his arms to join in on the tour. Charles and Patty visibly stiffened at the sight of the thin but beautiful girl. He carried her most of the duration of the tour, but had to set her down when they went up the stairs to the upper office floors.

The first floor was the staff cafeteria, meeting rooms and cubicles. Because the entire office building area was just reinforced glass, they’d taken the warehouse racking down early and reassembled it bit by bit outside against the outer walls. It made a sturdy steel and wood obstacle that the zombies couldn’t get through, and it still allowed some sun to shine in for the solar windows to activate. They had driven cars and trucks up against the racking as well so the zombies couldn’t push against it and knock it over easily. The racking was only ten feet tall, so it didn’t hinder the upper floor windows whatsoever.

The shape of the office portion of the building was similar to that of a donut. The cafeteria was situated against the open interior donut area so diners eating their lunch could bring their food outside to a small garden. The exterior area was perhaps a hundred feet square, which Brian said they planned on converting into a food producing garden when warmer weather came. It was protected from the outside, and had water and sunshine. The building had a dead glass elevator that looked out into the garden. It was stuck halfway between the first and second floor.

The cubicles were left intact on the ground floor. The doors were blockaded on the interior by makeshift plywood and 2x4 walls and large desks. Each exterior room on the first floor had the door shut, locked, and barred so even if the undead outside managed to break a window and get inside the room, they’d need to breach the fortified inner door as well. Brian told horror stories of how they’d lost ten men just getting the racking in place the first few days. Patty shuddered at the thought of trying to do that work with the dead people slowly creeping up behind you, inevitable and unstoppable.

The second floor had been converted to storage and living space. The open areas where the accounting department cubicles had been were transformed to create an impromptu village. Families lived in two or three cube “homes” with blankets and sheets for doors. This part of the building was much warmer from the heat that they had going, and Patty thought it felt fairly cozy. Charles thought it looked like post-Katrina New Orleans. Humanity huddled together, starving, and scared. All he could see were thin faces, stretched and gaunt, forcing out a smile at the new people they’d be forced to split food with.

Brian was interrupted by the sound of gunshots a handful of times during their tour. He was explaining the story of how they raided many of the local businesses on this side of town right after the racking was installed when they reached the third floor. The top floor was previously executive offices, sales and marketing, and meeting rooms. Each corner of the building was dominated by an opulent office that had been turned into a guard station. A solar window on each facing of the building was removed and a clever hinged hatch put in its place. Two people were in every room, and they served as a shooter and spotter team.

Brian walked them into one of the corner offices that faced the street in the industrial park the building was in. He gave them a long speech as his daughter clutched his leg. He rested his hand lovingly on her head as he talked.

“So the rules here are simple. Conserve food, conserve water, and conserve electricity are the easy ones. Marx’s rule is that everyone pitches in. Whatever skills you’ve got we need to know about to make sure they’re getting used properly. Everyone works every day to get shit done. The Pandora’s Box rule is do not go into the hazmat storage area in the warehouse under any circumstances. There are toxic and flammable chemicals in there that can really hurt you if something goes wrong. We keep most of our fuel in there as well. You can keep your guns, but if you draw them on someone who still has a heartbeat, then you lose them. Or worse.”

Brian looked over his shoulder briefly out the window then looked back at them. “The really hard rule is this; never go outside. I know it sounds silly, but you’ll go stir crazy in here in a few weeks. Get into the garden, go on the roof, run in circles out in the warehouse, but whatever you do, do not open an exterior door. We’ve got people with guns at every door that can open to the outside, and they’ll keep you from leaving. We can’t afford a door opening with all the dead folks outside.” He thumbed over his shoulder out the windows.

“How many are outside?” Patty asked, wrapping her arm around her husband.

“Dinner is in about a half hour in the cafeteria on the first floor. I think all your food went in there already. We have to store it all centrally so we can control the supply. Otherwise people steal it, and then we start running out and getting into fights. Don’t be late for dinner either. If you’re late, someone else will eat your portion. In the meantime, you’re welcome to check out the view.” And with that, Brian and his little girl Sarah left them with the two shooters in the office. They sat smiling sadly at the three family members.

One of them, an athletic blond man with curly hair holding a powerful hunting rifle smiled and spoke up, “It’s been a good day. The truck dragged most of them off when they left to get you. The mob won’t be back for another good hour or two.”

Patty and Charles walked up to the window to look out at the white world underneath the grey skyline. It was cloudy again, and it would snow soon. Parking lots and office structures went off in all directions for a few hundred yards. Cars were neatly organized in the giant STIG parking lot. It was easily the size of soccer field. Filling every open space between the cars, hedges, and fences, for a hundred feet in every direction, trampling one another and the fallen snow was a knotted mass of bloody, rotting, and festering undead. They pressed forward against the building like a tide of putrescence.

Patty and Charles suddenly couldn’t breathe.

*****

The cafeteria was dimly lit with energy saving fluorescent bulbs. Only four lamps were turned on for the meal, and the people were packed into the room like sardines. Every round plastic seat at the long tables was occupied. Everyone smiled at them when they came in. It was almost like they were welcome. Almost.

Dinner was atrocious. Cafeteria food is rarely a delicacy under normal circumstances, and this was anything but normal. A “staff” of about ten survivors worked in the industrial kitchen opening cans and heating them over electric burners fueled by the solar power system. They had run out of the majority of the popular spices and seasonings months ago, and they were down to using the more obscure and disliked flavorings. The dinner choice that evening was warm canned tuna with dill, limp green beans with paprika, and canned fruit salad. Salt was low and reserved for very special occasions. To say the people looked unenthused at the tables would do them no justice. Most of the adults left their food half eaten for their children, who were too hungry to not eat the bland offerings eagerly.

By comparison Charles and Patty felt fat in the cafeteria. They were by no means overweight, but at the school with Adrian they ate very well compared to the people here. The husband and wife picked at their meal and watched Randy do the same. Patty wasn’t a tuna fan in the first place, and choking it down was a true struggle for her, especially with it being so dry. Charles wound up giving half his meal to a family with three children sitting at the long cafeteria table next to them. The mother’s bright blue eyes sparkled with tears as she thanked him. Charles shook his head when he sat down across from Patty. He started to regret his decision about leaving the campus when he saw her dab at the moisture in her eyes. Then he really regretted it.

After the meal one of the women in charge of the cooking stepped up on a table and announced that tomorrow’s meal would be spaghetti with chunky tomato sauce, and quite literally, there was a standing ovation for her. Apparently pasta was a very popular cafeteria meal post apocalypse. Charles and Patty couldn’t help but laugh at the exuberance the people had over boxed pasta and canned sauce. After the meal many of the people came over and introduced themselves. It took the better part of twenty minutes for Chuck and Patty to shake all their hands and smile and nod. There was no chance either of them would remember any names that night.

Charles was feeling the dull ache of his broken arm as he and Patty brought their plastic plates to the window counter looking into the kitchen. A young girl took their plates with a weak smile and started to wash them in a sink. Brian happened to be at the window at the same time with his little girl Sarah, and his young son Tommy. Both Patty and Charles realized that the little boy looked just like Brian. Tommy looked as if he were stamped out a miniature mold of his father. Patty bent down to him and said hello, and the shy little boy hid behind his dad’s leg.

Charles had a question for the former police chief, “Brian, Adrian said he put some pain killers in the package he gave to us when we left. Any chance you know where they are?”

Brian picked his little boy up and plopped him on his hip. “They’re probably in the medicine closet upstairs. We keep all that centralized so folks can’t overdose. We had a few folks kill themselves early with sleeping pills so now we’re a little more cautious about it. Head upstairs to the top floor and find Susanne. She was a pharmacist’s assistant before the poo hit the fan.”

“POO!” Tommy exclaimed. That got a laugh out of everyone.

Charles grinned at the little kid. “Alrighty thanks.”

“Where are we sleeping tonight by the way?” Patty asked as she tickled Tommy’s exposed belly. All his tiny ribs were visible under the skin. He was so skinny she thought to herself.

“If you want, just hang out on the second floor in the main area where the cube farm is. We call it the village. Someone will track you down and show you which place to snag. Space is kind of at a premium so you might be a little squished for a few days while we figure it all out.”

Patty and Charles thanked him. Randy had met a few younger boys while they were talking and they seemed to be hitting it off. Randy had been so lonely the past few months. The few friends he had made had disappeared or died and 12 year olds desperately need friendships. Perhaps Randy finding friends would be the best reason to have come here. If they could keep him happy, then maybe, just maybe this was all worth it. They let him talk to the other kids for the better part of a half hour, and then headed upstairs.

Patty and Randy went to “the village” on the second floor while Charles went to find Susanne and the painkillers he would need to get through the night. It didn’t take long to find her. She had made a big sign of the RX symbol on an erasable marker board. She was lying down on a couch reading a paperback novel underneath it.

“Hi are you Susanne?” Charles asked her. She was young, barely 21, and really quite pretty. She could’ve been a model with a little makeup and a nice outfit.

She looked up from her book and immediately saw the air cast on his broken arm. “Yeah, that’s me. You must be the new guy Charles?”

“Yes. My wife Patricia and son Randall are here as well. They’re down in ‘the village’ right now.” Charles was never good at talking to girls. He felt stiff and self conscious. No matter how many years passed he always remembered the days of school when he was the tiny kid that was good at math and couldn’t play sports.

Susanne sat up and put her book down after dog-earing it. “What can I help you with?”

“Well I got this busted arm here, and I’ve been taking some pain pills for it, and before I go to bed I wanted to get the bottle so I had them.” His arm throbbed thinking about having to wait much longer to get the pills.

“Well Charles, we don’t give out whole bottles, we administer them as needed. Kind of like how a hospital does it. If you need a pill, I can get you a pill, and when you need another, we can get you one then.” She said it very matter-of-factly.

Charles thought about it for a second, and realized that wasn’t ideal, but would work fine. He knew he was already starting to get hooked on the pills and maybe this was an easy way of cutting back. “That’d be fine. I usually take two pills at bedtime to get through the night if that’s okay?”

Susanne stood and fished a key out of her jeans pocket, “What’re you taking for the pain?”

“Percs I think.” Charles knew but didn’t want to let on he was just a little obsessed with his little round friends.

“Well Percs are pretty powerful, and we definitely don’t want you to get constipated, so we’re probably going to keep you to one at night. Too many Percs and then you need a laxative. We’re low on that already.” She went into closet she unlocked and looked around on a shelf. Once she found the bottle she was looking for and got a single pill, she grabbed a bottle of water. It wasn’t sealed, but when Charles sniffed it, the water smelled clean. He took the pill and swigged down some water to swallow it.

Susanne smiled at him, and Charles thanked her. He hoped one pill was enough to get through the night.

*****

They had given the family a single large cube to live in. Without doubt a dramatic decline over the entire dormitory they just left at the school. The cubicle was near the corner of the large room most everyone else slept in, which was nice, but it was fairly open, and had no ceiling. The cube walls reached maybe five feet high.

They had plenty of mattresses though, and once they got them piled up three high they had a very comfortable bed. It was a shame none of them were sleeping.

Mercifully Charles blacked out from the Percocet and made it almost four hours before the pill wore off. Part of the trouble of having a broken arm was that he couldn’t sleep on his side. It was either on his back, or not at all. Every night without exception he woke up with a sore arm, and a stiff back. There would never be another night where Charles complained about rolling around too much.

Charles had been having strange dreams for months. Tonight was no different. He always dreamed of people from his past. Most often he dreamt of his older brother who had died in a car accident when they were both teens, as well as his parents, who had passed away from old age right before Christmas two years prior. Patty was having the same problem. When they discussed their dreams they both realized that every night when they dreamed about people, they always dreamt about the dead. Neither of them had any dreams since June with their children in them. They thought that was beyond strange, and quite freaky.

His wife’s sniffling did more to wake him up than the pain in his arm did. He knew she was crying the moment he shook the sleep out of his drug filled head. Her chest was rising and falling slowly, but hitching along the way. She was trying to be quiet.

Charles said fuck the pain and rolled over to her. He rested his broken arm along his side as comfortably as he could. He nestled his head on her shoulder under the covers and kissed her temple. She jerked away slightly at the touch of his lips. She did that when she was mad. Charles sighed softly in dismay. From across the cube he could hear his son Randy doing the same thing as his mother. Right before they’d lain down to sleep Randy had asked if he could stay up late to play Xbox, or Playstation. Patty had asked around if they had one Randy could use, and she was disappointed by the answers she got. They did indeed have them, but they were for use on Fridays only. Not enough electricity to run them on the other days.

Randy was very unhappy about that. He couldn’t sleep, he missed his sister, his new friend Adrian was gone, he couldn’t play video games to pass the time, and he blamed Charles for everything. Patty got a pass on the blame from Randy because he knew she was on the fence about leaving the school in the first place. Her hand was forced when the bastards from Westfield blew up the gas station. It just seemed safer here.

Charles daydreamed a lot. Late at night when he was left alone with his thoughts he wondered about how he could’ve done things differently. He wondered if he should’ve gone to college for electrical engineering like his dad wanted, instead of civil engineering. He wondered if he should’ve bought a house up north where it was cheaper and less populated. He wondered if he should’ve bought a pump shotgun instead of a double barrel years ago. He lamented and second guessed everything nowadays. All it did was make him feel guilt.

He kissed his wife again and this time she didn’t pull away. She had fallen back asleep. He pulled gently away from her and shuffled to his son’s bed, patting his shoulder. Randy jerked away from his touch, though it seemed to Charles out of fear, not anger. Charles bit his lip and walked away hurt, heading to the bathroom.

The lavatory was lit by a small solar power lamp. It cast about as much light as a small candle in the tiled bathroom. He wandered over to the urinal and emptied his bladder. He debated trying to take a shit but he hadn’t eaten a lot of fiber lately, and the pain killers really did have him backed up. He rested his head on the wall in front of him as he shook the piss out of his dick.

On his way back to the office cube his family now called home Charles caught the glint of moonlight off a reflective surface out a window. Intrigued, he shuffled quietly into the office and walked over to the window. A slat in the blinds had been knocked slightly to the side and was letting in a wedge of blue moonlight. From the parking lot below Charles could see the silver disc shining off a windshield. He reached out and pulled the cord to the side, tugging the blinds away.

Below them on the ground for nearly two hundred feet in every direction he could see was a mass of the living dead. Charles leaned forward once more and pressed his head against the cold glass. He watched the thousand rotting souls below sway back and forth, slowly shuffling their feet, waiting for a sign of life. He’d watched them do the same thing through the windows at his home a month before. He’d just never seen so many all at once. They reminded him of the beds of kelp under the ocean, swaying with the currents, waiting for the nutrients to come to them.

The dead were waiting for the living to come out. And their patience was eternal.

*****

Charles woke up with the commotion of “the village.” Patty had already left the comfort of their ramshackle bed when he sat up, and Charles had a moment of panic when he saw Randy had disappeared too. He couldn’t believe it when he saw his watch and realized that it was already noon. He did however feel the sharp twinge of pain in his arm. It’d been a very long time since he had his last pain pill.

Susanne was nowhere to be found on the third floor. He asked a few random strangers wandering the halls going about their business where she was, and eventually he was pointed to the cafeteria. It was lunchtime after all. He meandered down there with a scowl from the pain all over his face. Several people gave him a wide berth.

Chuck took a wrong turn and wound up doing a loop around the entire first floor. By the time he reached the cafeteria he was in even more pain, and his frustration had reached a boiling point. He stormed into the cafeteria, ready to rip that Susanne bitch’s head off. Who the hell was she to pretend to be the pharmacist, and then disappear when he needed his pills?

He saw her sitting at a table with a few other younger girls, laughing and eating their food. His blood was boiling over and he made a beeline right at her.

“Dad!” He heard Randy call out from the side. Charles looked over and saw Randy coming towards him, dragging a train of kids with him. Charles lost his anger like a feather in the wind. His son was happy.

Randy practically flew across the cafeteria and attacked Charles with a hug. His battered red little league cap was turned around backwards and his freckles seemed extra dark for some reason. He looked like the older brother Charles had dreamt of the other night. It almost made him forget about the legion of the dead pressing against the walls outside.

“Dad I want you to meet Andy, and Jeremy, and Jerry, and Sam, and Chelsea, and Alan, and Joe!” Randy pointed in succession at all the kids arrayed around him. He was so proud of himself. Randy had always struggled to make friends in school. He was… hyper, and weird.

“Wow Randy, that’s awesome! Hi kids!” Charles gave his son a hug with the good arm. The kids all said hi in response.

“Dad we’re going to go play down in the plant. That’s where we can play. I think we’re going to do capture the flag.” Randy was beaming.

All Charles could do was smile. “Well what’re you talking to me for? There’s a flag out there with your name on it.” Charles gave Randy a push and the passel of little people took off running. Charles watched them go with a smile, barely remembering the pain in his arm. He turned and saw Susanne again, and went over to say hi, and ask for his morning pill.

Twenty feet away, Patty watched her husband smile for the first time in a very long time.

The rest of their day was spent trying to fit in. You would think it would be easy to do that, but in reality, it was not. None of the Williams family had spent time around more than two or three other people in recent memory. Patty wound up retracting away, and staying quiet most of the time, trying to figure out again how to interject comments into a discussion. She watched as other people casually talked to each other, and she hurt inside when she found herself stammering, and breaking in at the wrong times. Everyone was polite to her, but she still felt like an outcast. Patty’s former skills as an accountant wasn’t the most applicable profession in a world overrun by the dead. However, her time working with Adrian learning how to use weapons was very useful. After she professed her skill with the Mossberg Tactical .22 Adrian gave her, she was sent to the 3rd floor to train as a guard.

Charles was much the same. He felt doubly useless because of the broken arm. His inability to strike up conversation, or laugh at the jokes the other residents of STIG tried on him made him feel terrible. Add to that his former profession as a designer of roads and drainage ditches had absolutely zero use here and it made for a pretty toxic cocktail for his self esteem. Eventually he was assigned the exceedingly important task of “kid wrangler.” Charles was supposed to hang out in the center of the manufacturing plant and make sure the kids didn’t get into anything they weren’t supposed to.

He was a little insulted. He was an engineer for the state a year ago making nearly eighty grand a year, and now all he could rate for a job was something his daughter had been doing since she was thirteen. However, he did get to see his son frolic and play for a few hours before an elderly lady came and told them dinner was ready.

Dinner was a pretty big deal that night. The spaghetti was a surefire hit with everyone and just about everyone was present. It was standing room only after just a few minutes. Charles and family were granted table space due to his broken arm. He couldn’t stand and hold a plate, nor could he sit on the floor and eat without dropping food on himself. One of the men that Charles recognized as a door guard gave up his seat so they could sit together. Charles and Patty were thinking that maybe, just maybe this could work out. Randy seemed happy, Patty would enjoy protecting everyone, and once his arm was healed up, Charles could do something a little more appropriate.

Randy gobbled down his dinner as fast as he could twirl the spaghetti onto his fork. The boy had fun waiting for him back in the plant. The little old lady that relieved Charles before the meal was sitting nearby and when Randy shot off like a rubber band she patted Charles on the good hand and followed the boy away. Charles and Patty were left alone in the middle of the crowd.

“How’s it going for you?” Charles slurped a few errant strands of spaghetti up.

Patty absently twirled her fork, a slow smile appearing on her face. “Pretty good actually. You remember that blonde guy we met last night? His name is Tony, he’s the guy training me. He’s funny, you’d like him. I get to use binoculars and look for raiders coming into the park, or identify zombies that might break the glass. It’s tedious, but it feels important, you know?”

Charles bristled at her guarded happiness. He knew he should be happy for her, but deep down inside he was jealous. She got to guard the entire facility, and he got to guard a few kids playing tag. “That’s awesome. Glad you two are getting along. I’m watching Randy play with his new friends. Keep them from hurting themselves in the plant.” He shrugged.

Patty lit up. “Oh that sounds like fun! Like when we’d bring Abby and Randy down to Abbot Field and they’d run around and fall down and be all stupid with each other.” Patricia trailed off as she finished. Bringing up their daughter didn’t help anything at all.

They sat in silence as the cafeteria around them buzzed with happiness over the carbohydrate feast. Patty could see Brian sitting at the end of a table feeding his two kids one noodle at a time, whipping their face like he was in Devo. She could almost hear him singing the song too. You could tell he was a good father. It didn’t take long to put that puzzle together.

“Excuse me Mr. and Mrs. Williams?” A teenage girl had approached them. She had a worried look on her face. Patty thought she looked like she’d just crashed her dad’s car.

“Yes dear?” Patty asked her.

“Your son is Randy right?” She bit her lower lip.

“Yeah?” Patty put her fork down.

“You should come, he’s causing a little fuss.” The girl motioned towards the doorway, towards the plant floor.

The two parents stood and let the young girl lead them out. This wasn’t the first time they’d been called away because Randy had “caused a fuss.” Charles muttered some choice words under his breath as they left.

*****

“But Dad! He called me a nasty name! It’s not my fault!” Randy struggled mightily to get away from his dad’s firm grip.

“Randy, enough. You’re making a scene.” Charles was dragging his 12-year-old out of the plant and into the warehouse where there was some privacy. Patty followed them, apologizing to the young boy Randy had decked a few minutes prior. His nose was bloody and tears streamed down his face.

Once they were in the warehouse Charles let Randy go and he jerked away, storming around in a circle. Patty couldn’t help but notice the resemblance between Charles and Randy. Both boy and man couldn’t stand not getting their way, and it was even worse if they were one-upped in the process.

“What happened? What gave you the right to punch Alan in the face like that?” The tone of Charles’ voice was serious.

“He said I was a fucking retard dad. I’m not a fucking retard.” Randy spun and spit the words out like venom at Charles.

Charles was taken aback by the seriousness in his son’s face, “First off, you are not a retard, in fact you are a very fast learner. And second, if you use the F-word again, you’ll be grounded for a week buddy.”

“Fuck you dad. Where are you gonna ground me? Make me stay on the second floor all day? This place sucks. It’s just like a prison. I wish we were back with Adrian where we could at least go outside if we were safe. This is gonna be just like school too, everyone will get sick of me and I’ll get picked on.” Randy’s anger turned to hurt.

Patty went to her son and scooped him against her. Mother’s hugs always worked better than anything. Patty entered the discussion, “Look mister, if you want to make good friends, then you will. You just have to understand that it takes time and patience to make good friendships. People aren’t going to love anyone right off the bat.”

Randy sniffled and nodded against her chest. He was tired. It had been a long day and he hadn’t played with kids anywhere near his age for months. Abby was his only playmate for the past six months and she was gone as well. Poor Randy’s hyperactive mind couldn’t take all the change happening around him and the added stimulus of new people didn’t help. Poor guy had overloaded on reality.

Charles inadvertently made a fist with his bad hand and yelped out in pain. He let out a stream of profanity that could curdle milk, if any were to be had.

Randy looked back at his father with a vaguely evil smirk on his face. “Grounded for a week buddy.”

*****

Uno was the card game of choice for the Williams family. No other game allowed for blatant cheating, conniving, and tomfoolery in their household. The boys almost always played versus the girls on teams, and it was always a great time for everyone. STIG had a few Uno decks, and when everyone retired to the office area to go to bed Patty saw one of the decks and snagged it. When the two Williams boys meandered their way back to their family cube she had the deck all shuffled.

They played cards for an hour, and things went very well. Randy and Charles seemed to have gotten over the friction caused by Randy’s outburst at his new friend Alan. Patty had even started to forget about the faces of the dead people outside the building. There were a lot of dead faces to forget. When they had finally reached their full of Draw Fours Charles excused himself and went upstairs to find his nightly pain pill.

Patty kissed Randy on the head and went into the bathroom to do her business. She looked at her drawn face in the faint light of the solar lamps. Several other women washed their faces using as little water as they could. She did the same. It was refreshing, but she definitely missed taking a shower in the morning. She had no idea how good they had it back at the school. If she could only take back her decision to come here…

Once she’d wrapped things up Patty headed back to the cube. While they were playing cards earlier her new “co-worker” Tony brought over a dark sheet for them to use as a makeshift doorway. She unfolded the sheet and used some of the string he’d left for them to attach it across the way. It took her about ten minutes, but the end result was much more privacy.

She let herself into the little home and asked her son out loud what he thought, “Randy whatcha think? It isn’t exactly Fort Knox, but it’s better than nothing right?”

No answer.

She looked over at his bed and realized it was empty. Her heart started to sink as the sheet was pulled away. Charles popped in.

“Knock knock.” He noticed the look on her face, “what’s wrong?”

“Randy is AWOL.” She presented his empty bed.

There was a quiet knock on the frame of the cubicle. Charles turned and used the good arm to pull the sheet back. The tall blonde guy with curly hair named Tony was there, smiling.

“Hey Patty, hi Charlie.” His natural charm sickened Charles.

“Tony, what’s up?” Patty was mildly irritated at being bothered with a missing kid to deal with.

“Any chance you can take a few hours off a guard’s hand right now? One of the night guys, Gerald, seems to be sick and we’re looking for someone to cover his shift. You game?” Tony scratched his ass crack absently as he asked. He may have been good looking, but he wasn’t really what you’d call “appropriate” around a lady.

Patty sighed and rolled her eyes. Now was not the time. Just as she was about to answer him, Charles spoke up and interrupted her.

“Go ahead. My official job is child wrangler anyway. Plus he’s my kid.” Charles shrugged, and then winced from the pain in his arm.

Patty was frankly a little surprised. She nodded in agreement; picked up the backpack and rifle she got from Adrian and gave her husband a soft kiss on the cheek. “Okay. I’ll be back in a few hours I guess. You get Randy back here and get some sleep.”

“Okay, be vigilant like Adrian used to say.”

“Like he says Charles. Like he says. He’s still alive out there.” She smiled and joined Tony.

Charles chuckled softly to himself. Yeah, she was right he thought. If anyone is still alive out there, it’s going to be Adrian. That man could eat nails and shit tacks. Tougher than anyone he’d ever met. And with that, Charles meandered off to locate his adventurous son.

*****

When Charles had reached the bottom floor of the office building portion of STIG he was pleasantly surprised to find Brian and Darryl sitting in a waiting area at the bottom of the stairs. The two men were having a conversation when Charles walked past.

“Hey Charles, how was day two?” Brian asked.

Charles stopped and swayed a little bit. The pain killer he’d taken was starting to kick in a bit. “Oh wonderful Brian. Could be worse I suppose. I’m in a building surrounded by undead, my job is babysitter, I’ve got a broken arm, I just lost twelve hands of Uno to my smartass son, and now he’s gone missing.”

Brian and Darryl exchanged a laugh. Darryl spoke then, “You know Chuck I think I saw Randy take off with that little guy.. uh.. what’s his name? Mary and Alex’s son?” He looked to Brian for an answer.

“Alan,” Brian answered.

Charles’ face tightened into a frown. “They scuffled earlier. If I know my son, he’s up to no good here. Any idea where they went?”

“Pretty positive they went into the plant.”

Brian sat forward, picking up on the father’s concern. “Is this going to be a problem Charles? Want some help?”

“Yeah the faster we get to Randy the less likely we are to break up a fight. Randy isn’t a brawler, but he’s clever enough to trick Alan into doing something stupid that’ll get him hurt.”

The three men all started towards the hall that led to the manufacturing floor. Charles filled them in on Randy’s checkered past in making friends. He’d been diagnosed with a smidge of ADHD and social anxiety years past and it always became worse around other kids. If you stuck Randy with an adult though, he was a perfect little angel. The three men entered the two way doors into the plant and hollered out to the two boys. The only thing they heard was the dull echo of their own voices.

“They’re probably in the back warehouse climbing the left over racking. Damn kids think they’re monkeys.” Darryl shook his head and laughed. They started walking towards the rear wall of the plant where the opening into the warehouse was.

Ten steps into their journey they heard a hollow metallic bang from ahead. It almost sounded like someone had smashed a sledgehammer into a metal drum.

Brian’s face drained of color. “That’s a gunshot.”

“Oh shit, did they try to get outside?” Charles blurted. Brian drew his pistol and the three men took off running. They ran the hundred and fifty feet through the plant waiting for another bang but none came. When they burst into the center of the warehouse there was no one to be found. Darryl pointed to the side of the warehouse at the hazmat materials room. The heavy door was slightly ajar, and a faint light crept out of the gap.

Brian licked his lips and looked at Charles’ face. “Fuck.”

They trotted over to the chained door and Brian dug his keys out of his pocket. He tossed them to Darryl and pointed his weapon at the gap in the doorway. Darryl searched for the key to the heavy padlock and slipped it in the tumbler quickly. With a twist it popped open and he pulled the chain apart, tugging the doors open and stepping away.

Standing with his back to them was little Randy. His arms were at his side and dangling in his left hand he held a small silver revolver. The smell of gunpowder was on the air. On the smooth concrete floor at his feet was the body of Alan, the boy he’d punched in the nose earlier that day. Randy stood there motionless in front of canister after canister marked “SILANE GAS: EXTREMELY COMBUSTIBLE.”

Charles had no words. He knew what had happened and had no idea what to say. He looked right to Darryl, and then left to Brian with pleading eyes.

Finally Brian broke the silence, “Randy, son, can I get you to put that weapon down please?” His voice was calm, soothing.

Randy stood still for what seemed like a millennia before turning to face the two men. His face was covered in a fine mist of blood. Charles noticed there was no emotion on his face, and that frightened him even more than the blood. Randy looked down at the snub nosed pistol in his hand, then back up at his dad. His eyes questioned, and then invaded Charles.

“Son, do what the Chief says please,” Charles asked his boy quietly.

“Why should I? Everyone else gets to carry a gun around here? Why can’t I?” Randy’s brows furrowed in anger.

Brian answered him, “Well it seems like you may have shot Alan there, and if you remember from yesterday Randy, if you point your gun at someone who is alive, you give up the right to have that weapon.”

Randy looked over his shoulder at the body of the little boy Alan. “But I shot him in the head guys. It’ll be okay, he won’t come back.” Randy had lost touch with reality.

Charles tried to breathe but couldn’t. His son was a murderer.

“Randy why did you shoot Alan?” Brian continued to ask questions, trying to keep the boy distracted while Darryl took slow and painful steps into the room, trying to close the gap to the boy.

“He deserved it. He called me a fucking retard and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of never getting my way. I’m fed up with everyone acting like I’m here to be ignored or picked on.” Randy finally exhibited an emotion; anger.

Charles took a step forward. “Son no one is ignoring you, trust me. I love you and want you happy, and if I ignored you then that’s on me. Please don’t be angry anymore, tell me what I can do to make you happy.” Charles’ heart was breaking. His former actions and decisions were flooding in over him. He felt ten thousand pounds of guilt slowly suffocating him, one bad choice at a time.

“You never even asked me if I wanted to come here dad. You and mom just decided everything. I miss my room, I miss my games, I miss Abby, I miss Gilbert, and I miss Adrian too. You took my whole life and ruined it." The pistol in his little hand shook with rage.

Brian raised his pistol slightly, putting the front gun sight on Randy’s legs, ready for a shot should Randy threaten the men. Instead Randy slowly lifted the gun to his side and pressed the muzzle to his temple.

“What if I make this decision all by myself dad? What if I shoot myself in the head right now? How would that make you feel? At least I have the right to ruin my own life!” He yelled, pulling back the hammer on the gun.

Charles dropped to his knees on the hard floor, oblivious to the damage he did to his kneecaps. All his soul was bared now, pleading with his son not to do it, “God please no Randy, think of Abby, think of your mother. If you do this, they’ll never get over it. They love you so much you can’t even understand. I love you so much I can’t even tell you….!” Charles had tears of pain and fear streaming down his face. Darryl had frozen solid, unable to move in the moment.

“You know what dad, you’re right.” Randy backed away, further into the room filled with explosive chemicals. He looked at Darryl and Brian and suddenly Charles saw fear on his son’s face. “I’m sorry to make this decision for you without asking for your input. But as you can see, my dad’s set a bad example for me.”

As fast as a mongoose Randy spun and pointed the gun at the dozens of containers of Silane gas, and pulled the trigger.

*****

Patty looked out the windows at the mobs of dead people walking around. They seemed far more agitated now than earlier in the day. Tony sat next to her on an abandoned desk, leaning his back against a wall so he could peer out the windows. His expression was emotionless.

“You think they’re acting… you know, weirder than normal?” Patty asked him.

“Well, when you’ve watched them as much as we have, you start to notice random patterns in their behavior. I know that sounds weird, but they definitely act stranger at certain times,” Tony answered her absently.

Patty was intrigued. “Like when?”

“The last time they acted really weird was when we had that dysentery outbreak a few months back. We had a lot of people die. It was literally shitty. It’s almost like they can sense when bad shit is about to go down. Fucking creepy.”

Just as he finished speaking the world outside the window gleamed with a bright white light. Patty noticed in the flash of light that all the dead had been looking in the same direction, towards the rear of the plant. She turned to peer in the direction of the burst of light.

A terrible roar filled her ears, and she was flung against the frame of the windows in front of her as if the hand of God had reached down and swatted her like an insect.

*****

The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth as Patty regained consciousness. Her ears were ringing painfully and she couldn’t hear anything. She realized her body, head to toe, was bruised and battered. Breathing caused a stabbing pain in her side and she immediately held her breath against the pain. Shallow breaths didn’t hurt as much.

She was very cold, almost freezing. With tremendous effort she rolled over on the desk she was lying on. Her confusion was overwhelming. Her hearing was gone, her body was in pain and somehow she had gotten on top of a desk outside, and somewhere up high. She thought it must be a bad dream. The ringing in her ears faded somewhat as she blinked enough debris out of her eyes to look around.

Before her vision cleared her diminished hearing revealed screams of pain and panic. Dozens of voices cried out in the cold moonlight begging for help. With a grunt and a hundred lightning strikes of pain she sat up, dangling her legs off the desk.

The back end of the office was gone. The doorway to the center of the floor was obliterated as was the entire floor beyond that. Her blurry eyes cleared more, and she realized the entire back half of the office building was eradicated. Looking up and further away she saw what remained of the long building that had stretched out into the parking lot. The rough metal skeleton of the factory and warehouse was laid out bare before her like the ribcage of a fallen giant. A giant crater extended out from the back end where the chemicals had been stored. She was reminded of the aftermath of the Oklahoma City bombing.

Below her she could see the tattered remnants of the second and first floor of the office building. Bodies of the injured and the dead were cast about like bloody matchsticks. Many were hurt, and most were dead. On the ground she could see that the tidal wave of undead had flooded into the destroyed building like a dam had broken. They were murdering the few injured on the ground with startling ferocity. The smell of burning flesh and carnage was strong, even over the odor of scorched chemicals. Flames burned all over the ground. Patty could see in the far rear of the building where the fuel storage was there were jets of flame issuing upwards out of canisters of chemicals. She heard the rumble of an explosion coming and shielded her eyes. One of the cylinders exploded loud enough to rumble her chest. When she looked back there were sheets of flame on the ground where the flammable materials had landed. They burned in vivid colors as their toxic chemistry reacted in the fire.

It looked like the wrath of an angry God. All Patty could think of was her husband and son. She suddenly felt the pang of guilt over agreeing with Charles, and allowing her broken family to come here. Bringing them here to die. The pain of leaving her daughter behind transformed into relief.

Next to her she heard a sharp gasp of pain. She turned quickly to see the source and felt her ribs cry out in agony. She froze solid for a moment and finished turning in slow motion, breathing carefully. Crumpled on the floor of the destroyed office was Tony.

She got off the desk and went to him, carefully kneeling at his side, fighting to contain the pain in her side. He was hurt terribly. From face to hip his flesh was scorched and raw. She could see a shard of metal the size of her hand embedded in his hip, letting dark blood flow out steadily. His eyes were wild with pain and he reached out to clutch her arm desperately. Words of solace escaped her.

Tony painfully inhaled a full chest of air into his lungs, and stammered out a single instruction to her, “D.. d… don’t let me b…b….become one of th.. th…. them.”

Patty’s rifle was nowhere to be found.

February 4th

I feel like dying tonight. Legitimately curling up into a ball, and rotting away.

I won’t though. I can’t. People are depending on me, and I can’t give up. I made a promise to myself and Cassie that I would be a better person in her memory, and that’s what I plan on doing. I will be the better person.

I am a better person.

But I’m not good enough yet. There’s still work to do before I cash out my chips.

STIG is gone.

It’s just gone. Annihilated. There’s almost nothing left there. Everyone is dead.

Well. Not everyone. On the night of the 2nd we heard the explosions that destroyed the STIG building. First there was one huge boom, then a series of smaller ones. Each lit up the night sky like a miniature sunrise. Abby and I sat by the windows watching the glow over the trees and hills for half an hour. We kept trying to radio the STIG folks, but there was no answer.

Eventually Gilbert came over the radio and said he’d be right over. By the time he arrived Abby was already an emotional wreck. She was sitting in the kitchen at the table trying to contain her sobs and fucking that all up. When Gilbert came in he went right to the table and sat next to her. He held her hand and let her get it all out. I tried to comfort her too but Gilbert had it under control. When he gave her a hug he and I exchanged glances over her shoulder, and we both knew we had to go find out what happened. Time was a factor.

Gilbert got her calm and reasonable, and with a little prodding, we got her focused on the idea of going to find out what happened. Once she got it into her head that we were going to attempt a rescue, she was all fucking business. I think she had to get it all out first or something.

We took twenty minutes and came up with a solid plan. We hadn’t been across town yet and we knew from the truck the STIG people had drove over here it was a fucking wreck downtown. There was no way a regular pickup like the maintenance plow would make it all that way without us losing windows, or getting the front destroyed. Shit, worst case scenario it’d get totaled, and we’d be sprinting in January to get home. We felt our immediate best alternative was the heavy rescue truck.

We knew we were potentially rolling into a situation with casualties, so the rescue gear aspect was good. There is a door to the rear, as well as the two front cab doors. Also, it’s a heavy diesel truck, with great ground clearance, multiple rear tires, and stainless steel everywhere. We started loading it immediately.

I got the M15, my Glock, and my little Cheetah in my ankle holster. I took the Savage as well if only for the scope. I also remembered to bring my sword this time too. I realized when I was getting shit together I had made a horrible decision the other day in giving them the Marlin and the Mossberg Tac .22. Both were .22 rifles, and as you’d expect, those were the only .22 rifles we had. Fuck me, right?

I’m now sitting on a few thousand rounds of.22 ammo, and a single .22 pistol to push it all through. Just my luck right? I always miss some stupid little detail that winds up becoming really relevant later on. Sigh.

I wound up grabbing two of the better 12 gauge pump shotguns and a hundred shells or so to go along with them. Abby rolled with her Beretta and every round of ammo we had for it, as well as the .22 pistol. I also grabbed the two .357 revolvers we had and put them in the truck. We had a lot of ammo for them, and it made sense to finally put it to use. For some reason I also grabbed the compound bow, and the arrows. Why not right? Not like I had to carry the thing. Gilbert arrived with his trusty .45, and I shit you not, an AK-47.

I know Mr. Journal. I fucking knew it. Strapped across his chest he also had an old school NVA magazine bandolier filled with clips. It couldn’t have been more appropriate. Well, if he had a red bandana on, as well as a bow and a giant knife it might’ve been better, but all things considered… He didn’t say shit when he sat it down on the table, I just laughed. Abby was like “Dude.. what the FUCK?”

Too funny.

We already had medical gear packed into the truck, and we snagged shit like rope, a few Halligans, and other stuff we thought we’d need. I grabbed a few of the converted milk jugs I had filled with water as well as enough food to last a day or two. Lots of granola bars, candy bars, and canned shit we could eat without cooking. Never know when you’ll be back… I double checked to make sure we had enough fuel in the truck, and we were off.

I drove, Gilbert rode shotgun, and Abby rode in the back area, moving about to keep an eye on things. STIG is on the other side of town. There are two ways to get there from campus. The first route is to go straight down Main Street and cross the length of town in the most direction fashion. The second route is to get on the side roads and move through the residential side streets. Indirect, but based on what we’ve seen ourselves, and what Brian said earlier, those streets had less undead.

We decided the side streets were our safest bet. We drove past the burnt out husk of the gas station and headed east down Route 18. At the Main Street turn off we hung a right, and drove into the same area the grocery store is in. Across the street near there is Wyman Street. Wyman cuts up around downtown, and links to the streets that make up the grid of downtown.

We turned onto Wyman, and that’s when things got ugly. First off, none of these roads had been plowed yet. The only “path” through the snow was the tire tracks and pushed away areas made by the STIG truck. Luckily, the heavy rescue truck is smaller than their box truck. Wyman is right after the police station, and is right where we saw the huge mob of undead congregated when we came down here before. They weren’t as packed in as they were that day, but there were quite a few. I slowed the truck down to about 15 miles an hour, and told everyone to hold on.

It was awful. Watching all the dead faces as they reached up over the hood at us was not a good experience. We’d hit them and most either got knocked down and ran over, or they hung on for a bit, clutching whatever they could. When they finally went under the truck, however they went, we just drove right over them, completely missing them. Some of them though, we ran them right over. Two bad things about running over dead people in a large truck;

1, they crunch and pop in the most visceral and gross fashion. The first one is gross, the next ten are mind numbing, and after that, your humanity takes a serious hit. Caustic experience.

2, they turn into huge speed bumps, and trucks suck at taking speed bumps.

I think it was our fifth or sixth body when Abby was launched into the ceiling of the truck like a piston. She’s got a fucking egg on her grape the size of my thumb. (Shit I love making food comparisons. Maybe I’m hungry?) The shocks on that truck couldn’t deal with the damn lurching, and we had to slow down even more. Slowing down was bad. That gave the damn zombies time to reach up as we drove by, and many grabbed on to the mirrors. Once they started to grab the mirrors, many began to step on the gas tank steps, and then they were at the windows.

We caught on to that shit storm before it fully developed though. Gilbert cracked his window and started to blast the heads off anything that made it to the point of grabbing something to hold on to. I pulled my Glock and did the same, but it was really hard to drive, shift, and shoot, so we wound up having Abby lean over my back with the .22 pistol and do the dirty work on my side herself. She was also wedged in there so tight when we drove over a dead body she couldn’t move. Plus the snap of the .22 going off was a lot more reasonable in the cab than the boom of the .45.

Once we got the system down, and barreled through the first thousand yards of undead, it was smooth sailing. Well, smooth-ish. Don’t get me wrong, there was still a lot of toe-pushing going on. I can’t hear out of my left ear today. Abby’s .22 pistol going off over and over has beaten the eardrum into submission for awhile.

After we turned off Wyman and started to make forward progress towards the industrial park things got noticeable better. We actually got into some open spaces where I could gun it, and we made up some good time. That little breath of air allowed us to reload all our guns as well, which was nice. I had to turn on the wipers too. We had a lot of red and black spray on the windshield from shooting the dead. Fucking nightmare.

Moving through the side streets from there until we got back onto Main Street was fairly easy. A few scattered walking undead here and there which we either clipped with the truck, or just drove around entirely. It didn’t make sense to shoot them. I kept thinking of how I went on my drive by shooting spree the day I went to Moore’s, and blew through like a hundred rounds of 9mm. For nothing too. I mean there was no reason to do it.

Not making that mistake again. We encountered a heavier crowd once we got onto Main Street again. The scary part was the glow in the sky coming from somewhere ahead. Shit, by then we knew it was coming from the industrial park. Remember Mr. Journal, we haven’t had nighttime electricity in almost what, seven months? There has been no familiar orange glow of downtown in the sky at night. Just black sky filled with the pinpricks of a billion stars. It’s actually one of the few things I like about the world ending. A sky filled with stars.

After skirting downtown I had a new appreciation for the two trips the STIG people took to get to us. They were really serious about making friends with us. I mean shit, there’s a really good chance of shit going really badly on that run. Anyway. We turned onto Main Street again and had another... I don’t know, maybe a mile or two to go before we reached the turn off to the park. From the street Gilbert and I were slack jawed. We’d been here before and from what we could see, things were very wrong.

The entire plant portion of the building was gone except for a few of the girders that supported the walls. The ceiling supports had melted, or were melting down to the ground. The cars parked in the rear parking lot alongside the plant had been tossed aside and flipped over like a child’s toys. One was tipped up on its end and leaning against a tree. Several were stacked haphazardly on each other like matchboxes.

The front portion of the building used to be all glass, steel and concrete. Only the very front of the building was in any kind of shape you could call “intact.” A few of the panes of glass were still there out of the hundred that made up the sides of the building. Most were shattered and blown out from some tremendous explosion. Stacked up in all directions around the building were the twisted remnants of what looked like warehouse racking. It looked to me like they might’ve built obstacles around the building with it. That was pretty smart actually.

The back end of the office complex portion of the building was smashed out like a giant ice cream scoop had been taken to it. A giant gouge was just gone from it. You could see the exposed floors and interior walls. Papers flew around in the wind and fires burned all over the place. Pools of flame covered the parking lot in slicks the size of backyard swimming pools. Shit, some of the trees in the other parking lots were on fire. It was like Dante’s Inferno.

Abby had no idea what the building used to look like. The only thing she saw was the horde of undead. They had to be fifty deep and spread out over an area the size of a car dealership. They were moving about in the area like inhuman vultures picking over the giant bones of the dead building. When we finally turned into the industrial park I killed the headlights and we crept forward using the light from the fires to guide our way. Abby started sniffling, and at that point, it was pretty obvious we wouldn’t be pulling anyone out of here alive.

We skirted the STIG area and came around the back side of the building. The undead were pressing into the “torso” of the building right where the offices met the plant. You could see them attacking something, but there were too many dead people to make anything out. I’m glad. That’s the kind of memory you wouldn’t be able to shake. I stopped the truck about a hundred feet away from the undead and had Abby hand me the Savage.

All three of us got out of the truck and we set up a small 10 foot perimeter while I scanned the ruins for signs of life. I knew there would be nothing on the ground level alive, so I went right to the second floor. I panned across the floor, and didn’t see anything alive. I did see more undead there though. I noticed a small flash of movement from the top floor, and brought the scope up.

It was Patty. She was sitting on a desk waving the remnants of a shirt or towel in our direction. She was clearing favoring her side as she waved, and she looked like she had been ridden hard and put up wet. That woman looked bad. However, she looked alive. I played dumb for the moment about seeing her because I didn’t want Abby to freak.

I waved back at her, but she didn’t see me. We would have to seriously risk being noticed by the dead to communicate with her. I thought about it for a few seconds, and Gilbert caught on that I had noticed something. He quietly asked what was up, and I said there was a survivor on the third floor. He thought about it for a minute, and then I remember the bow.

I hopped in the truck, grabbed a roll of ace bandages and found a sharpie in a case. I wrote on the bandage: “GETTING THE LADDER TRUCK TO RESCUE YOU. BACK IN 3 HOURS OR SO. CAN YOU THIN THE HERD? STAY STRONG.”

I wrapped the message tight around the arrow and then taped it with medical tape. On the outside of that I wrote: “READ ME.” I got out of the truck and sat the Savage on the hood. I took a few seconds to scan the surroundings, and lined up my shot with a regular arrow. It was about... 200 feet maybe? Not a mile, but fuck it was easily the longest shot I’d ever taken. I let the test arrow fly, and it came up short. In fact, it landed square in the shoulder of a dead guy walking around underneath Patty. I actually had to stifle a laugh.

I lined up a second test arrow, and this time I hit the side of the desk next to her. She turned suddenly, saw the arrow hit, and then half dove, half rolled into cover. I think she thought I was trying to kill her. I grabbed the good arrow, lined it up a little higher for the added weight of a new bandage, and let the bitch fly. It soared up into the night sky, and came down just on the fucking edge of the ripped out floor near the desk. After a minute of waiting Patty finally came out from her cover, and saw the arrow. She got the arrow unraveled, and I watched her in the scope.

After a minute of pawing around, I saw she had the Mossberg .22 with her. I also saw her put her backpack on the desk, and if memory serves, she should’ve had that box of 500 rounds in there. About a minute later, I watched her line up a shot, and start shooting slowly into the crowd of undead beneath her. I was so absorbed with watching her I didn’t notice that the undead had realized we were there.

Abby barked out, “GET IN THE TRUCK! GO!” And I snapped to. Abby had the .22 out and started to shoot clean and slow as she backed up. Gilbert let loose about 15 rounds at head height into the rushing mob and hightailed it (as fast as an old guy can) into the truck. I grabbed the .357 off the driver’s seat and blasted five more down as she climbed in the truck. I got the door shut when the zombies were about 15 feet away. I tossed that pig into gear, and we headed out.

Abby was brilliant and wedged herself right behind me again so when we hit the mass of undead bodies she didn’t get launched into the ceiling again. We had a decision to make right then. Do we attempt to clear out undead? Do we use firearms, or attempt to grand theft auto them to death?

I made the decision in my head almost instantaneously to just floor it. I didn’t want to fuck around with running over something and getting a flat tire doing donuts in the goddamn snow. I took a wide arc, and probably ran over about 25 undead. I don’t think they all died, but maiming them is a great benefit as well. I felt that was a good start, and we headed back to campus.

To shake the undead following us I swung around the parking lot, essentially leading them to the rear of the building. Once I had enough back there, I swung around again and floored it, sending everyone else sliding around in the truck. I gunned it around the edge of the parking lot, back into the industrial park road, and swung back onto Main Street.

The undead we passed on the way to the plant were in the road. They had followed us to the plant. I kept the accelerator pinned to the floor, and we plowed into the wave of undead like a battering ram. Bodies exploded on the front of the truck like they had dynamite taken to them. We smashed over and through them and cleared the heavy crowd in seconds.

Once past that huge crowd we were in the clear. Well, it was clearer on the way back, than it was on the way there. We’d hit a lot of dead people on the way and broken a lot of legs. Most were in the road crawling and scratching their way, and we just plowed over them. The truck shook and shuddered like a bastard, but we made it through the back streets and out Wyman to the other end of Main Street in one piece, and without having to shoot from the windows much.

The west end of Main Street out to Route 18 was pretty much empty. I gunned it as fast as I could to get some space between us and them. I didn’t want them to follow us back to the campus. During the drive after we got off of Main Street I told Abby her mom was alive. I waited until there tell her because I needed her focused for the area of greatest danger. She was beyond relieved, and just short of neurotic about hurrying up. We knew we were on a clock to get her safely back.

When we arrived on campus we already had a plan. I drove the heavy rescue truck straight to the ladder truck and we moved everything over as fast as we could. We knew we’d need heavy firepower, and a way to either destroy the undead rapidly, or distract the shit out of them. Gilbert had the idea of taking one of the fuel barrels and simply dumping the fuel on them to set them on fire. But, that wouldn’t be conclusive enough. They might not burn to death. And as I’ve gone into in depth about already a burning zombie is worse than a regular zombie. Thus, a burning mass of zombies is…

We didn’t have enough ammunition to shoot them all either. Driving over them was an option, but that was inviting serious risk. Once when Kevin and I were on patrol in the al Mansour district our Humvee drove over a dead body and a shard of bone went right through a tire. Couldn’t afford it then, and we can’t afford it now. However, I did have an idea.

We grabbed the shit and formulated our plan. We would set up a noisemaker on Main Street past the industrial park, and then turn around and return for our run. We’d drive in the parking lot, smash our way through it to get their attention and drive very slowly back into the street heading east, and to our noisemaker. We would hopefully leave the crowd there at the noise maker, and then slowly do a loop around a few streets there to come around behind the zombies, and hopefully slip into the STIG lot with a lot less company.

The return trip through downtown was a little rougher than our previous exit. It was like we had a huge train of undead just wagging back and forth as we went through the urban areas. We headed east, they headed east, we went west, then they did. So we essentially returned into what amounted to a crashing wave of undead. We couldn’t go around them once we came onto the pack, so I punched it again. This crowd was deep, at least ten or twelve deep and spread out over about fifty yards. I could swerve a little, but in reality I just wanted to smash them apart.

The ladder truck doesn’t have an open interior to the back like the rescue truck. We had two rows of seats instead. Abby was belted into the back and Gilbert and I were in the front. When we hit the bodies and started running over them it wasn’t as bad as before. We were just jostled around. I think the larger, heavier truck helped as well. Less hopping, and more crushing.

When we got close to the park I had Abby get the noisemaker ready. We drove past the park heading east, and threw out the second part of our trade secret noisemaker system. I pulled a U-turn, and hung a right into the park and plowed right into more of the undead. They had been thinned out noticeably here. We heard a few cracks of gunshots ahead, and I knew Patty was still kicking. Abby hollered out some pretty vulgar shit about how “insanely badass” her mom was, and Gilbert and I laughed. It was like we had a third penis in the truck with us.

After I busted through the last big batch we slowed down to let the rats get behind the pied piper. Abby took the battery powered radio and rolled down the window. Like a monkey she climbed out and got on the roof of the truck with Lady Gaga blaring. I’d found the old school boom box in a dorm room sometime in July and had it stored away for just an occasion like this.

To the tune of “Lovegame,” we rolled like pimps into the slaughter.

Yes Mr. Journal, I realize that line makes me look like I should be drinking out of a sippy cup, wearing a helmet and a drool bib. At the very least I could get my man-card revoked for saying that. Dude I gotta dress it up somehow. What’s left of my manhood is at stake.

Poor Abby froze her faux penis off up there. (is that a strapadictomey? Or an addadictomey?) Luckily we didn’t go far. We had the crowd on us, scratching at the truck and grabbing on as best they could. Gilbert had the window down and was plugging away on his side of the truck with one of the .357 revolver. He’d blast a cylinder’s worth of rounds, roll the window up, reload, and go back it. He probably blew the heads off 30 zombies as we rolled in a circle, gathering the undead.

When we turned back onto Main Street I hollered to Abby to hold on, and I gunned it until we had about 40 feet of space between us and them. We went to the spot we’d prepped as our noisemaker area, and Abby got down off the truck. We’d thrown a small tent out into the street. One of those two person tents that “spring” open when they’re thrown. Abby got off the roof lickety split and Gilbert opened the back door for her. She set the radio inside the tent and zipped it shut. Gilbert opened up with his AK to our rear and cleared the closest the undead. Abby and Gilbert got into the truck and I drove about 30 feet, and killed the lights. At that point we were at the mercy of whether or not Paparazzi was a more powerful draw to the dead than an idling fire truck.

Through the mirrors I watched about 80% of them stop cold at the tent, and lay into it. They pushed at it, swiped at it, hit it, and even tried to bite it. The snow was so thick, and the nylon so smooth they couldn’t get in. Eventually they were piled in the middle of the road on the tent almost ten bodies deep. I carefully put the truck into gear, and we slowly pulled away. We were stifling our laughter to make less noise. About 50 feet further we took a right, and started a loop around some side streets to come up behind them to get into the industrial park. We had about 25 zombies follow us when we pulled away, but that wasn’t that bad really.

Once we were out of eye shot I hit the lights and picked up speed. Those streets were completely devoid of undead. My bet was the undead at the plant had come from there. And other places I’m sure. You get my point. When we got to the other side of the loop I killed the lights and we crept up behind the undead pig pile on the tent.

They entirely ignored us as we pulled into the park. It reminded me of rednecks trying to catch a greased pig. They couldn’t get in the tent, and the harder they all tried, the worse the cold nylon slipped away. As long as the CD kept playing we were golden.

Back at the STIG plant Patty had the good sense to stop shooting when we led them away. We pulled around and saw there was about 15 undead milling about on the ground below her. They were fixated on her. It was almost like watching a blood soaked cat that was staring at a caged bird. Creepy.

We drove right up next to the ruins of the office building and hopped out. The undead didn’t pay any attention to us until we actually got out of the truck, which was weird. Once we did, they literally snapped their gazes over to us. I actually recognized some of them as people from town, which was awkward for me. I got the bow up and into action as Abby started to work on getting the ladder up.

I let loose about five arrows with the bow. At point blank range it’s hard to miss, and I’m happy to say I hit and killed with all five arrows. Now I will also go on record here and say that two of my arrows missed their intended targets and killed other zombies that happened to be in the line of fire, but frankly, there are no pictures in this journal, and only the score at the end of the game matters.

After the fifth arrow they were too close to use the bow on, so I drew the sword. I desperately wanted to keep as quiet as possible. Gilbert kept one eye on me, and one eye on Abby to make sure we weren’t being surrounded. Wearing my heavy winter jacket makes me feel kind of invulnerable to being bitten. It’s thick and padded, and with gloves on I feel really warm. Not that warmth equates to safety, I just felt it needed mentioning that I felt warm.

I took the sword and hacked the legs off the leading three or four zombies. Like I said awhile back, moving in 90 degree angles confuses the shit out of them. Plus it leaves their knees exposed to a slash. Once I had them down, I checked the ladder and saw it was about halfway up. I hollered out to Gilbert to ask how much time we had before the zombies in the street got to us, and he said “Plenty.”

I hacked a few more zombies to death after I lured them away from Abby. By then there were maybe four or five left, and Abby hollered out, “LADDER IS UP!” I stopped to go to the ladder, but she hollered out again, “I GOT IT! KILL THE DAMN ZOMBIES!” When I looked back at her, she was already heading up the ladder to get her mom. Time was no longer a factor. We had to kill fast and get the fuck out. I tried to sheathe the sword but it wouldn’t go in. I wound up dropping it, and drawing the Glock. A few shots later the zombies were dead.

Gilbert hollered out, “They heard that!”

I returned to the truck and got the M15 and shouldered it. On the second level of the office building there was maybe seven or eight undead, and Abby stopped halfway up the ladder to deal with them. I could hear the snap of the .22 pistol in her hands. She calmly popped each and every one of them in the head as they reached up at her on the ladder. I actually got hit in the face by falling brass and I’ve still got little round or cylindrical burns on my face.

Gilbert and I moved to the back of the truck where the ladder was, and we started to lay down fire into the massive crowd of zombies heading into the park. Gilbert and I shot as slowly as we could. It was about a hundred yards of space and we wanted to pick off the leading walkers accurately. Gilbert took the 9 to 12 firing corridor, and I went 12 to 3. I think we got about a magazine each worth of bodies down when we heard Abby struggling with something on the ladder. I turned, and she’s coming down the ladder basically dragging a dude on his back behind her. He was fucked up bad, but still alive. Patty was coming down right after him, and she was all messed up too.

Abby, Patty and I had this weird exchange at the back of the truck of like, “Who the fuck? I dunno? What the fuck? Mom said so! What the fuck Patty? Just grab him! Fuck that! Fuck you! Fucking A!”

Sigh.

I grabbed the dude’s collar and dragged him with one arm around to the front of the truck. I could tell by the way his leg sat at it was busted. Abby climbed into the backseat of the truck and between the two of us, we got his half conscious ass dragged up and into the seat.

I emptied the few rounds left in my magazine into the crowd of ridiculously close undead and we all piled into the damn truck. I told Abby to keep one eye and a gun barrel on the dude in case he bit it.

I guess that was a bad choice of words.

Patty assaulted Abby. Good lord they cried and hugged and loved and all that craziness. Gilbert wound up pointing his pistol at the burnt dude while they rediscovered their lost relationship. I drove the damn truck. I spun us in a circle, told the hugging mother and daughter to hold on, and I hit that wall of undead like a fat kid wrecking cake.

Undead flew everywhere like frosting through a chipper-shredder. It was awesome.

Once we made it through there it was almost entirely clear. We’d either shot or hit so many fucking zombies the herd was super thin. Patty said she had maybe a quarter of her box of ammo left, which mean she’d shot almost 400 herself. That poor woman. That poor rifle barrel. Serious solider action there though. Tough broad.

We made it back through town and onto the other side of Main Street clean. Route 18 was smooth sailing as was Auburn Lake Road. When we finally got back to campus I had learned the burnt dude was Tony, and he was a guard in the STIG building. We got him out of the truck and into Hall E’s living room. Patty molested me some, then she molested Gilbert some.

She told us probably ten times that night how there was some kind of explosion. You know that means right? Sean oh… Sean. You done fucked up brother. More on that later.

Patty and Abby blacked out on the couch holding each other. Gilbert and I couldn’t sleep. I gave the Tony guy some first aid, but to be frank, I am giving him a snowball’s chance in hell of even coming back to consciousness. One whole side is burnt to shit. His left leg is broken down near the ankle, and I know for a fact it’ll never heal right without surgery. He’s got a shard of metal in his hip the size of a deck of playing cards, and he’s lost a lot of blood. I got an IV going in him, and he sucked the damn thing dry in minutes.

Gilbert and I discussed what the hell we were going to do as the sun came up. Hard to believe it, but we were up all night. We had the good fortune of bad weather rolling in. Pretty much as soon as we started talking the snow started to fall. Tony’s color came back after a few hours, and then Patty woke up. She told us all about STIG, and I was kind of shocked. From what I heard, it sounded like they were eventually going under. They were consuming food faster than they could scavenge it or grow it. Patty said a lot of the folks didn’t expect them to make it through winter. Great building, shitty location. Brian wasn’t kidding when he said they needed us more than we needed them.

Now that he’s dead, I’m not sure he was right.

Patty said she’d take over watching Tony, and Gilbert and I passed out. I got about five hours of sleep and woke up in the early afternoon. Patty was with Tony, and he was still out. Abby was sleeping on the couch and Gilbert was out cold on the recliner with Otis on his lap. Guess he can’t be a complete turd if Otis still likes him.

I showered, then Abby was up, and she showered, and then Patty showered, and we all sat around like we were at a funeral. Not far from the truth. Everyone was on pins and needles all night waiting for the Westfield assault force to roll in. I got the guns cleaned, and we all took stock of our fucked up lives. Turns out, we’re miserable.

We went through a lot of ammo on that run. Worth it though. We got Patty back. That’s enough for me. Both trucks were filthy with carnage, but they took fuck all for damage. I mean with a good washing they’ll be fine.

That night we posted guard at the bridge after getting the plywood planks back into place. We knew that they were aware of them, but that doesn’t make them useless. It’s like barbed wire. The enemy can see it, and it still slows them down. Cuts down their options for attack.

I took the first half in Hall A’s furthest window, nearest the bridge. There was no way anyone could get across the river right now, and the lake is covered in two or three feet of loose snow. Nothing came. Patty took over at 4am, and she said nothing happened either. The snow lasted through the entire night as well, and kept on during the day. I’d say we got a foot or more.

Earlier today we began our plan to strike back at Sean. We’re in a pickle here. Once I told them about the unloaded guns on the patsies at the gas station everyone knew the stakes had been raised. The basic idea is this: we can’t go in there guns blazing without more info.

If Sean is setting people up to die, then he has an agenda, and enemies on the inside. Now it’s not always the rule, but as the saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and I think in this case, it’s damn applicable. What we need is inside info. I need to know what’s going on in there.

Then, I need one bullet to end this. McGreevy’s rifle will dish out a little bit more justice if I have my way. I need more time to plan this though. And time… is something I don’t know if I have.

I’m exhausted. I need rest. I however would like to end this journal entry on a positive note.

Team Vagina is bloodied, but not dead.

Lol.

-Adrian

February 6th

You know… I lost my fucking sword. I’ve got the long sword I brought from home still but it’s huge compared to the small one that’s gone. I can’t imagine carrying that thing around all the time, especially getting in and out of vehicles. On foot yeah sure, but in vehicles, the scabbard alone is a pain in the ass. I think the blade was bent the other night at STIG anyway. I shouldn’t complain, I got really good mileage out of it. Best three hundred bucks I’ve spent in a long time. Not that I’ve spent any money recently. The world is on sale. Free for the taking, as it were.

What’s that Mr. Journal? How am I? How’s life?

Life sucks.

But, I am alive, and so are some of the people I care about, so I guess all things considered, it could be much worse. Yesterday, last night and today we’ve had at least one of us on guard watching and waiting to be hit. We’ve upped our patrols to three a day to look for foot prints or movement of any kind. We’ve seen nothing. The paranoia is a motherfucker though. It’s worse than before when we were waiting for them to show up.

They raised the ante considerably when they hit the gas station and STIG. Fucking Sean. I’ll watch him bleed out before this is all said and done. Mark my words Mr. Journal. I want that asshole’s blood running in the snow.

Yesterday Tony got a little better. He woke up for a few minutes and talked to Patty. He was grateful to be alive, but in a lot of pain. We won’t leave him alone on the outside chance he kicks the bucket. Mostly Patty has been his babysitter. She’s got at least one busted rib, and any kind of movement blows for her. We’ve got her chest wrapped up tight, which helps some. She’s been relaxing with him in the living room of Hall E, making sure he’s still alive. As I said, he got a lot better yesterday, but he slipped into a fever overnight. He’s just got too much damage to fix. We’re wasting medicine and food keeping him alive, and I hate to say it, but his suffering needs to end soon. Patty can’t see the light on this yet, and it’s making things a little uncomfortable for Gilbert and I. Combat triage isn’t easy for anyone to deal with, but it’s a fact of life.

I’m feeling very disorganized in my head. I haven’t been sleeping well at all, and with the stress and sudden changes going on I frequently feel like I am a spectator inside my own head. It’s almost like I don’t realize something has happened until after and then I’m trying to recall it. I forgot to put the magazine in my M15 this morning when I went on patrol and didn’t realize it until I was a hundred yards outside the building. I gotta get my shit together here or I’m going to die.

I really need to get some sleep. When I have been sleeping I’m having those shitty ass dreams again. Lots and lots of violence, lots of arguing with people, and tons of just really odd bullshit. When I don’t wake up freaking out, I wake up confused and sad. I think I might go back to taking something to help me sleep, because I can’t function on three hours of sleep broken up over the night. I can’t focus at all.

One thought keeps fucking with me. I never asked Brian if Cassie was there at STIG, or if Steve was for that matter. I haven’t been listening to the radio at the times Steve said he’d broadcast, but honestly with the state repeaters down, he’d need to be within ten miles or so anyway. If he was within ten miles, he’d fucking stop by, he knew I worked here. Simple reality is that Steve is probably dead. And as far as Cassie is concerned… Well, I am hopeful she’s either holed up somewhere safe, or she’s been dead for a long time. Those lines of thought allow me to get some sleep at night.

Yesterday we accomplished jack shit. Resting, and trying to stay vigilant for an attack. I did get Abby, Patty, and Gilbert keys for Hall E though. I think we’re at the point where they can have keys to their own home. Today was more of the same bullshit really. Well, Patty and I got into it. Like I said, she really wants this Tony kid to survive. I can totally see where she’s coming from too. They were trapped on the top floor of the STIG building and had this intense bonding experience, and they kept each other “sane” and I’m sure her motherly thing is going crazy too. Here’s the thing. He’s dying. We can’t break his fever, and he’s got severe burns on at least a quarter of his body. We’ve already gone through several of the IV bags from the heavy rescue truck, and it’s not like those things are growing on trees. Which reminds me. Apples grow on trees. Something to look forward to if I live to fall.

We managed to get the hunk of iron out of his hip and get the wound packed, but the dressing needs to be changed at least once and probably twice a day to prevent infection. Speaking of which, he’s so susceptible to infection right now it isn’t funny. Burn victims have their immune system so compromised… Hence the hospital “burn unit” idea. It’s much cleaner there than in the rest of the hospital.

And! He has a busted ass leg. Which we can’t do fuck all about. Even if he heals from the burns, and heals from the chunk of his hip missing, he’ll be on crutches at best for the rest of his life. Realistically, the man will be a burden on us if he survives. I hated to be callous about him to her, but he’s going to drain our medicine, our supplies, and our food.

She screamed some. Abby intervened and the two women had a moment together. I apologized for being a dick about it and that helped some. I can be very black and white when things are bad. It’s like the way I cope with ambiguity. Pick a course of action and ride it, even if it rides me into the sun. I need to see it through no matter what. Cassie said I was pig headed more than once. No arguments from me about it. I can be an asshole. I’m not perfect.

The human being in me wants him to make it and spring off the couch like a jack rabbit. I would love to have another young and able bodied man to help around here. I’m fed up with always being the muscle. Patty keeps saying he’d be a “great guard” too. I guess he was a spotter or shooter over there before the shit hit the fan. I guess it’d be nice if he miraculously came through, but with the fever he’s running, and his wounds, he’s got shit stacked against him.

Just heard a gunshot outside, brb.

-Adrian

February 6th (2nd entry)

Abby was on guard and took down a zombie that had wandered to the bridge. That can’t be a good sign. I am feeling like the undead we encountered downtown may have followed us a little further than I would have liked. I really don’t want us to waste ammunition on more random wandering undead. Abby and Patty are on strict instructions to use .22’s to kill if they have to. We’ve got a ton of it to use so it makes no sense to use anything else unless absolutely required.

Glad she’s got good eyes still. It’s almost 9pm right now and she saw it in the dark like nothing. I’m so glad the two women are still alive. I can live without Chuck, especially the way he and I left it, and I must admit I do miss Randy. He was a little weird, but a lot of kids are at that age. It’s tough to grow up, especially in middle school years. Just a giant torture chamber really. Everyone’s either popular, fat, gay, nerdy or retarded. Everyone gets assigned a category. Nothing is as cruel as school children. Can’t blame the kid for plugging into the Xbox.

It’s the 6th tonight, and hopefully tomorrow we can start laying down the plan to deal with Sean and the Westfield folks. Gilbert said he’s swirling some ideas around in his melon, and I am as well. Gilbert kept saying that we were “combat ineffective” though, and he’s right. Patty is useless for a week at least with the bad rib, and with Tony here, we can’t do much. We certainly can’t leave him alone. Gilbert, god bless him, is old as hell. He’s a good shot, and sharp as a tack, but as far as combat operations are concerned, he can’t really be relied on. He’s a hamburger away from a heart attack at his age.

Oh god hamburger. I would murder for a grilled burger right now. Fuck my life.

Planning. Scheming. Trying to stay sane. More on that front tomorrow Mr. Journal.

-Adrian

February 7th

Tony died today.

After I rotated out of my shift on watch I did a patrol of campus, then went back to Hall E. Gilbert has been staying there with us to help out, and when I returned from the patrol he met me at the outer door. His face was long and he had the, “Son, something bad happened” look on his face. I can distinctly recall the same expression on my own dad’s face when my grandfather died.

I asked him if it was Tony, and he said yeah. Guess it happened while I was out on the patrol. He went peacefully, which is good. I guess Patty had fallen asleep and Gilbert had that feeling Tony was about to kick, so he was sitting near him. When Gilbert noticed he had stopped breathing he got Patty awake, and got her out of the room. He wrapped a hand towel around Tony’s head, took a folding knife and did him in the eye. Fortunately dead people don’t bleed much so the towel caught all the blood.

I’ve got the nagging question in the back of my head about whether or not Gilbert did him manually though. Patty was gone, it was just him and Tony. Gilbert easily could’ve killed him while he was passed out. That idea doesn’t bother me in the least though. Gilbert and I both knew one way or the other Tony’s time was short. I’m just glad Gilbert said he went peacefully, naturally or otherwise.

Patty was still upstairs crying about it and while I had the chance I took Tony’s body outside. I went and got the four wheeler, got him in the small trailer, and drove him out to the staff housing area where I put the bodies from before. I guess I’ll start another pyre when I get a big enough stack. We’ve already started a decent pile with the roamers coming back up into the campus area. I sure hope there isn’t an army of the fuckers walking up Auburn Lake Road right now. I’d drive down to look, but the noise might attract them in.

This is so fucking draining. I don’t care if Westfield rolls in here with a dozen Abrams tanks tonight, I’m taking a fucking Ambien. I can’t deal with this right now.

-Adrian

February 9th

Patty’s been weirder since Tony died. I think she was really attached to him. Abby thinks it was because he was like a remnant of Randy and Charles. Sort of the last tie to the events at STIG, or a crutch keeping her up over Charles and Randy’s death. I don’t know about that, but Patty’s definitely pretty broken up. Mind you Mr. Journal that she was already coping with the death of her husband and son. She’s definitely gone quiet. I catch her every so often just sitting there staring out a window, kneading her hands together. Poor woman. She’s so strong though. Doesn’t want anyone to think she can’t function. She doesn’t want to be a burden on anyone.

She doesn’t know what happened at STIG. She does know that she didn’t see anyone sneaking around near the place when it blew. She and Tony were on watch in a corner office where we found her that night. She said she saw nothing. That either means they snuck in from a totally different angle to hit the plant, or it was some kind of inside job. Doesn’t change anything.

Abby’s taking it all in stride. At least, that’s what she thinks she’s fooling us into thinking. I can tell she’s under tremendous pressure. She doesn’t want to let us down, and she wants to show her mom that everything will be okay. I wish I could tell everyone things will be okay, but the fact of the matter is, I don’t know if it will be.

Yesterday we had some more snow, and as long as it snows, Westfield will struggle to get here for an attack. That’s a relief. The shitty part about yesterday was the three zombies we had to kill. Our nail boards have become useful for more than flattening tires. All three zombies got their feet stuck on the plywood sheets covered in nails. Luckily it was all on my watch in Hall A in the morning, and I took my long sword out and had me some beheading action. After that I had me some stacking zombie bodies into the four wheeler action. And after that I had me some stacking more bodies on my funeral pyre action.

Fuck this shit, right?

We got through yesterday without firing any guns, which was great. I can’t help but think any kind of gunfire will lead more and more up here. I wonder how many undead were drawn to the STIG building instead of up here while I was clearing houses out back in December? I’m betting they were making a lot more noise than me. Poor fucking people.

Gilbert slept all day yesterday and took over for the evening for me. Patty has been resting in Hall E steadily going crazy. She wants to help with the watches but she can’t breathe for shit with the busted side. She says it’s “much better now” but I don’t believe her.

I made us our first “meal” since the majority of the Williams family left for STIG. We’d been eating out of cans since then. I warmed us up some cans of mixed veggies, and I got three cans of Dinty Moore warmed up as well. I popped open a can of the brown bread I like for added variety. Veggies and stew. Not much, but it was hearty and calorie filled, which is really important. Patty struggled to get it down, but she fought her way through it.

Rest of the evening I just hung with Patty and we watched Abby sleep on the couch. She’s such a fighter too. Good female genes in that family. They don’t quit. Abby took watch over for Gilbert sometime in the middle of night, and this morning she said she had to kill a zombie at about four am. I guess she grabbed a bat and went out to the spike boards. She even dragged the body out of the road. How ballsy is that? Middle of the night in the dark she goes out all alone with a baseball bat and clubs a fucking zombie to death like a baby seal? Five bucks says she shits a brick when we start getting spiders around here again.

This morning we had a small breakfast together and Patty mentioned that if we could get back to STIG there would probably be some supplies left over there. She thought there was a rifle in the room she had been trapped in as well as a few boxes of ammo. I definitely want to go back to check it out, but after seeing what we went through to get Patty out, I think it’s far too risky. It is however in the “shit to think about” file.

More shitty dreams the past couple days. I’ve gotten better sleep when I have been sleeping, but the dreams are pretty horrible. Both of the two nights the dreams have been about my friend Steve. Today I turned on a radio and left it on the channel he said in his note. I mean, I know he’s dead, but I feel obligated to do it with the dreams lately. It sucks. I sat there hoping it’d crackle to life with his voice but you and I know differently Mr. Journal. Like a jackass he went out and probably stole a BMW off a dealership lot and then proceeded to wrap it around a fucking guard rail somewhere. Steve was the kind of asshole that didn’t clean off his car during snow storms. He’d hit the wiper once or twice then bomb away doing 20 over the speed limit. Knowing him he never made it to a dealership at all. No work ethic on that guy.

I’m rambling again. Gilbert and I established our Westfield plan. Well, phase 1 of it at least. Every good op needs recon. Wars are fought on real time intelligence and the stomachs of foot soldiers, and sadly, those are both my problem. It’s too bad Tony didn’t make it. Tomorrow morning at dawn I am taking the Tundra and a snow machine and going to Westfield. I’ll drive as far as I can and then move in slowly on the machine or on foot.

My aim is to find out two things. First, how many undead are there in Westfield? Is it overrun with them, and where are they? And secondly, do the Westfield pricks move in predictable patterns?

Gilbert and I have a guerilla warfare plan in mind. We have established that we can’t just barge in with a direct assault on the school. We’re vastly outnumbered, and without explosives we can’t take them out in one fell swoop. Some of our first ideas were an alpha strike on the school using fuel to start fires, but that quickly got dismissed for several reasons.

Gilbert is (was) a Green Beret. If you know anything about those guys, then you know that they specifically train to go into foreign lands, and build support with the locals to achieve a mission. Gilbert and I both agree that this is a good course of action. What makes this difficult is the fact that all the locals are inside a single building. It’s not like we can hit an outlying village and bribe them with tobacco or something like a normal Green Beret mission. We need to establish their patterns of movement, and intercept them hopefully peacefully. We’re thinking either a “oh dear, I’m hurt, please help us” ambush, or a spiked board and guns full on ambush. We’ve got handcuffs to take hostages if we need to, but ideally I’d like to do this as peacefully as possible. We can’t give those people any reason to think we’re the villain. I’d bet a can of peaches Sean has gone out of his way to throw us under the bus as the most evil thing since Osama Bin Laden and Steely Dan.

Bottom line is we’ll figure that out when I get back tomorrow night. Once I see plowed roads I’ll know where they’re moving. (Assuming of course they’re plowing roads, and moving about) I can’t imagine a group of their size hasn’t been moving around regularly. Patty said the high school group was very active in the city gathering resources and whatnot, so it stands to reason they still are.

I’m rolling out with the M15 and the Savage. I’ll also bring the two pistols, and enough ammo, food and general supplies should I get cut off. Earlier tonight I also found some snowshoes in the gymnasium, which will come in handy should something happen to either the truck or the snowmobile. I hate to think about hoofing it the 30 miles back here or however far it is, but the reality is, that might happen. Hopefully I’m sneaky enough to get this done and do it right.

After a few days of observation, we’ll formulate a solid plan of attack. Gilbert assures me he can sell people who are on the fence about Sean with little to no problem. He is a pretty charismatic bastard, I’ll give him that. The trick is to get enough info on the situation there and hopefully find a way to either speak to, or capture folks. Worst case scenario we can actively engage in guerilla warfare and do an active denial of resources mission. Blow their fucking gas stations up. All’s fair in love and war cocksuckers.

Now if I get unbelievably lucky…. I’ll see Sean, and I’ll take one shot with the Savage and hopefully end all this bullshit before it gets any worse. According to what Brian said, he’s the HMFIC over there. One shot, one kill. Man that’d be ideal. Then I could go back to just worrying about the armada of undead that’s slowly creeping down the road to my home.

If all goes well I’ll put an entry in tomorrow night when I get back. If it doesn’t go well.. well I might not put an entry in at all. Ever again that is.

Good times.

I’m kinda glad Sean tried to play soldier with me. I’m good at this game.

-Adrian

February 11th

I’m back like herpes Mr. Journal. You just can’t kill me. I am the boomerang of tools.

Shit I just called myself a tool. Ah fuck it, why fight it?

Two straight days in Westfield for old Adrian here. Rough going really, but I’ve been through much worse. I’ll recap yesterday first.

I left early, before the sun came up. Right after I put in my last entry I went out and got the snowmobile loaded into the Tundra. I snagged some 2x4s and rope and all that jazz. I packed a large backpack I got from one of the dorm rooms with all the supplies I’d need. Food, water, matches, a compass, state maps, and a small container of gas in the event I needed emergency fuel etc. In the gymnasium we have snowshoes for the kids, and I found a pair that fit me. Everything an almost-Ranger needs to survive in a normal American town, post zombie apocalypse.

Oh, and ammo. Lots of ammo. I brought all the 5.56, for the M15, the Glock, all the mags loaded for that, and a spare box of .45, and the Cheetah in the ankle holster. I left the large longsword behind. I can’t find a machete anywhere. I did however remember I had a decent camping hatchet which worked out just fine. Makes me regret not buying a decent machete at Moore’s at some point.

Water over the dam. Abby was on watch in Hall A when I left yesterday morning, and I checked in with her to make sure she was okay. I told her that I’d be back sometime today. I fully expected to try and get back late yesterday, but that didn’t happen. Anyway, we parted ways, and I headed off.

We got about a foot of snow the past few days, but mercifully the sun has been out all day, and it has reduced down to about 9 inches in the spots where I’ve been plowing regularly. Now the trip to Westfield was a bitch for a few reasons. Obviously, driving through the snow sucked balls, even in a 4x4 with big ground clearance. It just sucked.

Secondly, it sucked because I couldn’t just drive straight to Westfield. Gilbert and I studied maps, and we knew that if they had any brains at all they’d set up security checkpoints on the main road heading in. That meant we had to take side roads and park a ways outside of town, and either hoof it in, or head in on the snow machine.

Thirdly, it blew because I had to run over or get out of the truck to kill about five undead on Auburn Lake Road. They were slowly trudging in our general direction, and that’s not a good sign. We’ve got to keep it quiet on campus for a few days at least to try and mislead the damn things back to somewhere else. Fucking crazy stuff Mr. Journal.

I drove roughly 25 miles on Route 18 to a road that we had identified during planning. The road looped around the town in a pretty wide arc, but there were multiple roads branching off there that put me about a mile away from Westfield proper. According to one of the maps we had Westfield had an original population of about 15,000 folks. Westfield was in the middle of a large valley and had a very centralized layout. From what I remembered there was a large tract of developments skirting two thirds of the city, and the downtown area was on the opposite side of town.

I was heading towards where those two sections of the town met. the school was on the cusp of downtown and the developments. I found the area I wanted to park at, and picked a driveway that headed into some cover. The snow was about a foot and a half thick, and I managed to smash the truck through and park it in the back of the house. Once I was situated I sat tight, and listened.

Nothing. Quiet as a church. I gave it fifteen minutes and then got the snowshoes out. There was no way I could hide the tire tracks I’d just made, but my hope was that the turn off I’d taken was so far from town they wouldn’t be coming out to check. If they didn’t see that road, then they wouldn’t see the driveway. However, as a precaution, I got the snowmobile down, and drove it very slowly about a tenth of mile into the woods so if they did find the truck, I had the machine as an escape option.

From there, it was on foot through the woods. The snow was fairly hard packed and the snowshoeing was pretty easy. I’ve lost a lot of weight too which helped. On foot through the woods with all the gear was a bastard. I had about a mile to go before I got into a neighborhood that could be called “downtown.”

I made sure to wear lighter colored clothing. Now the winter jacket I’m using is a neutral grey color, so to compensate and make myself less visible, I grabbed white sheets. I’ve got the sheet stitched roughly across my back, and down the top of my arm so I can wrap up real quick and go completely white. If I go face down in the snow, the only thing someone will see is the white sheet. Go me and my fucking cleverness. Once I saw the houses I slowed down and moved from cover to cover to stay hidden from anyone looking. I didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean shit. I worked my way through a few rows of houses and wound up stopping at a small ranch. The road it was on was plowed.

From the side of the house I saw a window was open, so I scrambled up and into the ranch house as fast as I could. I ate shit when I came down on the other side when the snowshoes snagged on the window. Bit my tongue pretty good. Doh. Once I got the shoes off I cleared out the place and found it was empty, and emptied. Nothing inside worth taking at all. All the cupboards were open, as was the fridge. The place had been tossed for its contents.

I set up the kitchen table inside the house with a chair and established a good hide spot. I could see out all three sides of the house at the plowed road, and unless someone slowed down and looked directly inside at me, I was invisible. I had left no visible tracks in either, which left me feeling pretty safe.

I set up at 11am. Something like that at least. I got my shit out, and sat there. The life of an observer. Hours and hours of boredom, punctuated by moments of sheer terror. Nothing came into my field of view until 3pm. A small pickup truck came down the street heading north towards the suburb portion of the city. There were two passengers in the truck, and they drove pretty relaxed at about 25 mph. Redheaded guy, and chick with a ponytail. They came through at about three, and returned back at about half past four. Most noteworthy was that the truck was carrying stuff in the back on the return trip.

Notice anything funny about that paragraph Mr. Journal? Anything at all? Go ahead, re-read it once more.

Find it yet?

There’s no mention of zombies in it.

I didn’t see a single zombie the entire first day and night I was there. Not one. That told me these guys had either dragged them all somewhere else, or had them huddled around the school like Patty said they had at STIG. Well, the third option is that they have managed to kill all the undead, but that scares me. It suggests a pretty powerful amount of organization, and a large and capable fighting force.

That night I slept in a back bedroom and froze my ass off. I think I got about 3 hours of sleep total. However, I never used to mind getting shit sleep on ops like this back in the sandbox. You’re so wired up on adrenaline sleep feels like it’s getting in the fucking way. Wake up Adrian! Get back to the mission! It’s funny how the brain works.

I was set up in my hide drinking a can of Red Bull at 4am. I did see a single zombie shuffle down the road at 9am. It was an old lady wearing a floral print bathrobe. She went from north to south and I let her walk. No need to kill anything or announce my presence. I decided I’d displace after seeing her walk by. I gathered my shit, and got out the back, and went the better part of mile north in the backyards of the houses. Through fences, around old pools, and over hedges. What a bitch. It took me over an hour to go a mile. Essentially I shadowed the plowed road until I got to an area where the density of houses dropped off, and I could see some farmland ahead.

At the corner of the road I had been set up on was a small cape, and I set myself up in the second floor in a bedroom that had a corner view of the farms and the street. It was empty just like the ranch was before. Clearly these people had gone house to house just like I had. They were thorough.

Not long after I had finished getting myself set up in the cape the same truck drove by with the same two passengers. The redheaded guy again, and the same chick with the ponytail. Once again it was three in the afternoon. I watched the truck make a left hand turn, drive a quarter of a mile, and then turned into the long driveway of a farm. There was a fairly simple chain link gate at the end of the driveway that the male passenger got out and opened for the truck. At that point I got the Savage trained on the farm and realized I’d hit the jackpot. The farm’s layout is a bitch to describe, but the long chicken coop area ran the long way towards me, parallel with the road. At the end of that was the farmhouse, and then behind both of those buildings were barns. Surrounding the whole damn thing was a fence that I could barely make out under the snow.

The truck people got out, and an old guy came out of the farm to greet them. They went inside, and after about an hour, the two people came out with armloads of shit. I couldn’t quite make out what was in the boxes and crates, but I’d bet twenty bucks I saw bottles with white shit inside. Pretty sure it was milk. I also opened the windows and took a real strong set of whiffs, and I could clearly smell cow shit. I think that farm has livestock. That means they have milk, meat occasionally, and if that long building is a chicken coop, then they have eggs and chicken as well. That explains how the assholes that ambushed us had sandwiches. They’ve got fresh eggs and milk available.

I didn’t see a single guard around the farm. Not one. I think they’re relying on the fences for defense against the undead. I’d also bet they haven’t had to deal with another group of survivors yet either. (well, other than us) That leaves them pretty wide open to be fucked with. Especially by people who know how to fuck with people. *evil smile*

Once the truck left I got the fuck out. I had seen enough and I bugged out back to the snow machine. What a fucking chore to make that trip twice in just a few hours. We got some light snow last night as well, which helped with the noise. The truck was undisturbed and I got the snowmobile into the back after fucking around with it for twenty minutes. Felt like an asshat every time the boards moved on me. I need to find the little bumper ramp attachments.

Anyway, I had to break into the house there to find a shovel to get the truck unstuck. When I backed out of the garage it got bogged down in a rut or something. I had to dig it out a bit. Clearing the house at night was a little freaky. I was about to go room to room like normal, but instead I just popped the maglite on and started talking out loud. I figured if anything was undead inside they’d come to my voice. Luckily the place was empty.

So I dug the truck out, got it turned around and made it back to Route 18 with no issues. I noticed the snow was undisturbed in the road as well, which meant they hadn’t driven out to this point while I’d been in town. That’s good news. Of course if they find the tire tracks before more snow falls, they’ll know exactly what was up.

It took me almost an hour and half to make it the 25 miles back. I’d bitch about how long the drive was, but frankly that was as warm as I’d been in almost two days, so I hardly noticed how long it took. Gilbert was on watch when I arrived, and because we’re afraid to let Westfield in on our communications, we’re not using the radios unless we absolutely have to. I stopped at the nail boards and flashed my lights five times. I moved the boards (again with the fucking physical labor) reset the boards, moved the vans, reset the vans, and got my ass inside for a Gilbert debrief. Patty and Abby tackled with me with nervous hugs and fed me hot food which was great. I was fucking starving. Otis showed me some love too.

I showed Gilbert the maps I drew and the notes I took, and we worked over a new plan for tomorrow. I’m headed back at 5am or so I can beat the sunrise. Instead of going back to the same two houses I was in, I’ll be heading further away towards the farm so I can see exit strategies for the farm. Is there a second exit from the farm if we ambush? Where is a good spot to hit the truck on a trip? If we’re going to hit the truck in an ambush, we want to do it as far from the high school as possible so we can mitigate the threat of a QRF from there, but we also don’t want to draw fire from the farmhouse.

I won’t be staying over in Westfield if at all possible tomorrow. I’ll hopefully get in, see the truck making it’s trip again, and then hopefully get some good eyes on the farm so we can plan a hit either the 13th or the 14th.

That reminds me, I need to think of something nice to do for the girls for Valentine’s. I’ve never been a good romantic though, and I also don’t want to send the wrong message. All the florists seem to be… dead. Roses might be out of the question. Maybe I can do breakfast for them or something nice.

I think they desperately need something nice right now. I know I do. Sleep now, then back to Westfield tomorrow for another recon op. If all goes well, we can plan an ambush for the 13th.

Later Mr. Journal.

-Adrian

February 13th

More blood my hands today Mr. Journal. Seems to be the rule lately. Adrian gets to kill people who may or may not deserve it. Our hand may be played with Westfield. I don’t know how this will work out, but it seems the wheels are in motion. I need to stop rambling. Man I’m an idiot some days.

Sigh. I hope this doesn’t make things worse. Gilbert isn’t sure one way or the other. As I said in the last entry I had the time for I planned on returning to Westfield yesterday. I did. Before I left yesterday Gilbert and I planned a different route into the town on side roads that were even more off the beaten path. It was almost all side roads to get there, and I tell you man what a bitch of a drive. I almost switched to the maintenance plow just to make it a little easier, but I didn’t want to risk losing the plow if something should happen. Not that a plow isn’t replaceable, I just don’t want one more fucking hassle. I’ve got 99 problems now, and a plow isn’t one.

Seems like no matter where you go in the world there’s always one main way to get there, and then a bunch of out of the way routes to get there. For example, I can take Route 18 all the way to the interstate to get to the city. Straight shot. However, I can take a combination of twenty different back roads to get there. Same idea here.

I arrived in the outskirts of Westfield at about 11am. The side roads I took brought me right near the farm I’d seen the other day, so it was a longer drive, but a much shorter walk. I established that my recon yesterday would largely be on foot, so I didn’t set up anywhere. Using the snowshoes I made decent progress through the woods around the farm. The snow was packed hard from the freeze/thaw cycles, so it was easy moving. I had the M15 slung on my back, and I rolled with the Savage so I could observe through the scope.

The farm itself was fairly small. This isn’t a massive dairy operation, or a chicken factory. Like I said there was one large chicken building that was maybe a hundred feet long, plus a good sized barn and a reasonable farmhouse. Few shed style outbuildings as well. I got close enough in three or four spots where I could see with the Savage that there were indeed chickens in the long building, and at least three cows in the barn. I suspect there were more cows than that, but I couldn’t get an angle to see. Judging from the beaten down snow and the piles of shit all over the place, I’d guess at maybe 6 to 8 cattle. Looks clearly like a family run farm.

My friends in the pickup truck arrived once again at a little after three and stayed until a little after four. They brought back empty crates and when they left the same crates were full. I was set up about 25 yards into the woods, and with the scope I could clearly see they had bottles of milk with them.

Fresh milk. Oh dear.

The same old man from the day before greeted them and saw them off. After they left he went back inside, then a few minutes later came out on the back porch with a cup of coffee. He fired up a pipe and smoked it out there for about half an hour, then headed back inside as the sun was finally dipping down.

Once the sun was down I exfil’d back to the truck and headed home. The ride back was just as shitty as the ride there, in case you were curious Mr. Journal. Shit-tastic winter we’re having here.

I got home at about 8pm and we had ourselves a pow-wow. After explaining the trip of the passenger truck and lack of a second exit from the farm we essentially had ourselves a bottle neck for the truck. The only exit for them was on the plowed road, or through really thick snow, and the smaller truck wouldn’t be able to handle it. If we slipped a few 2x4s into the snow right there, we’d be even better off in preventing an exit that way.

Gilbert and I agreed that the best ambush location would be near the cape on the corner, but perhaps a few hundred feet south. That way we’d be obscured from the farm, and still quite a ways from the high school should they send a QRF to answer an ambush on the small truck. After some pretty raucous arguments, we decided that using Abby as bait would be our best plan.

Abby walks down the road with me in a house with the Savage. Gilbert sets up nearby with the snowmobile, and when the truck sees Abby, she gets them to stop to “help her.” Gilbert rides out on the snowmobile with the AK, asks them to drop their weapons and radios, and we begin our question and answer session. Hopefully it all ended with no violence.

And by now you already know it ended with violence. Gilbert and I (rashly, you could argue) decided to hit the truck today. We’ve got a lot of intel, and the longer we wait, the more time they have to attack us. Patty’s rib has gotten good enough that she could take watch in Hall A while we were gone so she obviously begged up a storm to come along. We told her it was a bad idea, and after yet another screaming session, she conceded that she actually was still in fair amount of pain. Patty has done a lot of screaming since Charles and Randy died. I hope she can find some calm soon because that bitch has pipes. It’s a good thing I’m half deaf from fucking gunfire.

Gilbert, Abby and I took off in the plow truck. We got the snowmobile loaded and grabbed up a bunch of good shit and were on the road by 4am. We arrived just as the sun was rising, and when we saw no additional tracks in the road, we headed to the same spot I’d parked on my second trip to Westfield. Abby and Gilbert sat up a rear guard with the snowmobile until I got fifteen minutes ahead on foot. After that time they rode out very slowly following my tracks until they reached the spot I’d decided for the ambush.

Abby and I slipped into and cleared another small home for me to use and Gilbert rode the snowmobile around and towards the farm so if they suddenly slammed the truck into reverse he’d be able intercept them. At just about five after three the truck drove by heading to the farm. I was set up in a second floor window with a radio, and I could clearly see the quarter of a mile or so to the farm. I had an almost perfect little space between the trees and houses so I could see the driveway, and when the truck parked in the yard, I could see it.

Gilbert and Patty had a radio on them as well, and we switched to a seldom used channel and did a hot mike test to make sure no one else heard us. We sent some garbled chatter out, waited for reply, and after ten minutes we were reasonably sure we had the channel to ourselves. Abby staged down at the door of the house, and when I saw the two people get in the truck at the farm, I hollered down to her they were on their way.

Abby jogged outside through the snow and made it to the road, and started walking slowly as if she was heading towards the general direction of the high school. We planned on her having a hot mic so Gilbert and I could hear any conversation she had. It took maybe two minutes after that for the truck to reach a point in the road where she could be seen. They slowed down, and through the scope I could see the male passenger fumble for, and get a handgun ready. They didn’t radio anyone though, which was great.

Abby waved back at them at just about the perfect time. They might’ve mistaken her for a dead chick if she waited too long. Like we had discussed, she spun to face them, and then did a wave and a handful of “OMG! PEOPLE!” jumps. She basically freaked out like a cheerleader, which was really funny to watch, because if you knew Abby, she is so not a cheerleader. Probably pretty enough, but there’s too much faux penis and nerd culture in her.

The truck slowed, and came to a stop about 15 feet from her. I got up and bounded down the steps three at a time and switched to the M15 so I could come out the front door if I had to. The passenger stepped out of the truck and I watched the female driver put it in park. Mistake #1. Never put your car in park when you might need to get away in a hurry.

Over Abby’s mic we could hear the man talking faintly, and with eyes-on I could read his lips, and make out the whole conversation. Here’s what I remember before shit went south.

“Holy shit, people!” Abby hollered out.

“Show me your hands please!” The guy said back.

“Oh sorry!” She already had her hands out, but she raised them out so she wasn’t being a threat. He said thanks very politely, and Abby smiled at him. “Hey are you guys from here? I’ve been moving through some side towns here and was heading this way to look for food. Most of these houses are completely emptied.” She gestured around at the rows of houses in the development we were in.

“I’m part of the Westfield Council. We’re currently centered in the high school a mile or two down the road here. We’ve got plenty of food if you need a place to stay. There’s plenty spare food for everyone.” The guy was congenial, and looked older than he probably was. I caught a faint hint of him being a little slow too. Maybe too much time watching porn instead of hitting the books or something. Sort of tall with receding reddish hair and was a little chubby even, which told me a lot. I was pretty round when the shit hit the fan in June, but now, I’m lean and there’s little cushion. If this guy was still chubby, then they really were eating good there. That told me a lot.

Abby took a few seconds to respond, and I had to stifle a laugh. “Oh yeah I bet you guys have free candy back there too. I uh, think I’ll pass on the ride back to Pedo-ville. Do you guys have any food with you though? Just a granola bar or something?”

The guy clearly didn’t get the joke. He wasn’t pissed, but the humor went right over his head. He took a few steps back, still holding the gun in her direction, and popped open the passenger door of the small truck. I couldn’t hear him, but he was talking to the woman driving. After listening to him, she hopped out herself, and approached Abby. She had a long dark ponytail, and was wearing a digital camo National Guard jacket.

“Hey, what’s your name?” The woman asked. I didn’t like her posture. It said “bitch” to me. Abby kind of stiffened when the two of them were both out of the truck.

“I’m Clara. I used to live in Morgan, right down the road back that way.” She pointed to the general direction of the farm. It was nice to have a local doing the talking. I had no idea what the names of the little shitville burgs were around here.

“Well Clara, we really need help, and it’d mean the world to us if you would come back with us to the school. You could meet the rest of the council, and we could get you a cool job and everything.” You know, it sounded an awful like she was trying to make it sound like an offer, but it came off as a threat.

To her credit, Abby responded very smart, “Okay, but I’ve got some questions first.”

The woman nodded, like she expected it.

“How many people do you have? I don’t think really large groups are safe anymore.” Abby put the “I’m scared” frowny face on.

“I think there are 40 of us right now, but two of the ladies are pregnant, and due by summer. So it’d be 41 with you, and 43 by summer.” The woman seemed particularly proud.

“Wow, having babies, do you guys have a doctor there? That’d be great.” Abby faked a smile.

“Kind of, we have a woman who was a physician’s assistant at the local clinic. She’s pretty sharp. She’s studying up for the deliveries on the kids something fierce. We’re pretty excited.” Her and the guy exchanged smiles. They did seem genuinely excited to have more kids show up.

“Wow, cool. Who is in charge there?” Abby was starting to feign interest, to keep them going.

“Well, technically we’re a council, so there’s no official, like mayor or anything, but our council is chaired by two people, Sean Stockwell, and my Lieutenant from the Guard base in town, Lt. Daniels. Sean’s pretty much the guiding force, but he needs the Lt’s support to get big shit done, so it works out. The rest of the council is people from town from before. Well, before all this.” She gestured around. This intel was a fucking goldmine if it was all true. Also made me wonder where all the guardsmen were if there was a base here in town. I wonder what the base was responsible for, and what gear they might have kicking around.

“Wow. And you guys have plenty of food? How is that possible?” Abby continued with her drilling.

The man spoke up and answered, “Well, there were two grocery stores in town, and the Chief and the Lieutenant secured them right off the bat when things went south. We got them emptied and got all the food into the school right off the bat. Plus there was a bunch of restaurants that we got the food from, and then my family runs McDowell farm back there. They provide security and fuel for my dad at the farm, and we share our milk and eggs and occasionally a chicken or two. Works out great.”

Again, all solid gold intel.

Abby nodded and thought about it. She was making it look like she was going to go, but the deal was she’d tell them she couldn’t, because she had to return to get her sister first or something. The deal was, don’t get in the truck. “Well, that all sounds great, can I meet you here tomorrow? I need to get my little sister first. I can’t leave her alone overnight.”

“We’ll help you get her.” The woman responded. I remember just about then I got that dumping sensation in the pit of my stomach right before things go bad.

Abby was not prepared for that response, and she stammered some, “I uh, I’m all set thanks, but tomorrow if you want to meet us here again sometime that’d work.”

“No, I think now is best Clara. It’s getting late, it’ll be dark soon, you might run into one of the dead folks, and we can’t have that happening.” The woman reached to her hip and rested her hand on what I figured was a handgun. I dropped to a knee inside the living room of the house and put the sights of the M15 on the woman. If she drew, she died. The man already had his pistol out, but it was hanging down, and he clearly was uncomfortable with the sudden change of stance from the woman.

Abby made her only mistake, and looked right at the window I was behind. She panicked and gave my position away. The woman put two and two together, and spun to face me, drawing her weapon. The man stood still. Before she got the gun up and presented herself as a threat, I snapped off a single round. The windows of the house were open from the summer, and I sent the high velocity 5.56 bullet right through an opening in the window. The woman doubled over and fell on her side, dropping the pistol. The man’s face went white as the sheet on my back as he watched the chick drop. Abby reached into the small of her back and drew her Beretta. Almost immediately the man dropped his pistol.

I moved out the door and through the snow, keeping my weapon on the man. The woman was rolling on the ground, bleeding heavily from the shot to her chest. She was coughing as well, spitting up some blood. Once again, I hit the lungs. Getting good at that. I told Abby to watch him, and I rendered first aid to the woman.

She died as soon as I got her sat up against the tire of the truck. I must’ve hit something a lot more important than just a lung. Lots of important stuff in your chest when it comes to getting shot there. I swore up and down quietly and repeatedly for a minute or two as the dude just watched in horror. He was totally unprepared for this. I stood up, grabbed the woman’s Beretta 92F pistol as well as the two magazines in her jacket pocket, slung the M15, and walked over to him.

He took a few steps back, and I picked up his pistol. It was another Beretta 92F. Or an M9 as the military calls it. They must’ve been Guard issued or at least from the Guard base. Enticing factoid.

Here’s a summary of our conversation;

“Do you know who we are?”

“I have no idea who you are.”

“My name is Adrian Ring. I’m the guy your leader Sean decided to attack twice now.” I wasn’t threatening him, just passing along info. Once I said that his eyes lit up.

“You’re the dude who killed all our people at Christmas? You’re a fricking monster, you just killed Tera. Oh gosh no, oh shit…” I caught a whiff of urine.

“Look man, what’s your name?” I put on the Adrian “I’m really your friend” face.

“Oliver. They call me Ollie.” His eyes were as wide as Lindsey Lohan’s after a meth binge. Well, as wide as they might’ve been if she were still alive at least. You get the point Mr. Journal.

“Ollie, I am really sorry I had to shoot Tera. But she was probably going to shoot me. And I’m sure if you had the chance to shoot someone who was about to shoot you, you would do the same, right?”

“Uh yeah, I guess.” Stronger smell of urine. His dark jeans looked a little darker around the crotch.

“Excellent Ollie. Here’s what you need to know. We want nothing to do with violence. However, your leader Sean followed people from here to where we are, and then attacked us to get our food. Now we’re hungry too, and you don’t just attack people and take their food. You start peaceful trade, or barter, right?” I was trying to talk slow, and appear as non-threatening as possible. I didn’t even have a gun pointed at him.

“Yeah, but they told us you attacked them when they followed people leaving here.”

“That’s horseshit Ollie. And if you know Sean like I know Sean, you know he’s feeding you bullshit. Anything to get your people to hate us. Shit, you guys blew up a gas station near us the other night, as well as a building in the town we live in. Over a hundred people died the other day because of Sean, Ollie. That’s a lot of spilled blood over nothing.”

His face squirreled up on me when I said that, and I knew he wasn’t lying, “I knew about the gas station, but the building you’re talking about, that’s news to me. Don’t forget mister, you shot and killed three of our people when we hit the gas station the other night.”

“The ones with empty guns you mean?”

His face went pale white and I knew he had no idea what I was talking about. “Yeah Ollie, they had guns, and I shot them because they were still there holding them. But when I checked, their guns were empty. Any chance those people that died that night were maybe against Sean’s ideas at all?”

No answer, he just looked down at the ground trying to hide his expression. I responded with a hmph.

“Ollie how many pistol magazines do you have on you?”

He thought for a second and replied, “I’ve got one in the gun, plus two more in my pocket.”

Just then I heard the dead woman start to move around on the ground behind me. I excused myself and yanked the hatchet off the belt hanger, and as she started the real severe twitching right before fully reanimating, I thunked the hatchet into the top of her skull. One more kibby later and she went still.

After I pried the hatchet out of her head, I went back to Ollie. “Gimme the two mags in your pocket man.” He did. I dropped the mag out of the Beretta and rifled it down the road. It skipped and slid about 75 yards or so. I pocketed the two magazines and searched the interior of the truck. There was a police radio, and I took it. I killed the motor, and threw the keys down the road near the gun magazine. No other guns or good stuff. In the back of the truck they had the crates of milk, as well as three dozen eggs and what looked like a butchered chicken or two.

Here’s where I took the moral high ground. “Ollie, you know as well as I do there’s nothing stopping Miss Clara here from putting nine millimeters through your forehead right?” I tilted my head towards the angry little blonde in the road.

Ollie nodded at me solemnly.

“I don’t want to hurt you, and neither does she. Furthermore, I don’t want to steal your food. You’ve got pregnant woman to feed, and I’m sure you’ve got kids there as well, right?”

He nodded again.

“So the food is yours. When we leave, you walk to the keys and the magazine, and then you come back to the truck. How you decide to tell the rest of the people what happened here is up to you, but I sincerely hope you tell them exactly what happened. Tera was shot when she pointed a gun at me, and I’m regretful it happened. You make sure to tell them I’m sorry for it, okay?”

He nodded again. I noticed the faint glimmer of hope in his face when he figured out he was going to walk away from the situation alive.

“Now you need to pass along a message for me, and I need you to understand fully that I am as serious as someone can possibly be about this, okay?” I gave him the “Adrian means business face.”

“Okay, anything.”

“You can tell this to Sean, but I’d prefer you told it to the people who are against him. Okay?”

He nodded again.

“Sean has done wrong by me, and he’s done wrong by my people. Now this is no longer a country made of laws, but justice will be served in this regard. I expect you all to understand that attacking my people for no good reason, blowing up a perfectly good gas station filled with fuel, then blowing up a building filled with my friends, is entirely unacceptable. I’ve never done anything to you people here, other than this today.”

Ollie nodded.

“I want Sean. Sean and only Sean. He pays for his crimes against me and my people. I want nothing to do with hurting anyone, but mark my words Ollie; I will tear your school down brick by bloody brick until that man is brought before me to pay for what he’s done.”

Ollie pissed himself again.

“Talk to your people. Tell them we want peace, but he needs to pay for what he’s done. If he isn’t brought before me within 20 days, then I will start forcing the issue. I really do not want to force the issue Ollie.” Serious Adrian is Serious.

“We have your radio now. We will be turning it on every other day at noon to listen for transmissions on.” I saw they were on channel 4. “Channel 5. If you want to communicate in a diplomatic fashion, I suggest you radio my people. Our first day listening will be the 15th.”

Ollie nodded, “Channel five, at noon, every other day, starting on the 15th, roger.”

“Ollie I want to apologize for putting this on you, it wasn’t our intention for things to go this way. Shit happens man, this is bad times for everyone.” I put my hand gently on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch, which I took as a good sign. I don’t think he was afraid of me anymore, and that meant he believed me. (In my head at least)

“Start walking towards the gun and the keys. We’re going to head this way. When you get to the keys and the magazine, you can come back to the truck and get the gun. We’ll drop it about 25 yards in the opposite direction, okay?”

He nodded, “Yeah, thanks for not killing me.”

“Ollie, I want nothing to do with killing people. I just want Sean dead, and it’s debatable he’s even human anymore.”

Ollie nodded back at me, and started walking past Abby. Abby and I made eye contact and we booked it towards the area where Gilbert had the snowmobile. I dropped the empty Beretta in the road and we were gone like ghosts.

Gilbert got us back to the truck and we hightailed it the fuck out of town. Roads were shitty again but we’ve beaten them into submission the past few days. I was really angry over how it went down, but Gilbert said it was perfect. He had the feeling that Tera bitch was one of Sean’s people, and that dropping her actually helped us.

We got back an hour ago. I’m exhausted. Gilbert is up with Patty taking the first shift of the watch. If we’re going to get hit, it’ll be in a few hours. If we don’t get hit, then my bet is Ollie passed the message along to the people over there who wanted to hear it, and we’ve started to sow the seeds of rebellion in Westfield.

Brick by brick Sean. Brick by brick.

-Adrian

February 14th

It’s Valentine’s Day. Surprise surprise…. breakfast in bed for the girls didn’t happen earlier. I thought it’d be nice to get up early and make them something, but I wound up taking the late shift for watch last night and by the time I made my way back to Hall E they were already up and about. I caught a grade A tongue lashing from Patty this morning after Abby bragged to her about being such a central part of the ambush. The idea of her 17 year old daughter holding a grown man at gunpoint definitely did not soothe her already ragged feelings. She’s pretty sensitive at the moment. I told her risks were inevitable, and that I was sorry to put Abby in that situation.

That was a lie. I wasn’t sorry about it all. I was happy that we all made it out in one piece to be honest. Whether or not Patty is ready to admit yet or not, Abby is a soldier now, just the same as her. It’s the reality of this. It’s not like I’ve got other adults to bring along for my overly frequent and violent endeavors.

So with breakfast in bed as a sweet gift shot to hell, I decided to scour campus this morning looking for something cool I could give the girls. Sadly I’m not really the romantic type. I can pull off sweet every now and then, but I usually wind up going with the proven stuff like chocolates and flowers. I’ve spent too much time being not sweet to turn on that part of my personality easily. Sadly, there is a shortage of chocolate lately, and all the florists appear to be dead. Improvise, adapt, and overcome.

I went to the girl’s dorm rooms and went through everything I could find. I needed to find something that said, “I really appreciate you, and am thankful for all that you do for me.” I didn’t want to send the wrong message and have to beat one of the girls off with a stick if they thought I was coming onto them.

After searching around, I found nothing. However, when I swung by the cafeteria to grab some more food for the dorm, I had one of those eureka moments. At lunchtime Patty was on watch, Abby was sleeping on the couch, and Gilbert had gone home. I made lunch. I found one of those canned hams in the food stash, as well as some pineapple rings and some raisins. I carefully cut the ham into half inch thick slices, then carved the ham slices into the shape of a heart with a giant arrow going through it. About as artistic as a jello jiggler. I cobbled together a pretty sweet glaze to go along with it.

I made some boxed mashed potatoes that didn’t require milk as well as a can of carrots and a can of corn. I ran over, got Patty, and woke Abby up. The girls were suitably impressed by my meager culinary skills. I felt bad when they both cried, but I think it was a good cry. I’m kinda shitty at figuring out the difference between the two. When I see a woman I care about crying all I want to do is go to her and help make everything all right. Sometimes that just cocks it all up though. Shrug. I do the best I can.

Gilbert returned to campus right after the girls finished eating. He could smell the ham in the kitchen and smacked the hell out of me for not making enough for him. I got a good laugh out of that. I think he might’ve been genuinely pissed though lol. It did smell pretty fantastic for a canned ham.

Once we were all gathered in Hall E and the women had eaten their fill we went over the plan. Gilbert is now fully convinced that yesterday’s largely failed ambush was a blessing in disguise. Once we’d gone over everything and he had time to think about it, he was sure it was a successful breaking of the ice. He said that the lack of attack on us spoke volumes. Either Ollie had covered for us and said nothing to Sean, or Ollie had taken our story to the other powers that be, and they had decided an attack on us wasn’t the best idea.

One way or the other, I am heading back to Westfield tomorrow to listen in on the radio. If they want to make contact with me, they will. We’ve got one more egress into the town we haven’t used yet, so there’s still some hope we can get close if they’ve burned our previous two ways in. Gilbert made some more spiked boards on 2x4s this afternoon as well that we are going to put in the road when I leave tomorrow. If they blow out some tires five miles from here that’s a lot better than 500 yards from here.

Gilbert is thinking we give them three chances to communicate with us via radio, or basically six days. He’s betting we hear from them tomorrow when I go there. He said, “I’ve seen this before, and I bet you anything we’ve got them by the balls bub.” I can appreciate the voice of experience. I am scared of the voice of senility though.

Its funny, but I don’t think I’ve seen any emotion out of Gilbert over the STIG thing. I would’ve thought when the place blew he’d cry over Brian dying, but he hasn’t. I think that says a lot about how much he actually cared about them. I mean, I know he cared, but he couldn’t have been that close to Brian otherwise I’d suspect he’d be showing it more. That or he went home to bawl his old ass off.

I’m sad today. Last night I had another Cassie dream and it was a melancholy one. I can’t recall exactly, but it was back from before and we were lying in bed together. One of those lazy Sunday afternoons where you don’t feel like doing anything, and you lay down in bed to take a nap kinda days. Of course it was just a dream, but it was nice. Waking up from that sucked though. Harsh reality.

I miss my woman. I hate being lonely. I’ll leave it at that.

We’ve had multiple walkers make their way up Auburn Lake Road the past few days. While we were gone Patty said about eight made it all the way to the bridge, and she wound up popping them off with the Tac .22 rifle. She had to leave the bodies for us to deal with, which wasn’t that big of a deal. The big deal is the fact that we’ve had more undead on campus since STIG blew up then we’ve had in the past three months combined. There’s an obvious connection there.

I hope the entire armada doesn’t show up on our doorstep while we’re still dealing with this Westfield bullshit. No second reliable source of fuel has been secured yet either. At the rate we’re going we will have to switch to using diesel pretty fucking shortly. Home heating oil is just dyed and treated diesel, and there are a hundred houses that are heated with it around here. We’ve got so many irons in the fire and they’re all equally dangerous, and equally important. Sigh.

Tomorrow I’m heading back to the Westfield ‘burbs in the hope someone over there makes contact with me. Even if they don’t, the plan is to attempt to recon a totally different part of town. If the opportunity presents itself, I’d like to try and get eyes on the high school so I can see what defenses they have. (if any) I’m likely to stay there overnight again, so if you don’t hear from me tomorrow night Mr. Journal, don’t have a heart attack or anything.

Wish me luck.

-Adrian

February 16th

Things are moving very fast. So much has happened the past two days I can barely recall all of it to recant here for you Mr. Journal. Unreal.

First off, I think I should trust Gilbert’s instincts more. And, if possible, I should try to clone his instincts in a mad scientist’s lair at some point. Whatever he learned when he was in south east Asia should be bottled and injected into modern soldiers. Well, that’s assuming there’s such a thing as armies in the future.

I’ll start as far back as I can remember, and work my way to today. Here goes.

I made the trip to Westfield today fairly early. I didn’t take anything to help me sleep that night and I wound up waking earlier than I’d intended. After packing all my shit up, I took off in the Tundra and made good time. It’s been kinda warm during the day, and the melt has been good to us. I made the trip to the turnoff to get into Westfield in record time, and wound up parking the truck in a garage in an out of the way cul de sac. I was clever though, and drove the truck into the garages of all the houses, so if anyone saw the tire tracks, they’d have to check each house to find the actual truck. Clever eh?

This parking job was pretty slick on the map. I didn’t get close to Westfield in the truck, but on the map this house was really close to the downtown area. Once again though, saw absolutely zero undead moving around. I gotta hand it to Sean and crew, they have been very thorough in their cleansing of the town. That or they’ve attracted them all somewhere I still haven’t heard about or seen yet.

Anyway, with the snowshoes I was able to hike down a ravine, and up a hill on the other side to get to an area that was at most 500 yards from the school. The houses were densely packed, and I moved along with the hatchet and Glock out. I left the M15 stashed in the woods in a gun case in the event I needed it. I didn’t want to leave it behind in the truck, that’s for sure.

The buildings in this area were primarily multi-family homes converted into apartments, and small businesses. There were a few small 3 or 4 story apartments that frankly took forever to get past. I have to check every level of the building while I am on the move until I know there’s no one there. The last thing I want is some Westfield asshole set up on a 3rd floor balcony with a .22 ending my day. When I reached the last one of those, I decided it’d be a great place to get set up in. The back door of the one of the apartment buildings was open, and I let myself in and headed to the top floor, securing every door on the way up. I wasn’t concerned with killing zombies, I just wanted to make sure they couldn’t get out of the apartment while I was there.

I found the top floor apartment facing the school, and tested the door. It was locked. One big boot later and the older wooden door crashed open. I cleared the apartment and got the door shut. I had to move the fridge in front of the door to secure it, but I got it done. Inside the apartment there were windows in a bedroom that faced the school. I didn’t want to fuck with the curtains on the outside chance someone would see it and realize something was amiss, so I set up a place to sit back from the window, and wound up getting the Savage’s scope on target with great visibility.

Once I was set up I turned the radio I took from the pickup truck and turned it on the channel that I told Ollie the other day. With any luck, I’d hear from them. I wasn’t sure how long the battery would last, or whether or not we had any way to charge the damn thing if it died.

So the school is pretty fucking big. I’m guessing they had somewhere around 600 or 700 students based on the size of the town, and the size of the building. It’s roughly rectangular with the gymnasium at one end. The school is two stories high, and the gymnasium looks to be about three and a half stories high. They had electric lights visible in the windows, which tells me they’ve got generators.

The entire school property is surrounded with vehicles parked end to end. Specifically each vehicle is either a truck or van. In two places that I could see they had vehicles parked sort of set back, and it looked like they were using those trucks as a gate, similar to my vans back at campus. There were a few undead here and there in the streets, but honestly, the whole portion of the city I could see was a fucking ghost town.

On the roof of the building they had two security people. I could see they were armed with AR style rifles, and they were wearing the same National Guard camo that woman had worn in the failed ambush. They didn’t have scopes on their rifles, which seemed like a travesty to me. Silly to put observers anywhere without a scoped weapon. They seemed pretty relaxed, and the few undead that meandered to the vehicle barrier were left alone. The zombies couldn’t get around the trucks or vans, and they seemed pretty frigging confounded by the wall of metal and glass.

I noticed they had about fifteen vehicles in the parking lot. Three military issue humvees as well as a heavy duty military issue tow vehicle. I forget what they’re called but they have a shitload of wheels and are used for moving tanks. I had vehicle envy.

I took some notes, drew some maps, and at 12:15, the radio cackled. We were in business.

An older man’s voice came over the radio. It was clearly not Sean’s. “Hello, is anyone there?”

I waited a few seconds, then answered, “We’re listening, go ahead.”

“Thanks for answering. You people have some feathers ruffled around here. Got some folks scared about what you’re up to.” He had a smooth baritone. Almost melodic. I could totally envision this guy singing country music from the 50’s. The shit my grandparents used to listen to.

“We’re very sorry about what happened to the lady the other day. Genuinely sorry.”

“Well it sounds like she pointed her weapon at someone who was faster on the trigger. Sounds a lot like natural consequences to me.” He seemed full of wisdom and wonder. It didn’t hurt that he more or less dismissed me shooting one of his locals. I liked him. Reminded me of Gilbert some.

“Well, we weren’t out to hurt anyone, just trying to learn more about your situation here and trying to find out a way to bring this bullshit to a close. Too many good people have died already over this.” As I talked I moved around the apartment, making sure I wasn’t getting snuck up on.

“Wise statement from someone as young sounding as you. How old are you?”

“I’m almost 35. I’ve seen my share of growing up recently.” Sad, but true.

“I hear that. So my boy Oliver says the man that talked to him the other day put the fear of God in him. Would that be you?”

I had two options: lie about it, and say I was someone else and risk Ollie listening in and finding out I was lying, or tell him the truth and put an honest foot forward. I chose truth. “Yeah that was me, my name is Adrian. It wasn’t my intention to scare him, although I can see how he would’ve been a little freaked out.”

“Yeah, watching someone get dropped can do that to you.” He sounded… I don’t know, not angry, but maybe sad?

“Yeah. So, you’ve contacted us, and you know my name. Can I get yours?”

Silence for maybe 30 seconds, then he replied, “My son says he recognizes your voice. That tells me you’re being more honest than most lately. So in the spirit of being a good Christian, I’ll tell you my name. You can call me Lenny.”

“Fantastic Lenny. I appreciate your honesty. I hope you can appreciate the pickle your fearless leader has put us in here.” I was hoping he was onboard.

“I’m hearing all kinds of stories about pickles lately. I wish we had more. We have some here in the mason jars in the basement. You’re aiming to kill Sean are you?”

That was random. “Well, he’s done his level best trying to kill me and my people. He’s destroyed the gas station near our place as well, and the other day a large building filled with people was torched as well. Over a hundred died in that explosion Lenny. I can’t abide him being a threat to my people anymore.”

“What happens next Adrian? If we don’t give him up, or drag his body out, what’re you and your people gonna do to us?”

“Lenny I don’t want trouble. Ollie seemed like a good man, and you strike me as a good person as well. But Sean needs to be brought to justice, and one way or the other, I’ll see to it. The next time he sticks his head outdoors it is getting shot off. Now if I have to, I’ll make life difficult to flush him out of that school. I’d really rather not do that though. I’d rather we came to some kind of agreement where you can try him for his crimes, or you can just send him off somewhere so I can handle this myself.”

“You prepared to kill another man Adrian?”

“I won’t lose another friend to him and his plans. And I don’t want him wasting the lives of your people trying to kill mine. The world is filled with problems, and I don’t need him making it more difficult for me, or for your people. So the answer is yes, I’m prepared to kill him. I’m also prepared to kill every single person he foolishly sends to try and kill me too. And I’d much rather I sat down and had a meal with those people instead.” I was aiming for the Christian morals I suspected he had.

It was probably the better part of a minute before he replied, “I’ll tell you something son. That man is not popular with a lot of folks left here. He’s made a lot of enemies, but he still has some friends, and he still has some power. You best be able to follow through if we hatch a plan to make things right by you.”

I was excited, not gonna lie. “Lenny I am a man of my word. There’s little left in this world worth haggling over, and the biggest thing I can give you is trust. I don’t know you, and I can’t trust you yet, but I can tell you this, if we shake hands, and you’re the man you seem to be, then you won’t have any problems with me.”

Silence for another minute. Finally he replied, “You interested in meeting face to face?”

Tough question…. “Yeah, I suppose that’s the best next step. I can’t say when we can meet you, or where, but if you’re interested, I can arrange it.”

“Very good. You can come to the farm whenever you like. I’ve got some ideas that we really can’t share over the radio, in case things are being listened in on. My beehind might already be in a sling for what we’ve said already right here.” He seemed annoyed at the premise of being watched over.

“I understand. I’ll try and contact you as soon as I can. Noon in two days via radio again work for you?”

“Sure does, you take care son. I think you’ve got a week or two before he comes at you again, but rest assured, he will come at you. You’re under his skin like a thorn covered in lemon juice.”

I smiled, “Lenny thank you. We’ll be in touch, and best of luck.”

“God bless.”

And that was it. I danced giddy like a school girl for ten minutes, then returned to watching the school, and taking notes on what I’d said, and what the Lenny guy said. Talk about excitement. As soon as the sun started to dip at about five thirty I exfil’d.

I did get the scare of my life when I was leaving the building though. I was going down the flights of stairs in the central hall and I looked over the railing and saw a hand resting there, slowly moving up. I’d already made a shitload of noise though, so even when I froze whatever it was would’ve known. I leaned over and put the Glock sight on the hand, and noticed it was all grey, and covered in flecks of dried blood. It looked like old blood too.

I got the hatchet out and holstered the Glock. About a flight and a half of stairs later I came face to face with a young lady that when alive, would’ve been beautiful. She was young, 25 years old at most, and had long straight hair dyed in colorful streaks. She had a pierced lip and eyebrow, and she was covered in tattoos. Very alternative. She was wearing a torn open pajama shirt and a pair of boxer underwear. Man she must’ve been gorgeous when she was alive.

I actually had to take a deep breath and focus myself to hit her with the hatchet. I kept thinking about love lost, and “oh man I wish this chick was alive” stuff. I side armed the hatchet into her neck right below the ear and nearly severed her head. It sucked. Her head rolled around with the jaw still clenching up and down, so I curb stomped it a few times until the brain got smooshed. I got the fuck out after that.

Making it back to the truck turned out to be a real bitch. The ravine behind the house was really ugly on the way up, and I had to practically rappel it. I made sure not to forget the stashed M15, and I trucked it home. I remembered to stash the 2x4s with nails in a spot of Route 18 where the snow was still covering the road. They’ll never see them if they come that way.

I made it home by about 7pm, and I swung into Gilbert’s place to let him know what happened. He said he’d be by in a bit, and I headed to campus to shower. Patty moved the vans for me as I got the nail boards out of the way, and I got in, cleaned up, and everyone gathered for a pow-wow pretty quickly.

I told them everything I saw and said and heard, and they were pretty excited. Gilbert complimented me on my maps and the notes I took. Apparently my attention to detail is good. Yay me.

He immediately suggested we make another trip into Westfield today and meet with this Lenny character. His argument was that if we went immediately we showed them several things. We were serious about moving this plan forward as soon as possible.

We knew exactly where Lenny would be and when so he knew that if he double crossed us, we could find him and exact retribution at our leisure. And, he said that by going immediately we cut down on the likelihood that they were attempting a double cross on us. Essentially the less planning time we gave them the better. Faced with Gilbert’s patented “pile ‘o logic,” we made plans for today.

I crashed immediately to get some sleep, and Gilbert took off for his place. Patty and Abby held down the fort over the evening and into the night, and as soon as I woke up, I packed up our shit and met Gilbert at his place in the plow truck. We were on the road by 8am, and after moving all of ournail laden defense, we reached yet another new and interesting parking spot by about 10:30.

On the drive over there Gilbert mentioned one really strange thing that hadn’t occurred to me yet, that told him we had major leverage. If Ollie was Lenny’s son, then why wasn’t he living at the farm with his dad? Gilbert felt it was weird that Ollie rode to the farm, got shit, then returned to the school. Unless he felt safer there, Gilbert felt something was up. There was a reason why Ollie wasn’t at the farm.

Our parking spot was closer to the farm than my previous places, and we rode the snow mobile as slow as possible through the woods to a point near the chicken coop area of Lenny’s farm. I knew there would be some noise for cover coming from all the damn birds in there, and Gilbert kept the snowmobile moving at about 5 miles per hour so we made little to no noise anyway. The trees without doubt killed a lot of the engine’s buzz.

We parked the machine about 50 yards from the edge of the tree line near the farmhouse. I led Gilbert though the woods until we got to where I’d set up the other day to observe the place. I showed him through the Savage where what was, and he formulated the final details of our plan.

The truck arrived with Ollie and a new guy wearing camo at the same time as usual, right after three. As soon as they left, Gilbert made an old guy beeline for the farm, and wound up walking right into the back door of the barn. He went inside for fifteen minutes, then turned his mic on like we had Abby do when the old man from earlier came back out on the porch to fire up his pipe. Gilbert spoke quietly into the mic saying, "Cover me, here I go.” He exited the rear of the barn, and walked around it, and right up to the screen door. The old man with the pipe stopped cold when Gilbert waved, and he put his hand on a revolver on his hip. I put the crosshairs on the old guy’s chest, and waited for him to make a mistake.

“You must be Lenny,” Gilbert greeted him.

“Aye, that’d be me. You can’t be Adrian, but I bet you’re with him, eh?” Lenny grinned and puffed on his pipe. I could just barely smell it in the wind.

“Yeah, I’m one of his friends. I’m Gilbert Donohue. I volunteered to come here and speak to you. I thought we might be able to talk two old fogeys on the porch together.” I couldn’t see Gilbert’s face, but I totally could tell he was smiling.

Lenny grinned, “I like the cut of your jib Mr. Donohue. What’re you? Marine? I’m a squiddy.”

“Ground pounder here. Three tours of the paddy ending in ’71. Mind if I come on the porch with ya? Might cut down on the breeze out here.” Gilbert rubbed his shoulders to emphasize he was freezing.

Lenny let him onto the porch and the two men sat down in what looked to be rocking chairs. Lenny puffed his pipe and after a bit Gilbert finally asked a question, “You like coffee Lenny?”

“I have a cup in the morning Mr. Donohue. Same as most men who wake with the sun.” Lenny smiled.

“Call me Gilbert. I thought you might want some of this here in my pocket.” Gilbert slowly reached into his pocket, and produced a small container of Maxwell House instant coffee. He handed to Lenny like it was a gift of epic proportions. Lenny took it and smiled. Parlay had begun.

“Thanks for having me out here Lenny, I appreciate it.”

“My pleasure Gilbert. We’ve got a Sean problem your friend Adrian is fixing to take care of for us. I think I’d like his help, but it ain’t gonna be easy.”

“Nothing worth doing right is easy Lenny, you know that the same as I do. I can assure you this though, that boy means business about Sean. If we don’t figure this out right quick, it’ll get a lot uglier before it gets better. I mean ugly for everyone. I don’t want this to happen, and I am telling you, you do not want that boy any more motivated. He’s lost friends over this, and he wants Sean’s head on a pike. He deserves justice on this.”

Lenny just nodded. I got all goosepimply when Gilbert said all that. I felt like such a tremendous bad ass. Hearing a Green Beret say that about me was one of the most flattering things anyone has ever said about me.

Lenny nodded in response to Gilbert’s veiled threat. Lenny wasn’t scared, that much I could tell through the scope. He was however, worried. “If Sean dies the National Guard man will take over, and those two are cut from similar enough cloth. You’ll need to find a way to deal with that man as well. Otherwise this might just get worse. He’s got far more skill in raising hell than Sean did. You know Sean spearheaded that dunder-headed attack on you people right after Christmas right? The Lieutenant wanted nothing to do with it. He was pissed though, you guys took out half the men who had skill with guns that day.”

Gilbert took it in. “What’s this soldier’s name? What’s his story?”

“Tell you the truth I don’t know his first name. The guardsman that served under him still answer to him, and they call him Lieutenant Daniels. I believe deep down he’s a good guy, early thirties. He lost his family when it all went down, and he’s kinda scared of everything now. He plays hardball with everyone. Very no-nonsense now, and not always in the good way, if you get my meaning.” Lenny tipped his brow at Gilbert.

Gilbert nodded. “Can he be brought to bear? Can we show him we’re not the enemy?” Gilbert leaned forward in his chair.

“I dunno. He’s got his men thinking he’s GI Joe and the savior of mankind. Apparently he served in the 10th Mountain in Afghanistan for a tour and apparently that’s enough to get you voted man of the year down at the school. He’s smart enough, but I think he’s scared yellow, and there is a fair chance he would be more ready to go to war than sit down and talk things over. We’d need to sell him hard that Sean is dangerous, or that standing up to you guys is the worst idea imaginable.”

Gilbert sat back and chewed it over. The two of them sat in silence and thought it over. Gilbert broke the moment of quiet, “What if we take his ability to fight from him peacefully?”

Lenny looks all kinds of confused after that. I bet he had the same expression on his face I did. I had no idea what the fuck Gilbert meant by that. Lenny responded, “What the heck does that mean? Take his ability to fight peacefully? Ain’t that a whole lot impossible without fighting?”

“No, not necessarily. Are there men under this Daniels kid that don’t like Sean?”

“Yeah a bunch. He doesn’t have that many men left and I’d say most would go against Sean if they could. Ollie’s buddies with a bunch of them.”

Gilbert seriously looked like he blew an old guy load. I think I saw dust fall out his pant leg, “What if we were to get one of the guys against Sean to make a daily farm run with some extra gear in a day or so? You tell Ollie all about it. We set up a fake ambush with everyone in on it, and we take everything. Ollie and the soldier return to the school, and tell them we’re big swinging dicks, and we’re the next best thing since Sophia Loren and a jug of Crisco?”

Lenny got a laugh out of that. “So we make Daniels think that you guys can take whatever you want, at will, unless they give up Sean?”

“Exactly. At the very least the fact that the people here will find out that Sean’s blunder in attacking is now coming back on them. We do it in two days so you can organize here. Really, we don’t even have to be here, or take anything. Your guys can just leave all the stuff we’ve stolen right here. Of course, the risk is that Daniels decides to come to us and go to war, but if your boy Ollie can find us someone close to Daniels, then we can hope that he can persuade him to either meet with us and talk civil, or that we are too powerful and well organized to mess with. If they give us Sean, or put him to justice and prove it to us, we disappear. Simple as that. No war required, no more blood of the innocents shed for this idiot.”

Lenny looked at his watch. “You all going to be in town tomorrow?”

“We can have a presence here if you need it.” Gilbert nodded reassuringly.

“Well, lemme talk to my boy when he comes back tomorrow. If he thinks we can do it, then I’ll radio you all again same as yesterday, only at about 5 in the afternoon. If we’re a go, we’ll do it the next day and we’ll figure it out.”

“That sounds perfect Lenny. I appreciate your help in all this. Hopefully we can finish this with minimal people getting hurt. There’s far too many of us dead now to make more of us dead for nothing.” Gilbert stood, Lenny joined him shortly after.

The two men shook, and Lenny looked out over his property before letting go of Gilbert’s hand. “So how many guns you got pointed at me right now?” He smiled at Gilbert.

“Just one Lenny. But it’s real big, and he’s a real good shot with it.” Gilbert pumped his hand and grinned. It was friendly.

“That’s smart. I like the way you all think. Let’s get this all done and call it a day.”

“Sounds good. If you don’t mind, I’m gonna take a walk in your woods. Try and find my way home.” Gilbert motioned to the door, and Lenny let him out. Gilbert walked away at a 45 degree angle from me, heading to where we could meet, towards the snowmobile. Lenny turned and headed inside.

I covered the house until Gilbert was safe in the trees. I high tailed it to the machine and trudged it along to where I thought he’d be, and I picked him up. We didn’t say anything until we got to the truck, but Gilbert was on cloud mother fucking nine Mr. Journal. He’s convinced we’ve got this all but sewn up. I’m a little more apprehensive, as you might understand.

So the ride back was fine. Had to remember to stop and move the nail boards out of the way and whatnot, but all in all, it was a quick ride home. Abby moved the vans for us, and we got back into Hall E and had some food, and talked everything over. Hopefully it’ll all go well, and we can make our case to this Lt. Daniels guy.

If he’s onboard either through fear, respect, or what the fuck else, we can form a plan to kill Sean. With any luck, this Daniels character draws his Beretta and puts it to Sean’s temple and does the dirty work for me. I’d rather I had the satisfaction of doing it myself, but politically, it makes a lot more sense to have someone on their end do it.

I’m headed to bed early again. I’ve got to go back to Westfield once more tomorrow to make sure the fake ambush is on for the day after next. Talk about exciting shit! I’m super nervous, and super excited. I might have to take something to sleep tonight just from the excitement. Huzzah bitches!

-Adrian

February 18th

I wish I had a cigar to chomp on. Strictly so I could say “I love it when a plan comes together” at the same time.

Things are moving along just swimmingly. Who the fuck says that? I know I don’t. Why the hell would I type it? Guessing I’m channelling Queer Eye for the post zombie apocalypse. Did you see that zombie’s outfit!?!? OH MY GAWD! SO TACKY! *insert flaming moment* Gotta love the gays.

Wow that was off track.

Our Westfield problem seems to be coming closer and closer to becoming a Westfield asset. Yesterday I beat feet to Westfield at about 10am. I didn’t need to get there for recon purposes early or anything, and I really just wanted to be there for noon and the house beyond. I did wind up taking a Lunesta that night and I tell you what, I slept like a goddamn baby. The women have been soldiers about taking up guard duty and doing campus patrols. Patty’s rib seems to be more or less set and mended. She says she’s all better, but I see her wince now and again. She’s off the Advil regimen for the most part, and I think she’s more sore than in pain. Tough chick. Abby has been doing some pretty ballsy solo patrols of campus, which is saying something because we’ve had a lot of undead up here.

We’ve gotten them at the bridge pretty much without exception, thank God. Between them getting stuck on the nail boards or not being able to get around the vans fast enough, we’re getting it done. I’ll lose my mind if the girls get bitten though. I’ve fully adopted them as family.

Anyway. We’re reasonably safe, and on my trips out from campus Auburn Lake Road has been reasonably clear. Almost every day I have to stop to take one or two out with the hatchet. Sometimes if I think I can get away with it I just hit them with the truck, though if I can, I get out and kill them manually. I’m still waiting for something really loud to happen on campus to lead the huge pack right up the fucking hill. It really makes me want to do something about fortifying the campus immediately, but we’ve got too much going on.

On the way to Westfield yesterday I set up a small resupply cache. About five miles from town before the turn off roads I found a small house right on the side of the road. I backtracked, went on foot into the woods, and made a straight line to the house so I didn’t leave any visible foot prints in the snow. The house was wide open and exposed to the elements, and I cleared it out quickly and safely. I dropped off a backpack with my Sig and the magazines, as well as the Remington 870 shotgun. I let a change of clothes, some food, some water, a spare radio, and some medical supplies. If the shit hits the fan in Westfield, we’d at least have weapons and basic supplies. I looked for salvage in the house, but with the windows open, everything edible was ruined. Actually, there were a few cans of food that I snagged, and they had some consumables like laundry detergent and soap and shit like that.

I got to Westfield and got myself set up in the woods near the farm. I had a good angle looking right down the barrel of the road we did our ambush on the other day, as well as a good field of vision to the door and porch of the farmhouse. Good killing field, and great visibility.

There was no radio traffic at noon, and when the truck arrived at the farm early at 2:30 I knew something was up. I recognized Ollie and his stout frame and red hair, and with him was another military looking fellow. He was also a little thick, but he had a solid look to him. Sort of a police officer-esque stance. They got out of the truck, and headed inside.

They were still inside the farm when I got the call over the radio a little after that. It was Lenny. “Hey anyone out there yet?”

I responded, “Yeah Lenny, we’ve been here all day. What can I help you with?”

“Is this Adrian?”

“Yessir.”

“Nice to talk to you again young man. I need to ask a favor of you if you don’t mind.” He seemed in good spirits, but I caught a hint of skepticism in his tone.

“What can I do for you Lenny?”

“My boy Ollie is here, and he’s brought a good friend of his, Staff Sergeant Mike McCarthy. Ole Mike here is on board with your plan, but ain’t willing to do anything without a man’s handshake on it. I told him you’d be a hard sell on that, but he’s pretty much insistent on it. Any chance you’d be willing to talk face to face?”

Now I put some serious thought into this. If I said fuck you go to hell, then Sgt. Mike goes back to the school and tells them everything. Or, he goes against us and says no fucking way and we’ve lost everything. I can say sure, I’ll be right there, but don’t try anything funny, and then he feels like he’s at gunpoint. No one wants any part of a shotgun marriage. I played it bold. Big swinging dick bold.

“If he doesn’t mind being outside when we meet, then I can be there in ten minutes.”

After a minute, Lenny came back with, “He says that’s just fine. Where at?”

“Your porch okay? Private and whatnot, plus you can fire up that big old pipe of yours.”

“Now that’s thinking. We’ll see you in a jiffy.”

And I was mobile. I stopped and watched them come out on the porch a minute or so later, and before I came out of the wood line I checked every single spot I saw for snipers. If I was one, it was reasonable they had one too. I came out behind the barn so they couldn’t see me, and came around the corner with the Savage on my shoulder. I got to within maybe 30 feet of them before they saw me. My white sheet camouflage was apparently very effective.

Sgt. Mike jumped up and the cigarette fell out of his mouth. He dropped his hand to his pistol and then jerked it away and looked around. He totally knew there were other guns pointed at him. I had to hide a laugh because… there wasn’t any. Power perceived is power achieved Mr. Journal. Write that shit down.

“Good afternoon gentlemen.” I smiled.

I could see Mike taking my measure, and he seemed to assess me as dangerous. He nodded and I got the “that’s a good soldier look.” Sergeants, the good ones at least, can usually assess a soldier as shit or shine almost instantly. There’s a way you walk, a way you talk, and a weight good soldiers and cops have. I have it.

I nodded at Ollie and Lenny, and greeted them. Ollie seemed a little nervous, but much better than our first meeting. Mike didn’t look scared much, but the whole time his big brown eyes kept looking for shooters.

I shook everyone’s hand once Lenny let me on the porch. We talked about kind of generic stuff, then I squared off and just asked them what was up. Mike spoke up first, “Look Adrian, we’ve got a pretty good thing here. As long as we put up with Sean’s shit, we eat good, we sleep good, and we’re safe. I’m all for kicking his ass off the pedestal he’s put himself on, but there’s a lot of shit that could go down. If we get rid of him, how do we know you’re not gonna make a power play on us?”

“You don’t. I can say this though; I’ve got zero interest in telling you people how to live your lives. I’m trying to live my own. Sean keeps fucking with that, and that’s just unacceptable.” I saw Lenny flinch when I dropped the f-bomb, and made a mental note not to swear anymore.

Mike nodded. “I ‘spose you’re right there. We were thinking of doing a run tomorrow. And we return empty handed. We go to Lt. Daniels, and tell him straight up that your people ambushed us, didn’t hurt anyone, and said that you guys wanted justice for the gas station attack. I can tell him that all you want is Sean. Sean and only Sean and you’ll be square, and walk away. I can sell him on a story that you guys are insanely well armed and smart and all that, and hopefully the L.T. will just toss Sean out like rubbish.”

“Do you think that’ll work? That’s risky, he might see us a huge threat and decide to attack us instead? Plus after our failed ambush when your woman Tera got shot?” I was a little apprehensive.

Ollie chimed in real quick. “Adrian I kind of lied about that. I went to my dad after you guys left, and we decided to play dumb. I told them we got jumped by a zombie and Tera got bitten. I told them I shot her.”

I thanked Ollie for that, and Mike nodded again. “Yeah that’s true that he might feel threatened. But, Daniels is kind of a pussy fundamentally. He went out on skis the day of the Christmas attack and hid in the fucking woods when Sean’s assault on you guys went to shit. He wound up skiing the entire way back here over twelve hours that night.”

Captain Snowpants revealed. Turns out he’s Lieutenant Snowpants.

“Harsh. Funny that Sean left him like that to die. If we had found your Lieutenant, we probably would’ve killed him though. That assault went bad on our end too, one of my guys accidentally shot a few of your men when they went to surrender. Sucked.”

Mike nodded. “Part of the job right? Those guys were all big time Sean people. Few of the local cops, some hunters who thought they were bad mofos. To be honest, they were as much a danger to us as they were to you guys. Fuck em.”

I grinned. “Mike they weren’t much danger to us. That ain’t saying much. Keep in mind as well, Sean torched a building in town the other night that had at least a hundred and fifty people in it, and I lost friends. You can tell that to Daniels too.”

“I don’t think he did that.” Mike shook his head.

“What? He had to have done it. The place completely exploded. Lit up the night sky like a roman candle for hours. This is right after the gas station explosion. Can’t be a coincidence.”

“He was here in town that night, all night. He was trying to get everyone at the school all motivated to go after you for a final assault. He almost had Daniels sold on a full frontal attack a few days ago, but Jeff balked, said it was logistically impossible not knowing what kind of force you guys had. Shit we’ve got less than forty people now and Sean said you had as many as thirty.”

We talked more about it, and the more we did, the more it seemed like Sean didn’t have anything to do with the explosion. Mike and Ollie both said that everyone was at the school that night. Everyone was present, and accounted for. Which meant… STIG was hit by someone else, or there was a terrible accident. I don’t know. I guess if Sean is off the hook for that, that’s sort of good. But… He still tried to have me killed, and he still blew up my fucking gas station. Justice or gtfo.

After about fifteen minutes of debate, I settled on the idea that a staged cordial ambush where we came across as friendly more than dangerous was a good idea. Mike seems to really have a good head on his shoulders, and I think he’s on the level with me. Ollie seems a little stupid, but he’s about 25 and skipped college from what I understand, so he’s doing pretty good helping his dad with the farm. Sometimes simple is just what you need. As it turns out Ollie has been staying at the school because there’s a girl there he’s pining for. No evil at hand with that I guess.

So Mike and Ollie faked the first ambush today. As they said, they just left all the shit here back at the farm and when they got back they went straight to Daniels and hopefully persuaded him to see the light. No word on that yet, but I’m getting way ahead of myself here suddenly. I feel like I drank ten energy drinks. I’m vibrating here. All over the damn place.

I left the porch meeting pretty happy with how it went. I shook everyone’s hand, politely stepped around the back of the barn, and got the fuck out. I left immediately. I didn’t want to risk that being their chance to get behind me, or get to my vehicle to fuck it over. They hadn’t though.

When I got back to campus (moving all the damn nail boards on the way) I filled Gilbert and all them in on what went down. He agreed with my big swinging dick plan. Any other way I could’ve played it would’ve either been too threatening, or would’ve played my hand as being not strong. Gilbert was sort of on the fence about it. It’s risky to put us in that light. It’ll either show Daniels we mean business and we want to be allies, or it’ll show Daniels that we are scary, and need to be destroyed. Guess we’ll find out shortly.

Oh yeah, I ran over two more zombies on Route 18 on the way back. Looked like they were headed towards Westfield from downtown. I wonder if I dragged them away when I left in the morning. No way to know I guess.

I slept like a stone in the living room last night. Been exhausted from all the activity this week. I slept well, and had no weird dreams that I remember. That’s a big plus. I am so sick of the LSD dreams. Shit is getting old Mr. Journal.

I booked my ass back to Westfield this morning after refilling the Tundra’s gas tank out of big blue. I’d eaten up all my fuel jugs and the gas tank going back and forth like this. It was a somber reminder how fucked we could be for fuel if we don’t start figuring this out soon. I mean fortunately we’ve still got the spare barrels stashed around campus to use, but we really need that fuel to keep the generator going for the furnace. I haven’t been able to figure out if the solar panels are helping or not either. They’re mostly covered in snow at the moment too, which isn’t helping I’m sure. They are self heating or something as well, which is probably why they’re only partially covered with snow. Shrug.

I got to my parking spot in the ‘burbs of Westfield at around 10am again. I hoofed it to yet another location a few houses over from the very first house I sat up in. This house was a fat ranch right on a street corner about five hundred yards from the school. I could see almost all the way to the end of the street where it turned off towards the farm too, so the spot was nice. I saw the truck go by at 3pm, right after a chubby zombie slipped and ate shit in the road. It was funny watching it try to get to its feet in the packed down slush. We had a warm night last night, and the roads they plowed are all gooshy now. Too funny. As before, I left the zombie to wander off.

Mike and Ollie returned back through town late. That made sense if they were going to fake an ambush. I got some radio traffic as they made the turn onto the road I was on. It was Lenny.

“Anyone listening today?”

I waited about thirty seconds before responding to him. “Yeah Lenny, what shaking?” I was casual.

“The boys are headed back to the school now. They’re going to talk to the Lieutenant when they return. They’re gonna tell him you’ll be available tomorrow on this channel at noon. Sound fair?”

“That sounds perfect Lenny. I appreciate all your help with this.”

“My pleasure son. Trying to do the good Christian thing.”

I had to smile. I wasn’t religious in the least but I can appreciate the idea of being a good person. I know I’ve failed at that many a time, and to hear that he was trying to right by others sort of warmed my heart. I said goodbye, and after waiting an hour to make sure things were quiet, I got the fuck out of town. Noticed it was lighter much later as well today. Maybe it was just because of the timing of my exit, but it seemed lighter later.

The trip home was a little messy. As I said it was kind of warm, and we got a little bit of rain. I got a wee bit paranoid when I made the turn onto Auburn Lake too. It got foggy once the elevation increased a little. As I’ve mentioned before, I fucking hate fog. I hated it even more because I actually frigging hit a walking zombie on the way up the hill. The bastard was just plodding along and I was doing about 25 miles an hour. Launched him into the fog ahead so far I couldn’t see him. I crept forward until I saw him trying to get up. I aimed for him and ran his ass over. Definitely didn’t want to get out of the truck in the pea soup bullshit. NofuckingthankyouMr.Journal.

I told Gilbert about the recon today, and the faked ambush, and he seemed pleased with it. Gilbert’s always thinking so far ahead on shit. I bet you anything he’s already got plans for us for spring. Wily fucker that Gilbert. In retrospect after our mistrust bullshit I can totally see how his actions can be misconstrued. He literally is always looking at every angle, and only reveals his hand when necessary. I bet that guy is a royal bitch at the poker table.

So like a giant human rubber band, I am headed back to Westfield tomorrow in the hopes that our friend the Lieutenant Daniels (read: Snowpants) drops me a cordial line and we can speak amicably. It’s my sincere hope Sergeant Mike and Ollie can persuade him to our side. I desperately want this to end with as little bloodshed as possible.

I tell you though Mr. Journal, I am feeling good about this. I don’t even care about the jinx factor. Fuck it. Mike, Ollie, and Lenny all seem like really good people to me. I’m a good judge of character too I think. They seem like down to earth straight shooters who have had enough of all this bullshit.

I hope they see me for the same.

-Adrian

February 19th

Fuckity fuck fucking A Mr. Journal. One more to grow on; Fucking A!

Wow. Heart is pumping like a bastard. I think this is almost over. I really do . Within 48 hours either I’m dead, or Sean’s dead, and one way or the other, this trip will come to an end. I get to start the next journey.

I don’t even know where to start here. I have a chubber the size of my forearm, which is way larger than normal. That’s at least 50% larger than normal, not that I’m bragging about dick size to a fake person. Christ the thing has been so unused lately I think I’ve got dust on it. It’s awful.

Otis is freaking out here man! Whenever I get all excited and happy he digs out one of his little cat toys and goes postal on it. He’s currently rolling around kicking the living shit out of a fake mouse, and chewing its head to shit. He’s such a moron.

Back on subject. I went to Westfield today at the crack of dawn. The drive in was good, although it snowed all day and the ride back sort of sucked ass. I wound up hitting five more zombies in the Tundra on the way out. I saw a small crowd coming down Route 18 so I drove really slowly away and apparently I got them moving this way. I wound up hitting them with the truck on the way back. Poor fucking pickup is beaten to shit. I will need to use the plow for night drives now as I’ve managed to smash both headlights in the Tundra out. Maybe I can score another Tundra somewhere, or at least spare Tundra headlamps.

I weaved my way into the city of Westfield this morning and set up shop in a multi family house about three blocks from the school on the other side. It’s amazing how few streets they’ve plowed out. I mean it makes sense to leave them covered in snow. The zombies can’t get through the stuff for shit. But, it also means there are huge tracts of real estate I can move around in with really no chance they’ll see my footprints. I did get a bit of a scare though. I was sprinting between buildings and a humvee came around the corner about 75 yards ahead. I was near a bush, and literally just dove out like I was about to jump on a slip and slide. The sheet on my back blended in perfectly with the snow. The humvee stopped, and I peeked out of a tiny crack under the sheet.

A soldier looking guy searched the area I was laying in and after about thirty seconds, decided he didn’t see anything, and they left. I realize it’s a little crazy to be hiding from people I’m trying to ally with, but I didn’t want them to know I was on a recon op right in their backyard. It makes me look like a liar, when all I’m trying to do is cover my bases. Funny how diplomacy in the post apocalyptic world works eh Mr. Journal?

I cleared out the second floor apartment of the multifamily home and found nothing. Empty as they all are. The kitchen window faced the school and with a few hours of note taking and map making, I was able to get a full and complete layout of the school. Good times.

After chilling out and eating a granola bar, my radio popped to life on their channel five at 12:05. It was a new voice, and I was pretty excited to hear it.

“This is Lieutenant Jeffrey Daniels with the 809th Brigade Support Battalion. Is there anyone on this channel? Over.” GI Joe baby. Had to try and play this close to the chest for a bit.

“Copy that, this is Adrian Ring. I’ve been waiting for your call, over.” Didn’t want to over-military my responses, but I wanted him to know I wasn’t a total tool when it came to protocol.

“Copy that Mr. Ring. I am under the impression you are a decision maker? Over.” Terse. He sounded fairly young too, definitely younger than me, but I thought Lenny said he was about my age.

“Roger that. I am here to start some talks about getting rid of what I’ve been led to believe is a mutual problem for our people. I appreciate you contacting me. Over.”

“Copy that. You know the United States has a standing policy of not negotiating with terrorists, right Mr. Ring?” His tone became defiant. I knew I had to placate his ego. I could just tell I needed to think of a way to make him feel like we were not his enemy.

“Lieutenant, I prefer to think of myself as a humble soldier that’s trying to protect his fellow citizens from someone who appears to be a terrorist themselves. I’m sure you realize by now that Sean has perpetrated not one but two unprovoked, violent attacks on my people, and our shared resources. I can’t afford to allow him to be in charge of the people here or the threat he poses is too dangerous for me and my people to not respond by defending ourselves. Over.” I took a big risk with that.

“Senator Stockwell has reported that he was attacked when he followed people from here in town to your base of operations. When we returned to your AO you had set up an ambush for us, and we wound up losing a dozen people. I can’t see your point of view right now. I need proof. Over.”

Uphill battle here. This guy struck me as one of those hard ass officers who couldn’t think outside the box. Ran his unit just like the manual said, and not the way common sense said. “Lieutenant Daniels, I’m sure you keep your ammunition and weapons well organized, correct? Over.” Had to make a play at showing me he was either incompetent with organization, or he’d illuminate a fact for us that provided some semblance of proof of Sean’s scum-baggery.

“We are very well organized Mr. Ring when it comes to that. Over.”

“You lost three people the other night in your attack on the gas station correct? Over.”

“Copy that. Two males and a female. Wasn’t pleased about that either Mr. Ring. This line of discussion is not moving us together. Over.”

“I’m sure you weren’t pleased. Shooting them was the last thing we wanted to do, but they were armed combatants standing around our gas station as it burned. Were those people friends or supporters of yours? Over.” Moment of truth.

His voice broke a little when he responded, “I’d rather not comment on personal relationships with a terrorist.” I knew right then I had his ass. No “over,” and his voice kinda broke, which meant they WERE friends of his.

“I’m genuinely sorry you lost people Lieutenant. Did you happen to know what weapons the people you lost had? Can you find that out? Over.”

“Again, I’d rather not comment on that.” No over again. He had started to lose his composure.

“I understand. I’ll just tell you what I know then. I searched your people and made sure that they were well taken care of Lieutenant. And I’ll tell you this; not one of the three people who died that night had loaded weapons. It’s my distinct suspicion that your fearless Senator set those people up to die because they were against him. Over.”

Silence for some time. Maybe a full minute. “You have my attention Mr. Ring. Over.” He sounded pissed, and it didn’t sound like he was pissed at me.

“Look Lieutenant, I am sick of posting watch every single night waiting for Sean or some asshole who thinks he’s the next coming of the President to try and set my home on fire. I’ve got old people and kids that have done nothing to him that I’m trying to protect, just the same as you I’m sure. I want this to end. I want to go home, and deal with the damn dead people beating down our doors instead of the living people that should be working with me. I’ve lost good friends over all this bullshit, and at least a thousand gallons of gasoline, and it’s not like the gas station is opening up again anytime soon. Gas doesn’t grow on tree either. I really need your help in bringing this to a peaceful end. Over.”

Silence again. It lasted so long I actually checked to see if the battery on the walkie had died. It hadn’t. It was about five minutes before he replied again. “I’ve got no interest in putting a gun to his head Ring. I’m told you’d be willing to do it if came down to it. Is this true?”

Man this was hard to answer Mr. Journal. I wanted to kick that prick’s face in and wanted to do it more than just about anything I’d ever wanted to do. But, I couldn’t let him know I was bloodthirsty. Here’s what I came back with, “Look, I served, same as you. Active duty. I did my time in the sandbox. I know what it is like to kill someone. I’m not happy about pulling triggers when the gun is aimed at anyone. I will say this though; Sean has done wrong by me, and done wrong by my people. And I need to see justice done for my people to sleep at night, and if that means I am the one that does what needs to be done, then so be it. I’ll do what’s necessary and deal with the guilt later. I can’t let that man continue to put the people I care about in continual danger. Over.”

More silence. Not as long this time as last time. Finally he came back, “I went to Sean earlier this morning and discussed the fact that we have had two trips assaulted by “that asshole from the school.” He was pretty furious Ring. I mean fucking angry. We’re rolling in a big patrol tomorrow when we make the run at about 3pm. We’ve already decided that it’ll be him, me, and four guys I trust. We’re meeting with Lenny at the farm. We’re gonna tell Stockwell he’s done for, and he can leave, or he can stay, and get handed over to you. Over.”

Sha-boing! Insta-chubber. “Is that gonna be safe? He strikes me as the kind of asshole that’d draw a gun on you and your men?”

“Well Ring if he decides to draw a gun on us then I’ve got no problem shooting him. I won’t shoot him unarmed, and I won’t shoot him in cold blood, but if draws on one of my men, we’ll shoot the shit out of that cocksucker.” No over. He meant it.

“Understandable. Where would you like me to be? I’d really like to have eyes on for this if you get my meaning. Over.”

He thumbed back with a live line, and then sighed. I don’t know if he meant to do that. “You’ve got bino’s or a rifle with good optics? Over.”

“I do indeed. I can be in range for that. I’d much rather be within earshot though, if that’s okay with you. I’d really like to hear everything that’s said. Plus if anything does go down, I’d like to be there to help. Not that I can’t help from a few hundred yards away with a rifle. Over.” I really wanted to be there, to hear it all go down.

Daniels took another minute to reply, “That’d probably be a good idea. If you’d like, you can hole up in either the barn or the chicken building. Just make sure Lenny knows where you are. If anything goes wrong, we’ll radio you on this channel by noon tomorrow. Keep the line open until you see us pull into the farm. After that, you should be in earshot. If the meeting is called off, we’ll speak again via radio on this channel the day after next at noon once more. Same as today. Over.”

“That sounds excellent Lieutenant. I would like to add something as well, if that’s okay with you, over.” Here’s the final sales pitch.

“Go ahead, over.”

“When this is all settled, I’d really like to sit down and pour a glass of something kinda strong with you and your soldiers. It’d be nice to have a drink with someone who wears real combat boots, if you understand my meaning.” Had to appeal to his warrior nature.

“We don’t have any booze left here, so if you bring the bottle, we’ll help empty it with you.” I could hear him smiling right though the radio.

“I hope to shake your hand tomorrow Lieutenant.”

“Same to you, over and out.”

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT.

I’m positively fucking giddy. I skidaddled after an hour or so and got the fuck home. I don’t even remember the trip. I remember literally hitting the giant cluster of zombies I led away from Auburn Lake Road earlier, but I don’t remember much. Dead bodies flying around like an explosion of zombie confetti. Just too damn excited.

We are rolling out early early in the morning to get to Westfield and to get us all into position. We are rolling fat as hell on this. Everyone is going and we’re all bringing a full combat load in the event shit hits the fan. We’re leaving the truck behind at one of the houses with Patty in the event the truck is attacked. Gilbert, Abby and I are taking the snow machine to different places and setting up. Abby’s going in the chicken coop, I’ll hopefully be in the barn, and Gilbert will be in the tree line with his AK.

One way or the other, tomorrow this bullshit ends.

If I live, I’ll put an entry in as soon as I can.

-Adrian

February 20th

It’s over…..

He’s dead. And so is he. That totlally sucks my nalls. Lol. Balss I mean.

Not as hapy as I thought I’md be, but whatever right??/?

I’m a little drunnk……

I’ll chitty chitty chitty chat sometime when I get home and wake up. Hope I can find a good place to seep ere. Kinda of a packedhouse and stuff.

Fucking A mr jornal. Fucking a dude.

-adrian

Tyrant

Oliver McDowell’s heart hammered in his chest like it was about to explode. He watched the woman who had been talking a second ago crumple to the ground not six feet from him. Ollie knew he was next. He knew it as sure as he knew his red hair was receding, and that his waist had swollen over winter. No work on his dad’s fields made for a fat Ollie.

The former National Guardswoman Tera had just been shot in the chest by a man that was bounding through the snow directly at Ollie. He had burst through the door of an abandoned house in this empty city. They were on a suburban street in his hometown of Westfield, in one of the prefabricated developments that had grown right up next to his dad’s farm. The entire city was now dead or gone save for perhaps forty survivors. They rest had all been eaten by the living dead, frozen in the winter cold, or killed by each other over the meager scraps left behind by the living. Ollie knew the man running at him through the snow would kill him. It wouldn’t be the first time a rogue survivor had killed someone in his group.

Ollie looked ahead, down the road and watched the pretty young blonde girl pull a pistol just like his from her waist. Moments before they’d stopped to help the girl, and now it seemed they’d fallen into her trap. She pointed the gun at him and gave him the most serious face he’d even seen a teen wear. Her long, wild blonde hair whipped in a sudden gust of late February air. His pistol hung limp in his hand. Once he realized he’d have no chance of raising the gun in time, he let it fall on the snow with a faint crunch. He was literally scared solid.

The giant man reached the street and Ollie realized the man was a brute. The stranger was over six feet tall and broad from shoulder to feet. He wore a black tight fitting cap and his dark brown hair poked out from underneath. He looked much cleaner than the other survivors Ollie had met recently. Maybe he had soap. He pointed a military style rifle at Ollie’s chest and walked slowly across the front of the pickup, approaching the adult farm boy. Ollie could hear the woman, Tera, rolling around on the ground on the other side of the truck. She was whimpering in pain, and Ollie was sick deep down. He knew she’d die shortly.

“Watch him.” The man barked out to the girl as he slung his rifle on his back. He reached underneath his thick winter jacket and produced a small bag of medical supplies. He attended Tera for a second, leaning her against the tire of the pickup, but she went quiet almost immediately. Ollie knew Tera had died from the gunshot. Now they had the horrible waiting. How long would it be before she stood back up again as the living dead? Sometimes it was a minute, sometimes it was several, but it was never long enough for Ollie.

“Fuck!” The man yelled out. “God fucking dammit. Shit. Shit. Motherfucker.” The big man stood and looked down at her. He continued his tirade of wretched language, looking down at the dead woman, angry that she’d died. Finally he grabbed her handgun off the packed snow in the road and fished her two spare magazines out of her jacket pocket. She was armed the same as Ollie was.

The large man abruptly reached his full height and came around the truck at Ollie. Ollie couldn’t help but take a few steps back, fearful the man would punch him, or stab him. Instead the man reached down and scooped up the pistol Ollie had just dropped off the ground. He checked to make sure it was loaded, and that the safety was on. The man slipped it into his jacket pocket with the magazines he’d just taken off Tera’s body.

“Hey there, you have any idea who the two of us are?” The man asked Ollie. Ollie was completely terrified of this man. He was cold, hard, and his voice was unflinching. The wrong answer would get Ollie killed, he just knew it.

Ollie swallowed and stammered out the response he thought was least likely to get his face punched in by the huge man, “I have no idea who you people are.”

The big man cracked a smile. Ollie was reminded of the Cheshire Cat, “I’m Adrian Ring. Your council leader Sean Stockwell has attacked my people twice now."

This was it. Ollie knew this was it. He had lost all chance of getting out of this alive. His bladder started to empty as he spoke his thoughts aloud to the murderer that faced him down, “Oh my word. You’re the crazy man that killed all of our people at Christmas? You… you’re a fricking monster! You just killed Tera too! Oh gosh no, oh shit.” When Ollie swore, it was serious business. Swearing was a “behind the tool shed with the belt” event at the McDowell farm.

The man’s face softened somewhat, but Ollie was still scared. This man had just said he was the person Ollie’s group had attacked when their people had been murdered a month prior. He was the murderer Ollie’s council leader had spoken to them about. The Adrian man spoke again, “Look man, what’s your name?”

“Oliver. But everyone just calls me Ollie.” Ollie was starting to slip into a state of shock. The smell of urine in his jeans almost made him blush. He hadn’t pissed himself since middle school.

Ollie, I am really quite sorry that this Tera lady got shot. But you can probably figure out that she was about to shoot me, and I had to shoot her to stay alive. I’m sure as a reasonable man you can see that if you can shoot someone before they’re about to shoot you, you need to do the same, right Ollie?

Ollie nodded. He couldn’t harm a human being to save his life. “Uh yeah, sure I guess.”

“Excellent Ollie. Here’s what you need to know. We want nothing to do with any more violence. However, your leader Sean followed people on Christmas from here to where we live, and then attacked us to get our food. Now we’re hungry too, and you don’t just attack people and take their food. You start peaceful trade, or barter, right?”

“Yeah I suppose, but Sean said you attacked them when they followed the people who left Westfield. They were trying to help those people and you attacked them.” Ollie was feeling a little more assertive now. He didn’t appreciate being lied to.

“Ollie that’s complete horseshit.” The man’s face went stern again and Ollie remembered he’d just pissed himself because of this man. He looked around nervously, hoping salvation would come marching by, but instead the man continued talking, “If you know this Sean man like I know him, then you know he’s feeding you a pile of bullshit. He’ll tell you anything to get your people to hate us. Shit Ollie, your people blew up the gas station near where we’re holed up the other night, and then the next day they blew up a huge building in town too. Over a hundred people have died because of Sean, Ollie. That’s a lot of blood spilled over nothing.”

Ollie knew Sean was a politician before the dead took over the world. And the one thing his father had taught him about Sean was that he was a politician, and all politicians are not to be trusted. Ollie didn’t know what to believe. “I knew about us attacking that gas station, but we didn’t attack any other building. That’s news to me. Don’t forget sir, you shot and killed three of our people yourself that night.”

“The three people with empty guns you mean?”

Ollie had no answer. Why would they have empty guns? Why would anyone bring empty guns to something like that? Why would this big man lie to Ollie?

“Yeah Ollie, they had guns, and I shot them because they were still there holding them. But when I checked, their guns were empty. Any chance those people that died that night were maybe against Sean’s ideas at all?”

Ollie tried to hide his face by looking down at the ground. He noticed the expanding dark ring of urine on his jeans. He knew the three people who had died that night. They weren’t fans of how Sean ran the school they were all living in. The remnants of the town, including a few members of the local National Guard armory were all locked up and living in the old high school. The same one Ollie had graduated from just ten years ago.

“Ollie how many spare pistol magazines do you have with you?” The man asked. That question seemed like a bad one, and poor Ollie remembered he was probably going to die shortly.

“I’ve got the one in the gun you picked up, plus two more in my jacket pocket sir.” No sooner than Ollie had finished they heard movement on the ground nearby. Adrian spun and looked on the other side of the truck where Tera’s body was. It was twitching. That was the first sign that reanimation was imminent.

“Excuse me for a second Ollie, I need to deal with this.” The big man fished a small camping hatchet off a belt loop and walked around to Tera’s body. He lined up the hatchet, and brought it down into her head with a wet crunch. A fine spatter of blood hit the big man’s chest, and he wrenched the small hatchet out. He flung the gore off the hatchet as Tera’s body twitched a final time.

“Ollie can you give me the two mags in your pocket please?” He extended a waiting hand, and Ollie got the two magazines out for the man. He dropped them in his big hand. Adrian put those with the other magazines in his pocket and drew Ollie’s pistol. Ollie’s heart stopped beating. Rather than shoot the redheaded man, Adrian dropped the magazine out of the pistol and cocked an arm back. He gunned the black pistol magazine down the road, over the head of the blonde girl until it stopped about a football field’s distance away.

Before the magazine even stopped moving Adrian had searched the cab of the pickup truck. He killed the still running motor, and took their radio and keys. Fortunately, the highway robber didn’t take the crate of milk and fresh bread they’d just gotten from his father’s farm not a half hour earlier. If he’d dug into the crate even deeper, he might find the two butchered chickens his father had cut up for the pregnant women back at the school. His dad said protein was important for babies.

The big man returned to Ollie, and spoke once more, “Ollie by now I’m sure you know that there is nothing stopping Miss Clara from putting all nine millimeters from her Beretta right in your head, right?” He motioned to the young girl who still had her gun pointed at Ollie. When he and Tera had come up on the blonde walking down the road earlier, she’d said her name was Clara. Ollie nodded in response, suddenly remembering yet again that he was about to die.

“I don’t want to hurt you, and neither does she. Furthermore, I don’t want to steal your food. You’ve got pregnant woman to feed, and I’m sure you’ve got kids there as well, right?”

Ollie had no idea how the big man knew they had pregnant women at the school. This man must be well connected and have spies searching their town. Ollie nodded at him, too scared to speak.

“So the food is yours. When we leave here, you’re gonna walk to the keys and the magazine down the road there, and then you come back to the truck. How you decide to tell the rest of your people what happened here is up to you, but I sincerely hope you tell them exactly what happened. Tera was shot when she pointed a gun at me, and I’m regretful it happened. You make sure to tell them I’m sorry for it, okay?”

Ollie realized suddenly that he was going to survive this encounter. He almost smiled, and nodded again at the big man. The blonde girl started to lower the pistol she had been pointing at his fledgling round belly.

The large man with the assault rifle on his back leaned in a little too close to Ollie for his comfort, and spoke quietly, “Now you need to pass along a message for me, and I need you to understand fully that I am as serious as someone can possibly be about this, okay?”

Ollie would not have said no even if his spine had been made out of cast iron. “Yeah okay. Anything you want.”

“If you need to, you can tell this to Sean. I think you’d be better off though if you told it to someone who didn’t necessarily agree with Sean. Okay?” The man lightened up a bit, and Ollie wasn’t quite as scared. Ollie nodded, hoping the message wouldn’t get him into more trouble than he already would be.

“Sean has done wrong by me, and he’s done wrong by my people. Now this might no longer be a country made of laws, but justice will be served in this regard. I expect your people to understand that attacking my people for no good reason, blowing up a perfectly good gas station filled with fuel, and then blowing up a building filled with my friends, is entirely unacceptable. I’ve never done anything to you people here, other than this today.”

All Ollie could manage was a nod.

“I want Sean. Sean and only Sean. He pays for his crimes against me and my people. I want nothing to do with hurting anyone, but mark my words Ollie; I will tear your school down brick by bloody brick until that man is brought before me to pay for what he’s done.”

Ollie’s bladder found more urine to fill his pants with.

*****

Oliver was not the brightest man in the world. But he was blessed with the powerful sense that his father was a wise man. After the tyrannical holdup in the suburbs just a mile or so from his father’s small farm he knew his first stop would be home. He had to tell his father what had happened.

His dad knew something bad had happened when Ollie knocked and burst into the kitchen of their old farmhouse. Ollie stammered out the details to his aging father as he stripped in their bathroom. His father listened as he warmed some water in a tea kettle so Ollie could wash off. He didn’t want to go back to the school smelling like he’s pissed himself. There was a pretty girl there Oliver was trying to court and it just wouldn’t do to smell like pee.

Leonard McDowell was known around town as Lenny. He was tall, and had thinning hair that was a far gone grey from the ginger red of his youth. His skin was dark from years spent under the sun and his hands were large and powerful. He was the man who was always called to get a bolt unstuck when it was rusted up. Lenny was a recent widower and the primary engine for the McDowell farm. Lenny and Ollie had lost dear Martha just a month and a half ago when Martha had been out trying to plow the driveway with the old farm tractor. She shouldn’t have been out there in the first place, buy Lenny had come down with a bug that had him laid up something fierce that day, and she couldn’t wait for him to mend. They had to clear the driveway otherwise the daily pickup of milk and bread would be messed up, and no one wanted to irritate the Senator over at the school.

Lenny didn’t like that man one bit. Stockwell was a four eyed, pompous bastard in his book, like every other politician. His wife had gotten herself killed over fear of angering him, and Lenny had sworn up and down one day he’d figure out a way to settle the score with that worthless lump. Lenny listened to his mildly dim boy go over every detail, word for word of the encounter.

It was a shame the soldier woman got shot, but Lenny thought she was a dyke anyway. No harm in the big scheme of things. He chastised himself for thinking those thoughts. He’d have to pray for extra forgiveness at bedtime tonight. Right after he prayed for his normal forgiveness for blowing his wife’s head off when she was trapped under the tractor in December.

Ollie spoke nine hundred miles an hour when he was nervous and excited. Eventually Lenny sat the young man down at their fifty year old maple kitchen table, and got him calmed down over a warm glass of fresh milk.

“Daddy he was gonna kill me. You shoulda seen his face. He was a scary man.” Ollie was finally talking slow enough for Lenny to piece everything together.

“Ollie that’s nonsense. If he’da planned on killing you, he would’ve done it right when he shot Tera. No sense talking to someone you’re gonna shoot. He even apologized to you after. This man sounds sensible. He also sounds like he means business. We could make good use of a man like that you know.” Lenny sipped on his own small glass of warm milk. He’d gotten it straight from the cow himself earlier. There was nothing better in the whole world in his mind.

“What exactly can we get out of a man like that? He kills people.” Ollie was pretty well lost. He wasn’t one for figuring out subterfuge, or Nancy Drew novels.

“He said to get hold of him on the radio at noon, on the 15th, right?” Lenny’s sharp mind was turning a plan over in his head. This could be good. This could free what remained of the town from the tyranny of a pompous, lying politician once and for all.

“Yeah. What am I going to tell them about what happened to Tera? If Sean finds out, he’ll want to go war with those people again. This time he’ll set their houses on fire.” Ollie downed the last bit of milk and wiped off the foam on his upper lip.

Lenny hated to ask his son to do it, but he knew he had to, “You tell them she was bitten. You saw a girl in the road, you got out to help her just like what really happened, and Tera was a damn fool and got herself killed. I’ll go get her body and get it buried proper as soon as you get going. You don’t say a word to anyone about what happened today, you hear? Not one word of the truth to anyone until I talk to this Adrian fella on the 15th.” Lenny pointed his leathery finger at his son like a catholic school teacher would point her stick.

Ollie nodded, and went to fetch his jacket.

*****

Getting back into the school was easy. Surrounding the massive former edifice of public education the survivors had organized a wall of vehicles. Parked bumper to bumper in the same fashion cowboys would “circle the wagons” in. There were two spaces where they’d parked vans offset from the full wall of automobiles, and those served as the gates to the Westfield compound. On the roof of the school Lieutenant Daniels had two soldiers keeping watch for any undead that managed to get over the cars blockading the property. Every once in a while a dead person would get lucky and fall just right onto the hood of a truck or into the bed, and find themselves over the makeshift wall, but that was a rare occurrence. The former National Guard officer in charge of security had been very thorough about cleaning out the town of undead. It helped that he had huge diesel powered military vehicles and giant offroading trucks to tool around town, running over everything in. Those were gory times Ollie recalled.

He’d waved to the guard on the roof like normal, and one of the people inside the compound came out as he did a slow lap around the junkyard wall. That led the few lingering zombies to the other side of the compound. Once he was opposite the gate, he gave it some gas, and sped around leaving them far behind. He was inside and parked before the undead realized where he’d gone. They returned to their meaningless existence, reaching out, trying to claw their way fruitlessly through the wall of cars.

Everyone asked Ollie where Tera was, and just as he and his father had discussed, Ollie told the lie. He knew he was sinning for telling the lie, but he also knew his father was a wise man, and that a few extra prayers would help alleviate the weight of the lies on his soul. Some people cried when they talked to him. The soldiers got angry because they lost one of their own. They always got angry when someone died. It was their way.

After he’d dropped the fresh food off in the giant school kitchen Ollie ran upstairs to the art room and checked in on the pregnant ladies. He always liked saying hi to them. It made him feel better about the end of the world when he thought about cute babies. He secretly hoped one of them would be a redhead like himself. That would be neat. He also got to say hi to the girl he really liked, Melissa. She was a pretty girl, and a year younger than he. She had pretty brown hair, and wasn’t too skinny. All he could think of when he saw her was his mom. Ollie sure did love his mom.

Ollie told everyone the story, and said hi to the pregnant ladies and Melissa. Ollie meandered his way over to the room he shared with Sergeant Mike and a few of the soldiers. Sergeant Mike was the second in command of the remaining National Guard soldiers from Westfield. They had mobilized in June when the dead people came back to life and helped get this group of people safe here in the school. Without Lieutenant Daniels and Sergeant Mike, Ollie was sure they’d all be dead.

After all, they wouldn’t have been able to empty the two grocery stores in town, or the hardware store, or all those restaurants for the food inside if it wasn’t for the soldiers. Not to mention the truckload of guns and bullets they’d stored here in the basement. Sergeant Mike said they had thousands and thousands of rounds of “five five six” which apparently was a good thing.

Ollie’s experience with guns was limited to squirrel and fox hunting with his dad’s .22, and the few times he’d had to take the pistol out to shoot a dead person in the head. Luckily Ollie had shot a lot of squirrels as a teen, and he had little problem shooting dead people in the head. As long as he said a prayer that night for them, he slept okay.

Ollie plopped down on his cot in the classroom he shared with the other men. The room had the faint odor of sweat, and dirty camouflaged uniforms were strewn all about. Just Sergeant Mike was there, laying down on his back and reading a Spiderman comic. Ollie had seen him read that same issue at least twenty times already. There wasn’t much interesting to read anymore, just what was in the library downstairs, and most of the soldiers wanted stuff with action and pictures instead of long sentences and stories.

“Ollie buddy, heard about Tera. I’m glad you were there for her when she needed you.” Mike sat the comic down on his chest and propped himself up on his elbows. He was a big man and Ollie always felt safer when he was around.

Ollie looked up at the ceiling and tried to think of a clever way to lie to his best friend. In the end he just closed his eyes thinking about it, and started to drift off to sleep.

“Stay strong bud. Get some rest.” Sergeant Mike rested his head back down and returned to the exploits of Peter Parker. Again.

*****

Sean didn’t fuck Melissa all the time because he was attracted to her. He fucked her because he could. She wanted more food, and for the low-low price of sucking him off a few times a week, or bending over and letting him go to town for a few minutes, he was more than happy to make sure she got a few extra cans of food here and there. It was only fair. Besides they had a million cans of spam and green beans.

He sat on the edge of his bed in the empty classroom filling up with morning sunshine and watched her get dressed. She didn’t turn to face him the entire time, and after slipping on his round eyeglasses, he fired up a cigarette. It was stale, but better than nothing. After a long drag he leaned back on the bed and watched her adjust the sweater she had been wearing when she snuck into his room late the night prior. The fading auburn colored sweater fit snug over her chest. She was a thicker girl, and more than likely the sweater wasn’t hers when the shit hit the fan. Plus she had nice tits. There was no doubt about that.

Melissa pulled her light brown hair back into a short ponytail and stood up. She slipped her feet into her small shoes and walked towards the classroom door to leave. From behind her Sean called out softly.

“Hey Melissa, you free the night after next?” Sean exhaled a long stream of smoke out towards the cracked window in the corner of the room.

Melissa tried to hide her disgust. “I’ll have to check my calendar Sean.”

“Well try and keep that night clear. Your stuff is there on the desk.” He pointed a finger on the hand holding the cigarette butt at the old teacher’s desk. Four assorted cans of food sat there for her to take. Melissa nodded without saying a word, and took the cans and left. It was just about the time for her to get down to the kitchen and help with breakfast.

The trip down to the kitchen took only a few minutes, and when she arrived she sat the cans on one of the long stainless steel tables they prepped the food on. Truth be told, she only slept with him to get Sean to give them the right amount of food every day. Melissa thought if that prick was any stingier with the mountain of cans in the basement they’d all starve. Everyone knew they had plenty of food to last into next winter. He was just holding onto the key to the storeroom to conserve his power.

Melissa got to work and started opening cans with the other ladies. They chit chatted, and as usual they all hugged her like normal on the days she forced herself to sleep with Sean. Every one of the girls in the kitchen knew she was doing it. It was their plan after all. Stacey and Mary were too young to send to Sean, and Lindsey and Carole were too old. It just happened that Melissa was old enough, strong enough to deal with the constant sexual predations of Sean, and still good looking enough to tempt the bastard. Every one of these girls would kick him square in the balls if given half the chance. He was such a tyrant. King of the playground sandbox.

Half an hour later after the food was all prepared Melissa saw Oliver McDowell come into the cafeteria. She watched him casually through the small kitchen window. She kind of liked him. He was a sweet kid, but very much a farm boy. He was a little behind the curve socially, so to speak. Ollie saw her and lit up. He smiled ear to ear and made a beeline over to her.

“Hi Melissa! It’s nice to see you this morning. You look wonderful in red.” Ollie blushed fiercely, bringing out the contrast of his freckles.

Melissa smiled at him. “Thanks Ollie, here’s your breakfast.” She pushed the cafeteria tray across the window to him. Breakfast was a serving of corned beef hash, as well as a large cup of fruit salad. It wasn’t much, but it had enough juice to keep a body going until dinner.

“What’s for dinner tonight Melissa?” Ollie grabbed one of the stamped metal forks out of the silverware organizer and stabbed a slice of peach glistening with sugary syrup. He munched on it as she thought about her answer.

“Tonight we are having omelets with ham, but tomorrow night is chicken soup. The chicken your dad brought over will make for a delicious treat for us.” Melissa smiled at him.

“I’m sure it’ll be good if you’re helping to cook it Melissa. I wanted to give you this by the way. I don’t know if you remember or not, but it is Valentine’s Day. I couldn’t find you anything nicer. I hope you like it.” Ollie reached into his back pocket and produced a small locket on a delicate gold chain. Ollie smiled in a genuinely warm way, handed her the locket, and Melissa couldn’t help but smile back. Ollie turned bright red and walked away with his breakfast.

Melissa opened the locket and looked inside at the little picture. It was a photograph of a single red rose obviously cut out of a magazine. Melissa sighed. If they ever got rid of that asshole Sean, she might actually think about talking to Ollie more seriously about things. He wasn’t all that bad looking, his dad ran the farm that kept them in milk, bread, eggs and chickens, and Ollie himself was easily the sweetest man left in Westfield.

She was doing a lot worse giving Sean a piece of ass now and then for cans of carrots.

*****

The next evening the chicken soup had gone over like gangbusters.

“Girls you’ve outdone yourself with this soup. If anyone here deserves a raise, it’d be you all for sure.” Sean gave his slick politician smile to the kitchen staff as he sat his bowl down on the window counter. He took his circular glasses off and polished them with a small cloth he produced out of his pocket. He put the glasses back on once they were spotless.

Standing next to him was the leader of the remaining National Guardsman, Lieutenant Jeff Daniels. To the girls, he was just Jeff. “The Senator is right. This is pretty great stuff. If we could just figure out a better way to go to the bathroom here, we’d be in hog heaven eh?”

The girls let out a laugh. Despite being reasonably well fed and warm from the giant school furnace they still had to use buckets to go to the bathroom. Granted the handier men at the school had built pretty elaborate toilet seats for them to sit on, but it still meant they had to throw out buckets of human waste every day.

“You know Jeff, that’s a great point. Come summer time maybe we can look into getting some kind of working plumbing here. I’m sure we can rally some support for that work. We’ve got two little ones on the way you know.” Sean stepped right into the political support gathering for his project without missing a beat.

“That’s Lieutenant Daniels Senator.” Jeff didn’t care for the Senator, and his forcing him to refer to him by rank was one way of showing his disrespect. “And I’m sure we can get the work done. Ted had some experience working in plumbing. Hopefully we can work something out when the weather turns.” Jeff was always cold to the Senator. It gave Daniels the willies that no matter what, Sean’s damn glasses always obscured his eyes. The two men constantly argued over decisions.

Sean had done a tremendous job of organizing them early after the government and media collapsed. He was charismatic, smart, and could talk like no one’s business. He got the soldiers on board with securing the school, and got all the food collected and stored as well. For months he was a hero, and was loved by one and all.

No one at the school cared for Sean much anymore. He still had a few of the flunkies from the town’s old guard that supported him, but they were waning in their support for him. Everyone knew that Sean’s recent plan to torch the gas station near another group of survivors was a little dangerous. They had lost three people on that attack, and no one was quite sure what they’d gained by doing it.

One night around Christmas Sean and two of his right hand men were out doing what Sean called a “supplies assessment” in town. Basically they were heading street to street looking for houses and business that hadn’t been ransacked yet. When they were out, they saw fresh tracks in the snow heading out of town. According to Sean, they followed the tracks almost thirty miles to a private school that was pretty far out of the way.

When they attempted to help the people who had left town, Sean said they were attacked by the people at the school. During the firefight Sean said both of his men were killed by a group of attackers led by a mysterious man named Adrian. Sean rallied support over the next few days claiming that if they didn’t attack the people at the school first, they risked losing everything they’d worked so hard for in Westfield. He was convinced an attack would be made on them.

Sean assembled a group of people to assault the school with. He attempted to get Lieutenant Daniels to make the assault with his men, but he refused. Jeff said there was no reasonable threat, and an assault without suitable intelligence was pure negligence. The two men battled for days over it, and finally Jeff conceded that he would ski ahead to the school as a point man, and clear the road.

The assault was a complete failure. The mysterious Adrian had set an ambush for them, and Sean rolled his entire group of people right into it. Jeff and Sean had gotten out alive by the skin of their teeth. They’d lost multiple vehicles, an arsenal of ammunition, and almost a dozen people.

Since that day Sean had steadily lost the support of people at the school in Westfield. He had led them into a war they had no interest being involved in, and had botched the entire process every step of the way. Everyone knew it was just a waiting game for the next council elections. Many of the Westfield survivors wanted the young Lieutenant in charge. He had the support of everyone that still mattered. The women of Westfield.

Of the 39 survivors remaining at the school, 27 were women. Many had lost their husbands right after Christmas in Sean’s failed attack. There was little love left for the man in the corner classroom.

Presently Sean forced a fake smile and thanked the women one more time for their “culinary prowess.” He excused himself to deal with “council matters” and left. The women in the kitchen watched him leave with dagger filled eyes.

Lieutenant Jeff Daniels of the 809th Brigade Support Battalion was chilled at the women’s expressions. Something had to be done about Sean, and he suddenly felt that they couldn’t wait until the council elections in November.

*****

“Mike, sit down with me.” Jeff motioned for his second in command to pull up a seat at the teacher’s desk in the small classroom he used as his personal office. The burly sergeant dropped his ass in the seat and propped his boots up on the corner of the beaten old wooden desk.

Jeff poured two plastic cups of root beer out of a beaten up seven month old bottle. The soda was flat, but it was the closest thing they had to real beer left. He handed one cup to Mike and the two men sipped at the creamy sweet soda for a few seconds.

Mike could see the younger officer was troubled by something. He made the veteran move, and asked him what was going on. “Alright L.T. What’s swirling in your noodle? You look like your mom just told you your uncle was your dad.”

Jeff smirked. Mike always had a colorful way of using the English language. Jeff swirled the cup of brown soda, and replied carefully and quietly, “You think we can keep going on like this here?”

Mike’s eyebrows arched up. “Like what? Eating MRE’s and shitting in trash barrels? I’ve dealt with worse. You’ve dealt with worse yourself in Afghanistan.” Mike sipped quietly at his soda.

“Shut the door Mike.” Jeff tipped his chin at the open classroom door, and Mike hopped up and shut it. He trotted back and sat down after pulling the shade down over the small window in the door.

“Mike this place is disintegrating over Sean’s bullshit. He’s gotten at least a dozen people killed, he’s using food to get the shit he wants, and he’s fucking at least three different women now. You know there’s a rumor going around now that he’s the father of Megan’s baby?” Jeff downed his soda in disgust.

Mike sat forward and looked at his nearly empty cup. He took a deep breath and sighed. “Look L.T. I’m not a big fan of that guy. I mean he’s a fucking pencil pusher. Before all this shit went down with the zombies he was a trust fund prick. His dad owned a couple of fucking appliance stores. So what if he went to Yale? So what if he can talk the ear off of anyone when he wants something? He couldn’t find his asshole with both hands and a flashlight in this world.”

Jeff weighed his sergeant’s words carefully. They were damning, of that there was no doubt. Jeff himself had lost faith in Sean’s ability to govern, and if Mike felt the same, then the rest of his men would likely follow suit. “Mike you think if push came to shove, the men would help us get rid of him?”

“Shit yeah. I think we’d have to beat them away with a stick to NOT help.” Mike grinned wide and downed the last of his treasured root beer.

“I’m not saying we’re planning a coup here Mike. Let’s make that clear. But if things don’t get better, then we may need to speed along elections. Morale is low and going lower, and that bastard at the private school still might make his move on us.”

“What’s his name? Andrew?” Mike asked.

“Adrian. No last name.” Jeff’s face was wrinkled up with worry. He ran his hands through his short blonde hair and rested his forehead on the desk. So much worry to worry about.

“It’s too damn bad Sean didn’t get killed when you led them into that ambush.”

“Yeah. I fucking led them right into it too. Shit in the road to blow the tires and everything. Mike if it wasn’t for bad luck…”

Jeff’s sergeant finished his sentence, “We’d have no luck at all.”

“Tell me about it brother. Tell me about it.”

*****

“These fucking bitches are driving me up a wall Chad. I tell you what, they have no idea how good they have it here. And you know what? It’s all because of me. I got the soldiers on board, I got everyone organized, I got the election started, and I have kept us safe from that bastard at the school this whole time. I can see the way they look at me. No fucking respect at all.”

“Yeah I know Sean. No one understands what it’s like to be in charge.” One of Sean’s few remaining friends was consoling him. Chad was a former golf buddy of Sean’s before that fateful day in June when the world got flipped upside down. Chad secretly wished he could get a round in at Sunshine Meadow right now. He’d kill to get some driving range time in.

The two men were in Sean’s converted classroom. He had his office and his bedroom all combined and the two men were sipping on small glasses of a fine single malt scotch. The smoky fluid burned the throats of both men as Sean continued to bitch and moan about how bad he had it, and how good everyone else had it. And how much they owed him for everything they enjoyed.

“Look Chad. There are probably tens of thousands of survivors all over the place who are living in rat filled shit holes right now. They’re probably eating cockroaches and drinking toilet water. We’ve got plenty of food, tons of guns and ammunition, half a dozen National Guardsman, a working democracy, and a damn farm that’s giving us milk and eggs on the regular. So fucking what if we’re struggling with fresh water from time to time and we have to shit in buckets? Fuck these people.” Sean threw down the remaining scotch in his glass and slammed the glass down.

“Sean even the most popular politicians have what? A sixty percent approval rate maybe? Look man, they can’t get rid of you. There’s no one else that can motivate or organize people like you. Who is capable of dealing with all the crap besides you? Plus you still have your dad’s land to give away once all this blows over and the government comes back for good. Everyone wants a piece of that cheese. We just need to wait all this out.” Chad sipped the scotch.

Sean got up from his transplanted comfy wheeled office chair and went to the window. The world was a dull grey from the overcast sky. It looked like more snow was on the way. Ringing the school’s vehicular wall was a small number of the walking dead. It looked to Sean that there were a few more outside than normal. He sipped from his glass of scotch and observed as one of the undead stopped and started to slowly beat on the window of an old Ford pickup.

The senator watched intently as the dead and bloodied middle aged man brought one clumsy hand after another down on the glass. After a few good thumps the glass busted and spider webbed. Sean secretly cheered for the dead bastard. He admired the resolute morons. They could be predicted, and almost controlled if you knew how they worked. His mind drifted off into morbid plans of using the undead remaining in town as either a way to attack Adrian and his people at that damn private school, or as some form of defense.

Sean snapped back to reality. The undead man had frozen solid, and was looking directly up into the classroom. He was staring straight at Sean. Slowly, and deliberately the dead man lift one of his arms, and pointed it directly at Sean. Sean’s blood ran cold as he realized the dead man’s fingers were shattered and bent in a dozen different directions. The politician downed his glass of scotch and continued to watch as the zombie lowered his hand again, and slowly tapped the face of his black plastic wristwatch.

Three times the destroyed fingertip came down on the liquid crystal of the cheap watch.

Tap... Tap... Tap...

Bile rose in his stomach and he turned away from the window. His mind reeled from the idea of the dead people regaining any kind of intelligence. What the fuck was that? He thought to himself. He strode back to the desk and popped the cap off the scotch and downed the final mouthfuls straight from the bottle with a wince.

“What the hell Sean that was the last of the good scotch? Now all we’ve got is Southern Comfort and Stoli Razz man? What the hell is wrong?” Chad was fuming. That was damn good scotch.

Sean swallowed hard to clear the burn of the scotch. He quickly thought of a lie, “I’m fucking Melissa tonight and I need to self medicate.”

Chad smirked. He’d probably do the same. She certainly wasn’t a top shelf piece of ass. “Yeah well, it’s too bad all the best looking ones are gone man.”

Sean looked over at the window again, and thought of the strange zombie with the watch just a few hundred feet away in the snow. “Yeah, it’s a shame all the good ones are gone.”

*****

Mike drove the small Nissan pickup truck carefully down the hard packed snow street. Ollie sat in the front of the truck next to him, nervously watching out the windows for signs of zombies moving about. Since the snow had gotten deep and the soldiers had completed their umpteenth sweep of the city searching for undead, it’d been pretty safe to move around.

Of course his fellow Guardsman Tera had died just four days ago on a routine farm run just like this Mike thought. Even a single zombie was dangerous if you made a mistake. Sergeant Mike was not one to make mistakes. He down shifted the truck when they hit some loose snow and they continued north towards Ollie’s family farm.

Ollie kneaded his clammy hands together, waiting for a good moment to tell Mike about the secret his father was about to let him in on. Finally Ollie built up the nerve when Mike stopped the truck at the end of his dad’s driveway. Ollie had to get out and open the fence, but before he did, he turned to Mike.

“Mike, I need to tell you something.” Ollie was nervous, and his voice cracked slightly.

Mike missed the emotion in Ollie’s voice. He figured Ollie was about to tell him that he was going to ask Melissa on a date or something. He still hadn’t figured out a way to tell Ollie that Melissa was fucking Sean for extra food for everyone. He couldn’t bear to break Ollie’s heart. Mike simply turned and looked at his friend, awaiting his story.

“My dad needs your help with something.” Ollie’s eyes were very serious.

Mike perked up. He hadn’t seen the redhead that serious in a long time. Not since Martha McDowell had died when the tractor flipped on her back in December. Mike was suddenly concerned. “Okay Ollie, what’s up? Something wrong with your dad?”

“No not really. You remember that guy that Sean attacked at the school back at Christmas? Adrian?” Ollie asked the question almost as if he was afraid of the answer.

Mike stiffened slightly. That man was bad news. He’d dropped the hammer on a dozen of their people that day. “Yeah, why?”

“Him and his people have been talking to my dad on the radio. They want to help us get rid of Sean. They want to kill Sean. He wants to kill Sean.” Ollie rambled it all out like a steam valve getting opened. Mike could see the relief on his face.

Initially the sergeant was pissed off. His anger gave way quickly to opportunistic thoughts. Mike chewed his lip thinking about the way things were, and they way they could be. Ollie hopped out of the truck and swung the gate open, watching for any undead walking nearby. Mike slipped the truck into first gear and slid it into the driveway. Ollie got back in after he secured the frail chain link gate. They drove the length of the gravel driveway and came to a stop next to the big white farmhouse.

The two men knocked on the side door and let themselves in. Mike had no idea what to think or say. He knew it was high time to get rid of the prick trying to run the show, but to be honest with himself, working with someone who he felt was the enemy was a very alien idea. It was like working with insurgents to get rid of a politician you didn’t like. In fact, it was exactly that.

Ollie’s father Lenny McDowell sat at the kitchen table next to their massive wood stove. Mike always liked coming out here on farm trips because it was as warm as a blast furnace with that stove going. The school always had a chill in it. It didn’t hurt that there was fresh milk all the time and every other day the place smelled of Lenny’s fresh baked bread.

Mike pulled his winter cap off when he said hello to Lenny. Lenny rested his tobacco pipe on the table and motioned for Mike to take a seat. Ollie joined the two men as Lenny cleared his throat to speak. “Oliver you tell the sergeant here what I asked you to?”

“Yeah I did. I didn’t tell him everything though, just like you asked.”

Lenny took a full measure of Mike before speaking. “Mike, thank you for coming out with Oliver today. I have not been a good democratic civilian of the so called Westfield council of late. I can’t abide by a man like that Stockwell fella. He turns the milk in my stomach when I think about him.”

Mike didn’t say anything back. He knew Lenny held a major league grudge directed at Sean over the death of his wife. Mike was pretty certain it was deserved too.

“Coupla days ago your girl Tera got whacked by accident when that Adrian fella tried to stop Ollie and her to ask some questions. She pulled on him, and he was plain old faster. He left Ollie with instructions on how to get ahold of them, and I’ve talked to them a few times now.”

Mike’s hands balled up into fists. Tera had been shot by that asshole from the school? His mind raced with doubt and anger. Was Sean right all along and they were starting an offensive on them? He had half a mind to get up and walk out. The Lieutenant needed to know all about this.

“Calm yourself son. It was an accident, and God help me, but I believe them. I’ve met one of their people already, an older gent named Gilbert. He’s a right fine fellow, and if this Adrian man is half the man he is, I think we’ve been had by that bastard Stockwell.”

Mike looked long and hard at Lenny’s face. Mike was great at seeing through bullshit, and Lenny’s face was stone cold sincere. He really believed that this Gilbert person was good to go, as was this Adrian character. “Lenny I don’t know man. Sean’s a prick, but at least we can contain him. We don’t know this guy from a hole in the wall. I’m a little uncomfortable with the idea of just… you know, throwing in with a stranger and helping to kill our rightfully elected leader. Seems a little undemocratic to me Lenny.”

Lenny nodded slowly in agreement, “I understand son. Although I think there are few men in our history that got rid of their leaders and wound up being called patriots. Gilbert and Adrian want nothing to do with us. They just want justice for the attacks that Sean made on them. Gilbert says that’s all they want. They also said that if we don’t, one way or the other Sean’s gonna die, and others might get hurt when it goes down. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather go to sleep with a clean conscience knowing we put Sean to trial, instead of letting someone else bring a war we don’t want to our doorsteps. Think of it as an impeachment by force.”

This time it was Mike’s turn to nod. Sometimes tyranny looks an awful lot like freedom. He thought about it all carefully before responding, “We are talking about a coup Lenny. Who would take over here afterwards?”

“The Lieutenant could. He’d assume control until we could have another election, then he’s a shoe in for the win. We just need to convince the Lieutenant that we need to not mess around with these people, and we need to give up or get rid of Sean, and soon before innocents get killed over Stockwell’s paranoia.” Ollie watched his father talk in fascination. His dad had such a rich voice that entranced.

Mike shook his head. “How would we do that?”

Lenny smiled. He clearly already had a plan ready. “We fake another ambush. You two run back to Daniels, and tell him Adrian’s people are just the cock of the walk, and that until we give up Stockwell, they’re gonna keep hitting our supplies until we do. You tell Daniels that they won’t hit the farm here because they don’t want to hurt the food source. They just want to hurt Stockwell. Now because we’re faking it, no one will get hurt. You tell Daniels that they took the stuff without violence, and explain to him they’re powerful, and you tell him all we need to do is give up Sean, and from what Ollie says getting him on our side won’t be all that hard, and we get out of everything slick as a whistle.”

“Might work actually. Not a big fan of lying to my CO though. One way or the other I can’t follow through unless I meet this Adrian asshole. I need to look him in the eyes, shake his hand, and see if he’s the man you say he is. I won’t put my relationship with the L.T. on the line for a complete stranger. I’d rather run Sean over with a humvee myself before I shack up with that guy unconditionally. No way, no how. I gotta meet them first.” Mike’s face was stern. He was adamant.

Lenny nodded slowly again, recognizing Mike’s reluctance to deal with a devil he didn’t know. Lenny grabbed the radio he used to communicate with the school, and looked at Mike, “I’d bet you a pint of cream he is in town right now. You up for a handshaking?”

Mike’s eyes went wide and he dropped his hand to the Beretta on his hip. “If he’s in town already, then he better come shake my hand. Otherwise I’ll go out there and shoot his ass for trespassing. Shit I’ll shoot his ass on principle.”

Lenny smiled again, “You soldiers, always so ready to fight. You know you’ll live a lot longer talking to folks. Learned that in the Navy.” And with that Lenny thumbed the walkie to try and hail Adrian, or his people.

*****

“Mike, it was pleasure meeting you. I really hope this works out and everything goes smooth. I appreciate the risk you’re taking here to help get this resolved.” Adrian shook Mike’s hand. The two men were huge, nearly filling the entire back porch. Adrian had a slightly tense but friendly smile. He was alone with three Westfield men talking about murder. It was the definition of a sketchy situation.

Mike shared a similar smile. The four men had just discussed an alliance to take out Sean Stockwell, and there was a lot of raw emotion floating around. No one had gotten heated, and just as Lenny had surmised, Mike thought this Adrian man was a standup character. He had slipped out of the woods like a snow covered ninja when he’d been summoned on the radio. Adrian had gotten to within ten feet of the porch before any of them even knew he was there. Mike knew immediately that he wouldn’t have to exaggerate the martial prowess of these people. Adrian could’ve killed all three of them and been gone like a ghost if he chose to.

But he hadn’t, and Mike knew that the man had genuine concerns for further violence. Mike didn’t like a lot of people, and a lot of people didn’t like Mike. He hated drama, and he despised idiots. He’d known the big man for no more than 30 minutes and he knew he’d eventually like him. At the very least Mike knew Adrian was a lesser evil than Sean, and that was enough to go to war for.

“Adrian, I hope this all ends shortly. I can’t tell you enough how much we appreciate your being civil about all this. I appreciate the fact that you didn’t take my head off with that rifle you got there.” Mike pointed at the heavy caliber hunting rifle Adrian had slung over his shoulder.

Adrian smiled and nodded thoughtfully. “Mike I never wanted to hurt anyone. I’m good at killing people, but I don’t like doing it. I’m having enough trouble keeping my own people safe from the dead folks trying to bite them, let alone living folks trying to bend us over too. Trying to have a little more faith in humanity right now.”

Mike nodded in agreement as Adrian shook Ollie and Lenny’s hand. Mike watched Adrian smile and knew the man was sincere. Sean’s smiles reminded the sergeant of a snake spitting venom. You just couldn’t trust the bastard.

“Good luck with your girl Ollie. I’m glad you’re living at the school for a good reason man.” Adrian gave Ollie a wink. Mike thought it was pretty funny that Adrian had assumed that Ollie was living at the school because he was being held hostage there. That line of reasoning did make sense though. Why would a son not live with his dad? Mike supposed a girl was a damn fine reason.

“Take care you all. Someone will be around listening if you guys need help. Best of luck.” Adrian left the porch. He walked slowly and confidently behind the barn near the farmhouse, and without a noise, was gone.

Mike watched him disappear into thin air, and then turned to his two compatriots. “I like that man, but he scares the living shit out of me.”

Ollie smiled nervously, “He scares me too, but I don’t hate him like I hate Sean.”

And that just about summed it up.

*****

When Mike and Ollie returned to the school they had agreed to not say a word to anyone else that night. They would think everything over, and if they were still on board with the idea of faking an ambush in the name of Adrian’s people, then they’d do it tomorrow. Lieutenant Daniels would be approached after that with the information they’d discussed, and if they did it right, then Daniels would at least talk to Adrian about starting a coup.

That was the night of February 17th. Forever after Mike and Ollie referred to it as “checkers night.” The two men were not interested in being particularly social. They had too much on their minds, and far too many secrets they could let slip easily, so Mike challenged Ollie to an epic “best of 21” tournament of checkers. The two men wandered down to the cafeteria right after dinner and they sat in the corner, sliding red and black plastic disks across the board for hours.

When the kitchen crew cleared out for the evening Melissa stopped over and sat a small bowl with a few pear slices in it next to the guys. “Who’s winning?”

Mike scratched his head in utter bewilderment. “We are on game fifteen. Ollie is up nine games to six. Guy is a checkers savant Melissa.”

Melissa smiled and rubbed Ollie’s balding head. Mike caught a glimpse of affection in her eyes and couldn’t stop himself from smiling too. He’d lost his wife of ten years in June when he didn’t get home in time from the armory. She was eaten alive by one of their neighbors, and watching two young kids fall even a little into love chipped away at the ice he’d let freeze around his heart.

“Melissa why don’t you join us?” Ollie asked her.

The brunette looked at her watch and frowned. “It’s late guys I can’t stay up much longer. I just wanted to drop off some fruit for you and say hi. Thanks for asking though.”

Ollie visibly deflated, but remained smiling. Melissa ruffled his red hair again and walked away. She needed to get a few hours of sleep before she had to go see Sean again, and satisfy his ego. Her stomach churned as she thought of poor oblivious Ollie.

*****

The next afternoon Mike and Ollie returned from Lenny McDowell’s farm empty handed. They weren’t stolen from. They were following through on their plan to coerce Lieutenant Daniels into working with Adrian’s people to get Sean Stockwell the hell out of Westfield.

The two men strode with fake purpose past the waiting women in the cafeteria door. The ladies usually took the fresh farm products straight from the men, but when Mike and Ollie walked by empty handed and as serious as cancer, the women knew there was something amiss. Melissa made brief eye contact with Ollie, and she thought he looked almost happy. She wondered to herself why he’d be happy after returning empty handed. She had enough to be worried about anyway she thought. Last night she was fairly sure Sean tried to slip the condom off while he was fucking her, and she’d kicked him to make him stop. He hit her. The women in the kitchen nearly went upstairs with the entire knife drawer to make sure he’d never need a condom again, but Melissa stopped them. More bloodshed would only make things worse.

Mike and Ollie took the steps up to the second floor of classrooms two at a time. They needed to get into Jeff’s office and shut the door before anyone could ask too many questions. By the time they reached the converted classroom that Daniels used as a bedroom and war room they already had a caboose filled with people asking what was up. Mike opened the door without knocking, and as soon as Mike was inside, he shut the door and pulled the shade.

Lieutenant Jeff Daniels sat at his desk cleaning his service pistol. He had it disassembled and was meticulously going piece to piece, ensuring it was clear of dust and debris. The best soldiers know you maintain your weapon before your body.

“L.T., we need to talk. Now.” Mike dragged a second chair over in front of the desk. He spun it around and sat in it, leaning his arms on the back of the seat in front of him. Ollie slowly sat in the other chair, and watched the two soldiers.

Jeff put his oil stained rag down and leaned forward, clearly worried at the urgency Mike was putting out. “Problem Staff Sergeant?”

“I’ve got good news, and I’ve got bad news. The good news is really good, and the bad news is only kinda bad.” Mike seemed almost excited to Jeff. The young officer wasn’t sure what to think.

“Alrighty, lay it on me Sarge.” Jeff leaned back in his chair to listen.

“Now, what I’m about to tell you is gonna piss you off at first, so don’t make any decisions until I’m done talking, okay?” Mike gave Jeff a stern face. He wanted Jeff to listen to everything.

“Okay. No promises though.” Jeff bridged his fingers and rested his nose on the tips.

“Tera wasn’t killed by a zombie the other day. She was accidentally shot in an ambush. We were also kinda-sorta ambushed today too.” Mike said it as softly as he could, but the words turned the officer’s face ruddy red with anger.

“Who the fuc-“

Mike cut him off, “Stop. I said wait. I’m not done talking yet.” Mike pointed a thick finger at his commanding officer. Jeff wasn’t pleased at all, but he shut up for the moment. “The guy from the private school a few towns over has been casing the town trying to find a way to get intel on Sean. After the gas station attack, he and his people decided they can’t let Sean run the show here. They tried to get intel on us by getting Tera and Ollie to stop and talk to someone, but Tera drew on Adrian, and he had to shoot her.”

“How the fuck do you know all this? Are you in cahoots with this prick?” Jeff sat forward, angry. He looked down at his disassembled pistol and suddenly wished it was together.

“Jeff, wait. They told Ollie to tell someone in charge to get ahold of them on channel 5. Ollie went to his dad, and his dad has been talking to them for the past few days, and he says they’re good people, and they’re on the level.” Mike almost whispered the words. He knew others were at the door, trying to listen in.

Jeff’s eyes went wild. “Lenny is colluding with this assholes? Are you shitting me? What’s next?”

“Jeff relax. I met the dude yesterday myself. He has a team of people in town observing us trying to find out how to do this without killing anyone. They’re legit Jeff. They’re good people. They didn’t even take anything today, we staged it all to set something up.” Mike tried to say it as sincerely as he could.

“WHAT?!?!” Jeff let out an exasperated whisper, “They’re fucking here? In this town right now? We are being recon’d by the fucking enemy? You realize those people single handedly killed at least fifteen of our citizens right? And you’re fucking talking to them? Working with them? You’re a fucking terrorist Mike, I can’t believe this shit.” Jeff stood up and paced the room. He eyed his M4 leaning up against his bed and for a moment debated picking it up. He was furious, and he felt like he was surrounded by traitors.

“Jeff, just the other day you and I were talking about speeding up elections to get rid of Sean. This could easily be the chance we’re looking for. We find a way to march his ass out into the open, and we give him an ultimatum. Tell him he can leave and go fuck himself, or we shoot his ass in the knees, and let Adrian and his people know where he’s bleeding out. No one needs to know what happened.”

Jeff stopped pacing and looked at his sergeant. His mind cleared when he thought of life without that tyrant Sean trying to run the place. All he’d done since Thanksgiving was gum up the works with petty power plays, and stupid martial schemes to get revenge on these people from the school. This might actually be the best way to get rid of him. Jeff couldn’t stomach killing an innocent man though.

“Jeff, I gotta tell you, I met this Adrian man yesterday, and I think he’s two things. First, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He’s sick of the bullshit same as you and I are. He easily could’ve killed Lenny, me, and Ollie without thinking twice about it, and he didn’t. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone here. Secondly, he’s serious about this. And I mean he’s serious about making friends to get this done, and he’s also serious about getting rid of Sean, with or without us helping. Whether or not we’re onboard, the moment Sean makes his head available, they’re gonna blow it the fuck off.” Mike’s tone was quiet, and deadly serious.

Jeff bit his lip and nodded. “What’s in this for them? Are they gonna make a play for taking over here? They want food, ammunition, what? This guy has to have an angle other than just revenge.”

Ollie answered, “When he shot Tera, Jeff, he was real serious about getting justice for his dead friends. I think his angle is the fact that he’s been trying to do the right thing, and Sean keeps messing with that. Like Mike said, one way or the other, Adrian’s gonna do this. I think we can make friends with him too, he seems a lot like you guys.”

“Hell yeah Ollie. Look Jeff, this guy came out of the woods like a goddamn special ops guy. He was ten feet from us before we knew it, and like I said, he coulda just done us raw right there. If he didn’t want to make friends, he doesn’t have to. He’ll just take this school out. Fucking kill everyone.”

“Brick by brick he said. Said he didn’t want to, but one way or the other, he’d do it brick by brick if he had to.” Ollie looked worried.

“Sounds awfully fucking threatening to me.” Jeff frowned.

“Sounds a shitload like a warrior to me. One hell bent on protecting his people, and taking out his enemy. You know just the same as I do, if we get Sean outside somehow, either he’ll freak and pull a gun and get shot, or we can just leave his ass there. Out there.” Mike thumbed towards the window, towards the vast expanse of town that had innumerable undead wandering it.

Jeff sat down and nodded. “You’ve never led me wrong Mike. I’ve always trusted you, and so far, you’ve always come through for me. You vouch for this guy?”

“I think you should talk to him yourself. But if you want my opinion, we go to Sean tonight or tomorrow, and tell him we got hit by Adrian’s people. Tomorrow is best that way he can’t run around spreading rumors all night tonight. We tell him that Adrian’s people are gonna hit the supply truck every day they can, and we need his help to stop it. I bet you a jalapeno cheese packet that motherfucker grabs his gun and goes out with us the next time we roll to the farm. As soon as he’s outside, and we’re out of eyesight of the school, ka-bam. Eviction notice. Done deal.”

The officer thought about it, and the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. One way or the other, they worked with this other guy and got rid of Sean, or they risked others getting killed when they didn’t hand him over. Plus Jeff thought, it’s not like they were asking for someone, or something anyone here gave a rat’s ass about.

“Tonight you tell everyone Lenny wasn’t feeling good, and that he didn’t get around to milking the chickens or whatever. Make them think it was a little worrisome. Ollie you go back to your dad’s and pretend to take care of him tonight. Be back after dawn tomorrow. Don’t bring any food back with you. We all sit down with Sean tomorrow morning, and we tell him what’s up. Depending on how that goes, we’ll take it from there. Is there any way we can get ahold of this Adrian guy?”

“Yeah, he’s listening on channel five. Switch the radio and say something.” Mike nodded over at the radio sitting on the desk. Jeff looked slowly at the radio, suddenly feeling like it was an enemy listening device. It felt like Adrian and his people were right there in the office, eavesdropping.

“This is mutiny Mike, this is a coup.” Jeff looked at the radio, then at his sergeant.

“This sir, is a revolution. This is us escaping from tyranny, and starting a new government where we are properly represented, and not taken advantage of. We’re patriots Jeff, not rebels, and certainly not fucking terrorists.”

*****

The next morning Jeff went to Sean to test the waters for their rebellion. “Sean, you need to sit down, something has been brought to my attention.” Jeff stood in the doorway of Sean’s converted suite classroom. Jeff’s nose wrinkled as he caught the scent of stale cigarettes and sweat. It sickened him to think this asshole won an election to run anything.

“Is this about the elder McDowell being under the weather? No? Okay Lieutenant Daniels, you win, I’ll sit.” Sean flopped down with his dress shirt still unbuttoned. Jeff thought he hadn’t left the office in days.

“We have been attacked twice this week by people from that private school.” Jeff kept his face emotionless.

Sean stopped buttoning shirt and looked up at the officer. “Wait, what?”

“The other afternoon when Corporal Tera Braley died, she had actually been shot by this Adrian person you’ve been dealing with. Yesterday afternoon Staff Sergeant McCarthy and Ollie were stopped at gunpoint and had the entire farm run taken from them. We need to step up security on the runs to the McDowell farm while we discuss a more thorough strategy for bringing this threat to an end.”

Sean slammed his fists down into the desk hard enough to send the pens and pencils on it six inches high. Jeff saw rage in his eyes. “MOTHERFUCKER!” With a powerful backhanded swipe Sean sent all the papers on his desk flying.

“Senator, now is not the time for rage. We need to think this through very carefully. We need to get over to the farm tomorrow and start discussing security there. Lenny can keep the farm safe from the zombies, but if these assholes decide to take it by force, then we need to have a solution. I’ve sent Ollie and one of the men over there for tonight, but tomorrow I think we should have a meeting about it. You interested in being there to lead it?” Jeff was baiting him. There was no way in hell Sean would not be at a meeting like that. He wouldn’t allow his opinion to be left out of any discussion.

The furious Senator licked his lips. “Fucking right I’ll be there. Do you have bombs Jeff? Big ones? Like, powerful explosives? Can we fucking bomb that school? I’m so sick of this asshole.”

Jeff fought an epic battle to fight off a smile. “We are currently out of explosives Senator. We’re also flat out of heavy machine gun ammunition. However, we might be able to plan some counter insurgency missions once security at the farm is addressed.”

“An insurgency eh? Insurgents. That’s perfect. They are terrorists aren’t they? That will play well with the people.” Sean savored the word like the scotch he’d polished off the other day. “We need to let the people know we’re being attacked. We need to let them know they have strong leadership here, and that we will take good care of them. We don’t need them panicking on us.”

“Senator with all due respect, they already know your leadership is strong. I also think that we’d be best served if we waited until after tomorrow’s meeting with Mr. McDowell. If we tell them about what’s going on now, we have no good news to tell them, just bad news. After our plan is formed, we can gather them and you can tell them what the plan is for our future. Plans are always good news, and good news is always popular.”

“Yeah that’s true. They might start asking questions and I don’t want to deal with that. Thank you Lieutenant, your assistance is invaluable as always. When is our meeting at the farm?”

“It’ll start when you arrive. We’re planning on convoying over at 3pm. You’re more than welcome to ride with us in a humvee, or you can take your Escalade, whatever you prefer.” Jeff turned to the door and rested his hand on the lever to open it.

“Very good Lieutenant, you’re dismissed.” Sean returned to buttoning his shirt, content in his control of the situation.

“Thank you for your assistance sir, have a good day Senator.” Jeff pulled the door open and walked out. Jeff walked down the hallway and rounded the corner into a stairwell to head down to the cafeteria for lunch. Mike was waiting on the landing.

“How’d that go?” Mike asked his officer.

“Hook line and sinker. I just need to wipe all this shit off my nose.” Jeff looked happy, but conflicted.

“Now what?” Mike asked as the two men joined each other and started down the steps towards the smells of food wafting their way.

“I eat lunch, then I try and get hold of this Adrian asshole. If I get a good read on him, then we go forward with it. If not, then we’ll come up with Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B gonna be?” Mike asked.

“Get the fuck out of his way?” Jeff laughed.

*****

“And you talked to him sir? And you think this is worth it?” Private Gavin Russell asked his Lieutenant.

“Yeah Private. There’s too many of us that have met or talked to him that think he’s being honest about it. Plus he keeps pointing out things about Sean that are shady, that I’m frankly kind of fed up with here. We lost people the other night for nothing when Sean hit that gas station, and I think we can avoid a big war if we just douche this fuck tomorrow afternoon. Get rid of him, and run this place like we care about it.”

Gathered in the war room with Mike and Jeff were the ever present Ollie, and three other National Guardsman. All were younger men who Mike had personally chosen to be brought in on the plot to oust Sean from his position at the school. They were good soldiers, and good people. Most importantly, they had no love for the Senator.

“Like the L.T. says, I’ve talked to him, Ollie met him, and Lenny met him and another guy, and not one person says anything bad. Frankly, I think we’d be the assholes if we didn’t do this,” Mike added his two cents. The younger men respected the veteran sergeant and his opinion. The men started to nod in agreement. The logic was good according to their leaders, and good soldiers do what their leaders tell them to do.

“Then it’s settled. We leave in a half hour. I want full combat loads and gear. Prepare as if we’re going to be hit by these people. I expect you all to be vigilant. I expect you all to select targets carefully. And remember, these aren’t dead people goofing around. If this goes south we will be fighting living, breathing, and most importantly, thinking human beings. They’re as smart as we are, so act like it.”

“Hooah sir!” The men yelled out in unison.

Game time.

Jeff dismissed his men and gathered his kit. Every time his unit rolled out of the school they left it like they were going to war. Every man brought his M4, at least 8 magazines for it, as well as their service M9 pistol and 3 magazines for that. They wore full body armor, head to toe BDU’s and brought enough food and water for at least a few days outside the wire. By the time he was ready to roll, the half hour had passed already. His nerves were a little shaky, but he was committed. No time left to be scared.

Jeff met Mike in the hallway once again as they headed to Sean’s office to get him. When they reached his office Sean was walking out into the hall wearing a heavy winter coat with a spare Kevlar vest on the outside. He wore it like he’d never worn a vest before, and Jeff thought that was a pretty fair assessment.

“Senator, you ready?” Jeff held his helmet under his arm.

“Yes Lieutenant. Chad will be coming along with us on the trip. I trust there is space in a vehicle for him?” Sean motioned to his asshole buddy stepping out of the classroom into the hall.

This was a monkey wrench tossed into the works, but not a deal breaker. Jeff nodded immediately at the pompous asshole he wanted gone. “Of course there’s room. It’ll be a tight fit in the two humvees. You’re more than welcome to drive yourself in your SUV if you’d like more comfort.”

Sean quickly dismissed the idea with a smirk, “Oh no thanks Jeff. I’ll ride in the armored military vehicle thank you very much. I don’t want that Adrian asshole shooting me as I drive over to Lenny's.”

Jeff cursed to himself in his head. “Smart idea Senator. Let’s move.”

Down the stairwell they went. The rest of the survivors inside the school building watched with worried expressions as the soldiers marched in procession down the halls and towards the foyer to exit into the parking lot. Jeff watched one of the Labrador retrievers they’d rescued wag his tail manically as all the excitement passed by. Mike gave the dog a pat on the head as they left the school and headed out into the cold February air.

The humvees were already running for them. Private Russell drove the humvee that had the Lieutenant, Private LaFrenz, Chad, and the Senator in it. Once everyone was locked into the heavy vehicle, Lieutenant Daniels thumbed his helmet microphone, and issued the command to roll. He didn’t have many batteries left for his comms gear either. Pretty soon he’d be back to yelling out his commands the old fashioned way.

The two military trucks roared to life and plowed through the opening in the automobile wall when the van blocking the gap was backed out of the way by another one of the National Guardsman. Exiting was frequently more dangerous than entering. The undead were harder to distract away from the gate from the inside.

Sean always got nervous on exits. He always felt like the cookie jar lid was off when the van was moved out of the way. He just had the feeling that one day they’d try and leave, and a horde of the dead would push their way in. As the convoy burst out of the barrier surrounding the school Sean looked out the thick bulletproof glass of the humvee. Directly to his left, standing at the wall of cars was the zombie that had stared up at him through the classroom window the other day.

It stood impassively once again, watching the humvee with Sean drive away, leaving him behind. As they pulled away out of the corner of his eye Sean could swear the zombie was waving goodbye to him.

Had to be an optical illusion he thought.

It had to be.

*****

Jeff stepped out of the humvee and scanned the farm’s surroundings. He’d noticed on the way over they’d seen more undead than was normal, and it put him ill at ease. He and this group of soldiers had spent months killing undead, and to have so many come out of the woodwork like this on a day like today was not cool. He didn’t see any near the farm, and the undead would be hard pressed to get over the cattle fence and through all the snow to be a danger to his men and their mission.

He scanned the tree line as well as the chicken building and barn. Nothing stood out to him as being threatening, and he motioned for Stockwell and his flunky Chad to get out of the vehicle. The plan was simple. Lenny and Ollie would greet them at the door, and they’d tell him what was going to happen before he got inside.

If something happened, everyone wanted it to be done outdoors. Gunfights and struggles in a house were definitely less than ideal in Jeff’s mind. He looked over to the farmhouse door and saw it open. Lenny and Ollie came out and down the steps. The elder McDowell immediately fired up his pipe and took a few tokes as Sean and Chad made their slow way over to him. The two men had their heads on swivels looking for danger. They hadn’t been out in the open since the attack on the gas station a few weeks ago.

“Mister McDowell, so nice to see you again! How are things here on the farm?” Sean put on his best face and strode towards the old farmer, extending his hand so Lenny could take it and shake it. Lenny did no such thing. He stood and looked at Sean impassively and puffed once more on his pipe. Sean’s extended hand awkwardly got pulled back, and Sean looked at Chad incredulously.

“Senator you can put your hand away. I have no interest in shaking it.” Lenny’s tone was flat and frightening. Jeff found himself just shy of amazed that the usually congenial and friendly old man had turned so sour, so suddenly. Jeff began to realize the pain of Lenny’s wife’s death may have done some damage they weren’t aware of.

“Something wrong Mister McDowell? Normally you’re a much more receptive fellow.” Sean’s smile did an abrupt change to one of confusion. He wasn’t quite ready for that greeting. Jeff’s men fanned out and formed a perimeter. Two went to the end of the driveway near the gate, and one went to the back of the farmhouse near the barn. Mike stood at the passenger side door of the humvee furthest down the driveway, and Jeff himself stood next to the confused Sean and Chad. Ollie was behind his father.

“Mr. Stockwell, there has been some talk lately that you have been a piss poor leader of men here in this town.” Lenny’s voice was emotionless. He was sharing information, not making an insult.

“I uh… Lieutenant? What’s this all about?” Sean looked around at Jeff and Mike, trying to make heads or tails of the situation.

Jeff nodded in agreement with Lenny’s assessment of the situation. “Lenny ‘s right Sean. We made a huge mistake electing you as leader. We thought maybe because you had experience in politics you’d be good for us, but all you’ve done the past three months is fuck everything up and get a whole mess of us killed. I won’t even go into what you’re doing to a few of the women at the school. We all know you’re up to no good.” Jeff hefted the weight of the M4 rifle hanging across his chest. It was a thinly veiled threat.

Sean shook his head defiantly. “You guys can’t just do this, there is a system for this kind of thing, there’s a process of appeals, and…”

Lenny interrupted him, “You familiar with back woods justice Senator? Lemme tell you how this works now. There ain’t no courts, there ain’t no police, there ain’t no more system for this kinda thing, and the only justice and law is that of God, and men of character. You sir, are neither. We were approached a few days ago by your friend Adrian, and he asked us for help in getting to you…”

Sean backpedaled in fear at the mention of his nemesis. He looked around like a rabbit fleeing from the shadow of a hawk soaring above. He looked trapped. “Is he here? What the hell? That guy will kill me, he hates me!”

With no emotion Lenny puffed once on his pipe as Chad grabbed Sean to steady him, “He is here, and he is watching what happens right now, and what you decide right now determines what he does.”

Sean’s eyes slowly widened in horror as he realized more than an election or a debate was at stake. His life was suddenly on the line. He jerked his head left and right, looking for the man he assumed would be pointing a gun at him.

“Don’t bother looking son. He isn’t where you can see him. But I assure you, he can see you just fine. So here are your two choices; one, you about face, walk down that driveway, and disappear. You walk until you find a place you’re welcome. I assure you it ain’t anywhere in this town. Or two, you say no to that option, and we call Adrian, and he swings by, and we give you to him.”

Sean looked like he’d been violated. “You can’t do that! He’ll kill me, or worse!”

“Yes son, I would say that he will kill you, or do worse. Makes the first option awfully enticing, doesn’t it?” Lenny puffed again and cracked a smile out of the corner of his lip.

Sean was silent as all eyes fell on him. He looked small, and scared. The men gathered gave him a full minute to choose his fate. He kept licking his lips, looking back and forth between all those gathered to pass judgment on him. Finally Jeff broke the silence, “Shit or get off the pot Stockwell. It’s cold out here.”

Sean licked his chapped lips and swallowed nervously. Finally he gave his answer in a meek voice, “I uh. I’ll leave. I can keep my gun, and the vest right? I don’t have any food. Or water.”

“Eat snow asshole. Bounce.” Mike said from behind him. Patience was now gone.

Chad let go of his golf buddy and Sean took a few steps back. Ollie stood behind his father and grinned happily. He was elated that they were finally about to be rid of the man he and his father hated so much.

Sean caught a glimpse of Ollie smiling so happily, and venom spat suddenly from his lips, “Quit smiling you ginger faggot. Have fun trying to fuck that fat bitch Melissa. I know I’ve been enjoying fucking her.”

Ollie’s face turned the color of his hair, and he lowered his head and charged the Senator. Everything happened in an instant. The Lieutenant took a fast step forward, and threw a shoulder into Ollie, sending him sprawling on his face to the side. Ollie was a big strong man, and his bull charge was powerful. Sean’s eyes flared up in horror as the redheaded missile came at him, and he drew the small pistol he carried.

The fallen senator pointed the weapon at the space Ollie’s lowered head had just been in, screamed loudly, and snapped off a few quick shots. Ollie had gone into the ground already, and the shots hit the Lieutenant just below his body armor, right on the belt. Jeff doubled over and fell backwards, clutching the gunshot wounds to his gut. He let out a low moan as the roaring burn of pain set in.

Mike lifted his rifle and brought the butt of it down on the back of Sean’s skull, sending him face down in the driveway. Chad let out a squeak and stumbled backwards until he lost his balance and planted himself in a snow bank next to the house. The other soldiers came running to lend assistance, and thirty feet away with a creak, the barn door opened. Adrian walked out, worry and anger on his face.

Mike stood in the driveway with absolute rage on his face, holding Chad at gunpoint. Ollie had lost his breath when he smashed into the ground and he gasped, sucking air into his empty lungs. He looked at the Lieutenant rolling on the ground next to him, eyes staring off into oblivion.

Adrian took off at a run and slid on the ground on his knees next to the wounded officer. Adrian sat his own weapon down on the ground and started to rip off the body armor and uniform of the fallen Lieutenant. Everything was slick with warm red blood. The white snow below had started to pool a thick sheen of it and the scent of copper was strong in the air. Daniels gritted his teeth against the pain and looked up at the large stranger ripping his clothes off. He didn’t have the strength to resist.

“Lieutenant, I’m Adrian. It’s nice to meet you.” The large man undid the front of Jeff’s BDU pants and exposed the four angry red holes leaking blood above his pubic hair. Adrian ripped the white sheet off his jacket and tore it in half. He folded the white cloth and pressed down firmly on the four wounds, applying pressure to try and stop the bleeding.

“Hey, fancy meeting you… like this. You don’t act… a lot like an… an enemy.” It was only through determination and willpower Daniels got any of the words out. Daniel’s hand clutched at Adrian’s wrist, holding on for dear life.

Adrian forced out a tight smile. “You and I have never been each other’s enemy sir.” Adrian pressed down hard as the white sheet turned a deep crimson between his fingers, absorbing far too much of Jeff’s blood. Jeff lifted his head enough to see how bad the bleeding was, and let out a meager laugh. His head dropped to the driveway, sending his helmet skidding away.

The soldiers stood around flatfooted, watching their leader bleed out. Private Gavin Russell, the Lieutenant’s young driver just minutes ago, flicked the safety on his M4 off, and took purposeful steps around his leader to shoot Sean.

“No. Not like that.” Jeff gathered more inner strength. Adrian looked down at him puzzled. “Lenny, do you have rope?”

The old man holstered his revolver, and turned towards the barn. He looked over his shoulder and saw Adrian’s pretty young blonde friend poking her head out of the chicken coop. She looked on intently, and unless Lenny was an idiot, he thought she was eying that Private Russell.

*****

Sean awoke when the blinding pain in his knee hit him. He let loose a primal scream and reached down to clutch at the pain. His hands didn’t move. He realized he was on the ground still, and that there was something binding his hands.

In the fading sunlight he realized that his hands were tied together at the wrist. Baling twine was tough stuff, and when wet, turned abrasive. In the few seconds Sean tried to twist his hands free he’d managed to cut his wrists to ribbons , and rivulets of bright red blood ran down his forearm. It was only then that he realized he was freezing.

He was on the ground in a parking lot that had just been cleaned of snow. It had been done haphazardly, and he recognized the place almost immediately. It was the parking lot of Sunshine Meadow, his golf course.

His knee had been busted with something. Just moving it sent stars across his eyes, and he had to let out a whimper. He’d been left for dead at his golf course.

“Heyyyyyy… fucker,” a voice called out softly from above.

Sean forced himself to roll over, and he saw the Lieutenant propped up against the wheel of a car a few feet away. Drawing a line through the snow from Sean’s foot to the blood soaked Lieutenant was a length of rope. They were tied together, and Sean’s knee was broken.

“I just thought it would be nice if we spent some quality time together. You know, before I died. I thought it might be nice if you got to see what happened first hand to people that died because of you.” The slowly dying officer coughed wetly, and clutched his destroyed stomach. “I’d say we have maybe five minutes of quality time. Then I think…. I think I’ll probably eat you alive.”

Sean screamed for the whole five minutes.

Then a little more after that.

February 22nd

Mr. Journal, I have relief today. On so many fronts. I haven’t felt this positive about anything in a long time. Refreshing, this positivity thing. I’m pretty much of the opinion that while things didn’t go perfect in Westfield, they went pretty damn well.

I’ll recant that for you. After grabbing all the supplies we thought we might need we made the trip to Westfield the morning of the 20th just like we planned. For some reason I brought the laptop too. I still don’t know why I did, but I just wanted it with me. Mr. Journal goes to Westfield. Where’s next?

I wrote my drunken entry after everyone started to fall asleep that night in Lenny’s place. We sandwiched all four of us into the front of the plow truck, and while crowded, we had a good groove on. Everyone was pretty happy about what we hoped would happen. The trip was good, and we didn’t encounter trouble worth noting.

We parked at a house as close to the farm as we could get. Patty remained behind with the truck in the event we needed either defense on the car, or if she needed to zing in and rescue us. Abby Gilbert and I made our way to the farm at about 2pm. We met up with old man Lenny and his son Ollie, and they shook our hands pretty excitedly. He felt that this was a long time coming. I detected a pretty powerful sense of vindication off them too, which told me a lot.

Once we’d gone over the entire plan for the confrontation with Sean, I got the ok to set up in the barn, and Abby went to the chicken coop. She was not pleased to have drawn the building filled with chicken poop. I told her she was more than welcome to switch to the barn where the cow poop was, and she quickly changed her tune. Chicken poo suddenly became fashionable. Gilbert drifted back into the trees and set himself up a reasonably comfortable position where he could cover us with his trusty AK. I had a good view through a space in the frame of the barn door.

And then the waiting started. I think it was about 3:30 when they arrived. Two humvees loaded up with people. A quick head count showed me Sgt. Mike, and officer (turned out to be Lt. Daniels), plus three National Guardsman. Also with them was Sean, and another asshole that looked like he’d previously been a big fan of Polo shirts and golf. As soon as they got out of the humvees, Ollie and Lenny came outside to meet them, and it started.

I couldn’t hear everything. From what I could see, Lenny and the Lieutenant laid it all out for him, and he took it poorly. At one point he looked like he’d shat himself, and started looking all over the place, I think he was looking for me. I laughed. Weasely round eyeglasses wearing cocksucker.

Finally he went quiet when his asshole friend Chad held onto him to steady him. After a bit, it looked like we’d get out of it clean, but something happened. Sean said something to Ollie, and Ollie lost his shit. I saw Ollie charge forward, and the officer got in the way. I couldn’t quite see, but there were four rapid gunshots, and the officer went down.

I moved. I saw Mike cold cock Sean on the back of the head, and Sean went facedown. His friend (who I later found out was Chad) backed up and fell into a snow bank. The guardsman came rushing, and I went straight to the Lieutenant. I ripped his clothes off to get at his wounds, and wound up tearing the sheet straight off my back to form a compress.

I said hi to him, and he managed a hi to me. He was dying. One of the young privates went straight over the Sean and was about to kill his ass when the Lieutenant managed to stop him. He asked Lenny for rope.

Lenny got some baling twine from the barn, and they hogtied Sean. His buddy Chad watched in just total horror as they did it. It was literally like watching a hog being prepared for slaughter. Everyone stood around watching Lenny do it. I mean you could SEE Lenny enjoyed doing it, which told me even more about how he felt. The Ollie guy was all out of sorts, and sort of wandered around. He knelt next to Daniels as I held the compress on, and Daniels kept telling him to, “Forget what Sean said,” and, “Do what your heart tells you.”

I don’t know what Sean said to him, but it clearly broke Ollie’s heart. I didn’t ask.

Once Sean was tied up Daniels said to bring the two of them to the local golf course. I radioed for Patty to make her way to us, and she was there within ten minutes. Patty knew the way, and after I hopped in the truck, I plowed us a clear path the few miles out to the golf course. I cleared out the parking lot, and the soldiers got Lenny and the still knocked out Sean out of the humvees.

Daniels told them to tie him to a parked car in the lot. They looped more twine around him and tied him so he could walk, but only about ten feet. They then tied Sean to Daniels, and Daniels seemed really pleased. I can recall the look on Abby and Patty’s face when they figured out what Daniels had planned. Morbid stuff.

The officer said a tearful goodbye to his men, and they were pretty broken up. He seemed liked by his men, and that’s rare. Not a lot of officers are loved by their men. Anyway, after they all said their goodbyes, I crouched down, and we talked for a few minutes.

He said he was the man leading the assault that day, and he apologized for doing it. He was glad when I told him none of our people were hurt, and I apologized for killing their folks. It was a nice mea culpa moment. He seemed truly regretful, but a lot of people about to die are. I had a lot of respect for him. Before we left I ran back to the truck, and grabbed a full bottle of Jack I grabbed from the cafeteria, and brought it back to him.

I told him I’d brought it, and I said I’d hold him to his promise of helping me empty it. He took a swig with a wince, and thanked me. I got a little blurry eyed. When I stood up to leave, he laughed and asked me if I’d “handicap” Sean’s golf game for him. He pointed at his knee. I said sure, and I curb stomped the asshole’s leg right at the kneecap. He was still so unconscious he didn’t wake up. Daniels seemed really pleased, and I left.

The vehicles left the two dying men behind, and we went back to the farm, where we’d left Lenny and Ollie behind with Chad. I’d cuffed Chad with the cuffs I found at the police station way back when. When we got back, I made all the men share a drink with me, and after a few rounds of that, I made all the women join in too. Ollie and Lenny both took a swig, and before you know it, we’re all fucking laying the snow, looking at the giant pool of blood left behind by Lt. Daniels.

Weird moment. Bonding no doubt. I don’t know how to explain it. I mean, you go to war with someone, even someone you hate, and in the moment you hit the shit, you just understand that there’s no one else you want near you, having your back, and that was one of those moments. I just somehow knew, and I could see they knew that the same. Everyone let out the real them when we were three sheets to the wind, and with Sean out of the way, we had no barriers left to forming real friendships. Alcohol might be the key to post apocalyptic diplomacy. Who knew?

I really think these people are going to be my friends. I didn’t ever think that about Brian and the STIG people. They were always… I don’t know. Untrustworthy somehow. Maybe it’s because I met mostly ex-military folks here? I don’t know.

We wound up passing out that night at the farm. Lenny had plenty of space there for everyone, and after Mike sent a message back to the school that everything was okay, and that they’d all be back the next day, we settled in for a dinner, and a drunken night’s rest. I am displeased to note Mr. Journal that we had fresh baked chicken out of Lenny’s woodstove, and I don’t remember eating a single bite of it. Figures, right? The things I do for the sake of human cohesion. Always taking one for the team.

We passed out all over the place, and I must report a joyous awakening to the smells of fresh food cooking. Lenny brought in eggs for us, and was cooking them up in various forms, and apparently he’d made fresh bread too.

Mr. Journal, I can’t even describe to you how filthy, dirty, and sexy that food was. I seriously feel like I’m talking about porn when I think about the food. Fresh. Baked. Bread. Eggs. Protein and carbs. He also had butter. BUTTER.

BUTTER.

I think I need to rub one out now. Just wow. It was like when I got that deer back in what? November? I forget. It has been so long, and I am still riding my butter high. I wanted to cut it up into lines and snort it. Filthy dirty butter. Yeah you bitch. Sexy butter.

You shoulda seen Abby and Patty and Gilbert. Hilarious. They ate so much frigging food. I felt bad, like we were stealing or something, but everyone else ate like pigs too. This was our reward for doing the dirty work of dealing with Sean. Oh, and Chad joined in on the party, but he was clearly on the outside looking in. He spent the whole time looking on, watching, with a pained expression on his face. I felt bad for him.

Oh! And there was a little… romance too. I definitely caught Abby and one of the Privates talking a little too comfortably for me. Well, I mean it’s cute, and cool and all, but I feel like Abby is my own kid now, and watching a 20 year old hit on her was a little strange. Gavin seems nice enough. Little tall, little gawky, but he seemed really nervous around her, and nervous guys are always better than cocky guys. We’ll have to see how that pans out. A love affair between their people and mine might actually be nice. Like a feudal lord marrying his family into the family of his rivals, bringing them together with blood relationships.

Funny how things have rewound a few hundred years eh Mr. Journal? Like for example, I’d fucking KILL for a drawbridge and a moat for campus. If I knew a dude who could competently make bows and arrows, I’d feel hood rich. I mean I can make a bow and arrow, but I’d be just as likely to hurt myself with it.

So during and after breakfast we had the most honest conversation. Mike and Lenny without doubt were the leaders here, and I got the feeling they were the leaders for the most part back at the school. Mike was really adamant about making sure the women were brought on board, because up until that day, Sean had run the joint like a harem. He made sure to whisper that in front of me too. He pointed at Ollie. Made me think about the girl Ollie said he had the hots for. Sucks. Anyway, Mike really wanted to make sure they were represented. After all, he said they had 37 people left, and of that, there were 27 women. Talk about Team Vagina. That’s like League Vagina. A whole.... box’s worth of vagina if you will. I bet they’re tight. But they might be loose too, you can never tell until you get close to them.

Innuendo much? I wonder if any of them are my type? Naughty Adrian. No. Bad boy.

We left after noon with the understanding that we’d be available via radio on channel 4, the same one they used. We tested walkies and ones we use are compatible. We also set a date for them to come visit us at the campus on the 25th, which is three days away. They said their biggest need was fresh water. I told them we could use more 5.56 ammo, and more 9mm. Gas or diesel would rock, and any “new” sorts of food would be terrific too.

In town like they are, they are on town water, which has not pumped for them in months. They’ve been melting snow, but when the snow melts in spring they’ll be relying on rain, and that’s random. I told them we have artesian water, and as long as we can work out a fair trade system for eggs, milk, chickens, and ammo or medical care, we would make sure they always had fresh water from us, at least until they could secure a more local supply. Mike and Lenny agreed that a trade system would be awesome until at least spring. We also talked about mutual supply concerns like gasoline and diesel. They said they’d gotten a lot of fuel, but their furnace at the school ran on diesel, and so did their humvees. Double dipping sucks. The expression “burning the candle at both ends” comes to mind, and it’s damn appropriate.

After spring, we’d need to find something else to barter with. Which is cool, I really like that idea. It forces us to be productive! Yay! Work is freedom! Communism for the win! We’ve got farmland on campus, and between Lenny’s fields, and our fields, we can crop rotate to make sure we’re always growing the important stuff, and we’ve always got trade material between the groups. It could really work out for everyone.

Kind of exciting actually. I feel a little dopey being a water seller though lol.

We left them on a great note. The drive back was also amazingly easy, as we found out they had no patrols, no defenses, and nothing stopping us from simply rolling into town the whole time. Talk about wasted time right? When we were able to drop the plow and clear the tougher spots in the road out, life was much easier. Trips back and forth will be pretty fast.

We passed and killed three more undead on Route 18, and three more after that on Auburn Lake Road. It definitely seems like they are making their way from downtown to campus. I got a sick feeling sooner or later here we’re going to be dealing with large numbers of undead. Makes me want to get some serious trades for ammo going on. Mike said they had a lot of ammo for their M4s in storage, and I would LOVE to get a few hundred rounds.

So yeah. Sean’s dead. I think. I told Mike I wanted him to double check the golf course to make sure the Lt. and Sean were both put down in the right way, and he said he’d take care of it. Once he confirms to me that Sean’s dead… I might dance a jig.

So the plan now is to try and relax a bit, and get some rest. The past ten days have been a motherfucker of stress and activity, and I desperately need to take it relatively easy here. We’re not posting guard in Hall A tonight, and Gilbert is staying here in Hall E with us. Gilbert is worried his house will get attacked by too many zombies for him to deal with. Makes sense. His defenses are good for two or three zombies, but any more than that, and he might have trouble. Hall E is pretty much a fortress versus the undead now.

Go me.

Gonna try and sleep in a bit tomorrow, then maybe take the bow out and see if I can clear out some undead on Auburn Lake Road for archery practice. I need to get some bow time in.

How do I spell relief Mr. Journal?

S-E-A-N I-S D-E-A-D.

-Adrian

February 25th

Long time no see Mr. Journal. Needed to take a break from writing for a day or so. Tired fingers, and the last couple days haven’t really been all that exciting around here.

I mean after the end of the world what’s exciting and what’s normal is kind of fucked up. So I guess I should say, things have been less exciting than they have been, but still much more exciting than would’ve been “normal” last year. Better.

The last three days have been a mixed bag. It’s mostly good because the stress of dealing with Westfield as a serious threat is largely gone. I mean yeah, we’re still worried to some extent, but the feeling of dread is gone, and we’ve got some serious hope now. Our first “trade meeting” today was pretty fantastic. More on that later.

The unintended and kind of unexpected side effect of the Westfield situation having been handled is the fact that Abby and Patty seem to have come to the sudden and overwhelming realization their family is gone. A young boy and a father have been torn from them for a reason we haven’t been able to decipher. I would’ve bet cash on Sean’s people having taken the torch to STIG, but Mike over in Westfield says it couldn’t have possible been them. That doesn’t leave a lot of targets to point fingers at.

Patty now thinks there was an accident in the fuel area, which I guess is possible. It just seems too massive an explosion to be an accident. I don’t know what to think. I can say there have been a lot of tears here lately, and some of those have been my own. It’s so painful to watch a mother and daughter weep for those they’ve lost. It’s hard to even describe how it feels without starting to get all emotional myself. It brings me right back to how I feel about Cassie being gone.

I mean, it’s hard to describe. I don’t know how else to describe it. I miss my family a lot too when I watch Abby and Patty. I wonder if they’re thinking the same things about me. I hope they’re all right, and I hope that someday we can be reunited, but as they say, I don’t think that’s in the cards. All I can do is hope for the best, and that one day everything will be revealed in a positive light. Turn that frown upside down, right?

Morose motherfucker, aren’t I?

So. What’s been happening? Nice of you to ask Mr. Journal. I’ve managed some pretty excellent sleep, which is a great change of pace. Dreams have been pretty straightforward too, which is a lot of it. I’m sure the stress of the Westfield issue having passed over is a huge part of it too.

We’ve done some legwork here on campus too, which is… scary fucking business lately. As I’ve been saying for the past what? 20 days? The undead from downtown having been trickling onto campus. It's usually two or three at a time, and we’ve done a good job of catching them at the bridge, but a few have gotten through when we weren’t looking. Plus there’s always the chance that they’re walking across the frozen lake. Come to think of it, I should check the lake for footprints in the snow.

Anyway, moving about on campus is almost like it was back in June and July. There are undead all about, and we’re instituted a “no one alone” rule. Gilbert has defied it at every opportunity to go home, but trying to tell Gilbert what to do is a lot like trying to herd cats. I can’t be too worried about him.

I did a fuel oil check on Hall E and Hall A. We are about halfway through the tank on Hall E, and Hall A is still almost full. Fortunately administration had the oil topped off in the summer when the prices must’ve been lower. If we’ve gone through half the oil in Hall E already, then we’ve got enough to last the rest of this winter. That’s great news. If we can find another woodstove sometime soon, then we can install it in Hall E, and between wood and oil, we’ll be set for perhaps two or three winters just on the fuel we’ve got on campus, let alone the home heating oil in the houses in just this neighborhood.

I didn’t check the school building, or the classroom style buildings. Hall B, Hall C, and Hall D all had three quarters or better in their tanks. That’s a LOT of fuel. We should be all set for heating oil if we can figure out a way to siphon it up and out of the tanks.

What does concern me is gasoline. Going back and forth to Westfield all those days did our fuel supply no fucking favors. I think I mentioned before that we would need to look at diesel soon, and that’s a harsh reality we need to deal with in a week or two. Well, I suppose we could check out the gas station that’s a mile or two from the one we had been using, but that’s heading towards downtown, and frankly, I really do not want to head that way until we’ve got a plan to deal with the undead coming our way, from that way.

For the moment, our plan is to conserve gas. Simply don’t go anywhere if we can avoid it. We’ve got plenty of food for the moment, and there’s nothing pressing that we need to do downtown other than getting fuel, and we’re better off picking off stragglers making their way up to campus than we would be if we made a trip back into a gigantic mass of undead, and then leading them all back here in wholesale fashion.

Come to think of it… That might not be a bad idea. Hall E is a fucking fortress, and with a little more work, we could make it basically zombie proof. We could lead the whole fucking crew right back up here into some kind of trap, then take them all out with our own massive zombie eradication plan. Hm. Food for thought.

So the last two days were pretty mundane. Like I said checking fuel and oil, and making sure any zombies that made their way onto campus were killed, and their bodies relocated to the now sizeable body pile out near staff housing. We’re trying to use the new bow and my long sword as much as possible, but we’ve broken two arrow shafts the past two days, and that seems… shitty. So melee is the way, and Abby and Patty aren’t that hot with the physical stuff yet. Abby’s skinny as a rail, and Patty is getting near 50, and with her healing ribs, she’s still a little sore. Once again, Adrian’s grunt labor to the rescue.

But, the occasional gunshot is actually a good thing, as it leads a few more our way. As long as it’s small groups, this is very containable. Even a group of 20 would be fine. Makes me want to think about the whole leading a shitload of them up here plan.

Earlier today the Westfield crew arrived at noon. Gilbert decided he’d make a large dinner for them in Hall A, which I thought was a good idea. It’s a “neutral” site on campus that shows we have our shit together, and yet still doesn’t let them into our last bastion of strength, Hall E. Mike drove and brought one humvee with him, which I thought was great. I was honestly expecting a large show of force, but that kind of goes to show you how he feels about us. If he didn’t trust us, he’d have rolled in with the two trucks. Binge drinking after the death of an enemy is a relationship builder I guess.

Gilbert had prepared some canned hams in the spirit of the ones I made for Valentine’s. I didn’t know we had so many. I’m wondering if he brought one from home or something. Not that I’m complaining or anything. He made a glaze similar to the one I made, which definitely made me think he had ham envy. Mashed potatoes, a can of cranberry relish, and a can of asparagus later, and we had a regular old feast.

Mike brought three people with him. Gavin Russell, one of the soldiers who came out to the farm on the 20th, Lisa Goldman (their physician’s assistant, and resident doctor), and a chick named Mallory Malone. Here’s my full take on the new people:

Gavin is about 20 years old, and before the world shit the bed, he was probably always in trouble, and joined the Guard as a way to pay bills. Now, with military skills, and a fairly tough attitude, he’s a keeper here. He’s tall, an inch taller than me at least, and has a buzz cut. He’s good looking too, so Abby says. And incidentally, the two of them talked the entire time. Romance is in the air. You should of SEEN Patty’s face lol. MURDEROUS. But she also seemed happy about Abby talking to another guy. The plight of a parent I suppose.

Lisa Goldman is early to mid 40’s I think. According to her dinner table talk, she was a PA at one of the local Westfield Clinics, and was instrumental in getting it emptied of supplies. She said Westfield is well stocked for meds and such, and in a pinch, they can bring a generator to the clinic for “more substantial” procedures. She’s kind of nervous because there are two women due in spring over there. One is due in late April, and the other late in May. Kind of neat to think about babies being born. Makes me want to go back to the grocery store and get the formula. I remember leaving a shitload of it there. Oh, she’s got shoulder length pitch black hair, is kinda pretty, and looks super Jewish. No cape or anything, but I can totally see her in Miami Beach. I like her.

Mallory is my new favorite person. Mal as she prefers, is maybe 25 years old. She’s a hairdresser. Very funny, very witty, sharp on her toes, and from what I gathered at the lunch table, she had a pretty rough go of the whole surviving June thing. I think she holed up in her salon eating snacks for a few days and wound up quite literally fighting her way to the school using scissors. That is a story I want to hear more about. Mal has very nice short brown hair (no shit, right?), and is fairly pretty, although not in any special way.

Mike brought them specifically for separate reasons. Lisa offered free physicals, which everyone gladly took up, and happily, we all passed with flying colors. I am proud to announce Mr. Journal that a woman looked at my penis. It’s been awhile, and I’m pretty happy for myself. Patty’s rib is tender, but we knew that already. Oh, and Gilbert is old. Surprise!

Gavin demanded he be brought along strictly to try and talk to “the hot chick” who we discovered was Abby. Abby was not informed of Gavin’s desires towards her by anyone else, but for a fairly shy guy, Gavin made excellent headway talking to her. Abby’s very forward, but also shy at the same time, and I really think they hit it off. Gavin was impressed by Abby’s survivor story I think, and she was impressed by him being the first guy to show any interest in her in… forever.

Mallory came because in Staff Sergeant Mike McCarthy’s opinion, our “personal grooming standards” were sorely lacking. Mallory gave us all haircuts. I barely noticed that my hair was hanging in front of my eyes. I gave myself a haircut with a little trimmer back in September, but I have completely bricked doing it again. It was nice to have a professional give me a haircut. In honor of my boy Kevin, I had her give me a “high and tight.” The girls said I looked stupid, but it brought back memories.

Mike seemed suitably impressed when I shared my Ranger school info. Apparently he always wanted to go, but never got around to it. I told him it was overrated. Lots of running around carrying heavy shit, swimming around carrying heavy shit, and falling down carrying heavy shit. Incidentally, that sums up almost all training in the military.

As far as trading shit goes, we definitely sealed our first deal today. Mike said they desperately need fresh water, and he brought about ten empty gallon jugs with him to show. I swear he almost cried when I filled them from the tap in the kitchen of Hall A. He watched me wash my hands too and I think he almost tried to stop me. I was wasting water don’t you know?...

So we put forth the ten gallon jugs of water, and in return he dropped a dozen eggs, and two bottles of milk. He’s got a more or less endless supply of those, and we’ve got a more or less endless supply of water. Seems fair to me.

Now for stuff that isn’t endless, we can haggle, and we did. He said they were getting really low on soap and toothpaste, and general hygiene products, and wouldn’t you know I’ve got a shitload. I ponied up three tubes of toothpaste, 4 bars of soap, 8 sticks of deodorant (some partially used), one container of Gold Bond medicated powder, and three 8 roll packages of decent toilet paper. These are all consumables.

In trade, Mike offered up a crate containing two M2A1 ammo cans of 5.56 for my gun. For those of you with no military experience, that’s 1,680 rounds of .5.56. Sha boing. Totally answered my needs for the M15 for some time. I felt like that was more than fair for the stuff I gave up. I told him we’d be super interested in getting chickens down the line, and he said he’d be super interested in eating some venison down the line.

So I think I might spend some time in the woods coming up here. I would kill for some goddamn chicken right now. I’ve got barbecue sauce coming out the asshole in the cafeteria, and man… just thinking about that makes me drool some.

So the whole afternoon was positive, and the entire time no undead came on campus, which was nice. Made the campus seem a lot more secure than it has been lately. Mike complemented us on what he thought was a great spot, and a job well done. He invited us to come visit them for a similar trade on March 1st, which we’re planning for already. He said if possible to bring more water, and venison if we got any. He said they’re really going through laundry detergent as well, and they’d be willing to trade for that too. I know I left some behind in the houses in the area, and we’ve got a bunch here too, so that’ll be a nice trade for us. It certainly makes me want to hit more houses for their contents. Fucking zombies though.

Mike and company left, and said they were having emergency elections on March 2nd, and we were more than welcome to attend, though we couldn’t vote, which makes sense. I told him we’d be in Westfield for the 1st, and we’d see what happened that day. Who knows what the weather will bring. Shit, it’s been almost 50 here the past few days. Prolly be 20 below next week. Fucking weather.

And that was that. Everyone was really happy this evening. Gilbert seemed very pleased with the meeting, and the lunch went over well. We’re planning on having pancakes tomorrow. Made with fresh eggs, and milk.

Oh dear. Just.. oh dear.

-Adrian

February 27th

Hello hello. How ya doing?

Oh, that’s awesome. I’m fine thanks for asking. How are the Knicks doing? I think they’re all dead Mr. Journal. What’s that? The Redwings? Probably skating on thin ice har de fucking har.

Not much going on here if you didn’t get the drift. Like I said in the last entry, we’re staying here on campus and just taking care of business. Undead roaming up the road have been worrisome. We’re actually at the point where yesterday morning we’re back to stationing someone in Hall A with the Tac .22 to take them out. It’s a steady stream of the bastards now, almost two or three an hour.

Abby got a marker board and put it up in the room where we’re at and we are currently keeping score. Patty has 14 kills, Abby has 11, and I’ve got 8. Gilbert claims to have killed three thousand, but we’re pretty sure he’s full of shit. Only pretty sure though. You can never really tell with that guy. Crafty bastard.

Otis has been good, thankfully. He ran and hid when the Westfield folks were here the other day, and spent a day or so in seclusion afterwards. He’s been out and about lately, and pretty affectionate.

My haircut makes my head cold as hell. I’ve taken to wearing my little knit winter cap around everywhere. The girls keep telling me it’s a lot better than having to look at the haircut. I’ve told them to eat my ass multiple times lately, and despite my insistence, they have yet to actually toss my salad. If they keep picking on my ranger haircut, I will be forced to retaliate with pseudo-violence. I might throw one of them down and force feed them my stinker. That’ll teach em.

It’s nice that we can joke about shit now. Seems like the humor here has been missing for a long time. Stress is such asshat.

Speaking of asshats. Basking in the aftermath of the whole Sean is dead thing, I feel really bad about calling all those people asshats. So far, they’ve all been really good to me. That Chad guy seemed like a douche, but I think he was just a sycophant. I do feel bad lumping them all together with Sean. I’m happy though because in the big attack that failed here by Sean, we actually killed almost his entire base of supporters. His failed attempt to remove those three people who didn’t like him during the gas station thing backfired too. I think he did more to kill himself than anything we did really. We were just the nudge.

That’s pretty much everything. And I’ve got an hour until bedtime. I kinda thought this would take longer to write out, but as it turns out, there’s fuck all to talk about. Soooooo… yeah.

How about I share a story from my past? Adrian story time? Okay Mr. Journal, I’m in a good mood, so I’ll share a good story. Hm. What story? Oooh. Remember way back when I mentioned that I had a friend shot in the ass? And that the story was a winner? Well here it is.

In May of 2004 Kevin and I were in Baghdad doing counter insurgency operations with our unit. Most of our days we rolled around Baghdad in up armored humvees sweating our balls off. Most days we’d take small arms fire that pinged off the trucks, and half the time (especially towards the end of our tour) we’d get hit by some form of explosion. Most popular were IED’s, and the occasional VBIED. Once we were hit by a DBIED. That’s a donkey-borne improvised explosive device. That made a MESS, man.

We were lucky on most of our patrols in 2003. We only had a few casualties, and no deaths in our unit until December. In late April I think, we started to do a lot of patrols on foot. Handshaking was important, and that was about when the real bastard part of the insurgency was kicking off. I remember it was about when the Blackwater bullshit went down, and the whole Fallujah mess got rolling.

Anyway, our unit was deployed on foot for about a 10 hour patrol, and myself, Kevin, and a buddy of ours named Patrick suddenly took accurate fire from a sniper position. We had been going down a street that was maybe 15 feet wide, and when we went for cover, the three of us dove into a tiny ass alcove on the side of a building. All of the guys in our unit took cover, and for about two hours our entire unit was pinned down, waiting for another fire team to maneuver on the sniper. So about the time we were supposed to get some relief by the other fire team finding the sniper, they got pinned down about a block or two away by foot mobiles, and then we hear that we’re about to be surrounded too.

Now clearly that’s fucking bad. We are canned up like sardines, and being hedged in on all sides by people who are fucking excited about hacking your head off. We’re starting to discuss eating bullets instead of being captured. So finally our L.T. decides we need air support, and the only thing he can get approved is a re-tasked Marine Cobra. Buuuut, they were like 30 minutes away, and Patrick has to take a shit.

Kevin and I are like dude, just shit yourself. Straighten out a fucking leg, and shake it into the damn street out the bottom of your pant leg. Patrick’s all prissy and shit, and he starts getting loony about having to take a dump. He’s already sweating from the heat, and I am pretty sure his sweat started to sweat from having to take a dump. At this point our whole unit stuck in the street is yelling at him to either hold it, or to shit himself. DO NOT GO IN THE STREET!

Finally Patrick snaps, and wiggles his fucking trousers down, and quite literally proceeds to hang his ass out into the street to launch his load. Well if you can picture it from the sniper’s point of view, this snow white ass cheek hangs itself out into plain view, and starts to drop a deuce. What would you do?

Now for the record, anyone who shoots a friend of mine is automatically an asshole. I mean, that’s pretty cut and dried right? But I gotta hand it to the Hajji with the rifle, because he shot Patrick right square in one butt cheek, through it, right past his ass crack, and straight on through the other butt cheek. Now we saw the bullet whizz by because it was a fucking tracer round. The burning of the tracer instantly cauterized his wounds, and just like you’d imagine, Patrick goes straight backwards, and manages to fall right into the pile of turds he’d fired off into the street a few seconds prior. Now he’s shot in the naked ass, and he’s fallen into his own shit smears on a Baghdad slum street.

Our entire unit, to a fucking man, just sat there making the fucking O face. No one could believe that had just happened. I mean it was horrible, and hilarious all at the same time.

Patrick’s feet are now pointed at Kevin and I, and almost simultaneously we grab his feet, and drag him back into the tiny ass alcove we were in. The whole time Patrick is screaming bloody murder, “MY FUCKING ASS! HOLY SHIT, MY FUCKING ASS! THEY SHOT ME IN THE FUCKING ASSHOLE! OH MY GOD MY ASSHOLE!”

Hilarious.

I grab Patrick’s arm and got him turned sideways so his head was in the alcove, and wouldn’t you know, Patrick wasn’t done shitting. Luckily for me Pat’s business end was facing toward Kevin, and for the next five minutes, Patrick proceeded to empty his bowels out of his three assholes (two of them brand spanking new, by the way) all over Kevin’s boots. Straight up fountaining bloody poop all over Kevin’s feet. God it was terrible. And the whole time Patrick is screaming that his ass is on fire, and holy shit my ass…

The L.T. manages to speed up the Cobra, and about five minutes later we spot the sniper’s position, and the Cobra fires off some chain gun rounds and puts the fucking sniper down. While we’re cheering on the Marine Aviation support we were getting, our L.T. calls for armored evac, and about 45 minutes later some Bradley AFVs and an Abrams show up, and get us the fuck out of there.

Patrick got taken to the hospital at Balad, and when we finally got to see him there a few days later, one of our guys donated a Purple Heart so he could have two. One for each ass cheek.

Oddly enough, he didn’t think that was funny at all. Having to be on his stomach all day for the foreseeable future as well as having to eat a largely liquid or soft diet, kind of put a damper on his spirits.

Funny part too is that when he was about to be removed for transport out, Balad got hit by mortars, and he had to run all stiff assed to take cover. I mean hell, how much worse could it get, right? Apparently that reopened his wounds, and set him back at least a week on the healing. Poor asshole. Lol.

I heard from him a year or two later, and I’m happy to report that he healed up nicely. I hope wherever he is , he is keeping his rebuilt ass in one piece.

I love that story.

Tomorrow is another do nothing day for us. I think we’re going to chill out here and assemble a potential “trade package” to bring to Westfield. We need to get more water containers to transport back and forth, and I know elsewhere on campus there are empty jugs. Milk, orange juice, etc.

Not sure what else to bring other than what they suggested. I’m sure they’ve got a lot of what we have as well, so it makes sense to not bring shit they’ve got extra of. I’d like to get some hunting time in. Maybe I can do that tomorrow with the bow. I don’t have a tree stand, but if I get out there early enough, maybe I can snag a deer. Unlikely, but here’s to hoping.

I’ll slap another entry in when I get some time and energy Mr. Journal. I hope you enjoyed this short journey into Adrian’s past.

-Adrian

March 2011

March 1st

Mr. Journal, there are a lot of people in Westfield. I mean a lot. Well, there’s less than forty, but that seems like so many people. It was insane. People everywhere. And they were nice too! Can you imagine it? Nice people. I thought they’d all been eaten.

Weird stuff.

Yesterday we had an all hands meeting and decided that I would go to Westfield with Patty. Knowing what we knew about the huge amount of women there, we felt it’d be a good idea to bring one of our own women. Abby was too young we felt, and Patty was pretty adamant on cock blocking her and Gavin from talking again. Well, at least for now.

Gilbert said he was feeling a little meh yesterday, and today he seemed kinda under the weather. I wonder if he’s getting a cold from having met the new folks the other day. Nothing like a good old germ sharing event to shove everyone’s health into the toilet. It’s all good though. We really need to get these germs anyway, otherwise we’ll get hit by some super germ down the road and we’ll all die or something. We got him some juice to drink, and Abby babysat him all day today.

As for shit to bring, when we last met Mike mentioned that they really needed laundry detergent and hygiene supplies. Obviously I didn’t get a deer yesterday. I did go out walking in the woods, but the damn snow is so deep I couldn’t get anywhere. I’m thinking I might do a sip around with one of the snow machines to pack a trail or two so I can at least get around a bit easier.

So yesterday afternoon Patty and I went the length of Auburn Lake Road and scavenged for laundry detergent. As it happens, I left behind 8 things of it. Patty also grabbed an ass ton more clothing, as well as perfume and cologne which wound up to be pretty fruitful. Mr. Journal, women love clothing. They also like to smell nice. They’re also willing to trade well for those things. We found six more jugs of water to fill for them as well, and I grabbed another tube of toothpaste. Gilbert made us bring one of the containers of salt I got awhile back, which also turned out to be a great idea.

Auburn Lake Road yesterday and today was a little treacherous. The weather has been fine, a little cold maybe, but the real danger is the steady stream of fucking dead people. We had to kill six more yesterday while we were checking houses. Fortunately they were really spread out, and Patty was able to pop them with her .22. I wound up killing one with that little hatchet I have. I do not like using that hatchet man. It got stuck in the head of that Tera chick in Westfield, and it got stuck in the head of the dude I killed yesterday too. I really need to source out a machete or a more substantial short sword.

My kingdom for a Kukri.

The drive to Westfield was uneventful. We timed it to arrive right before lunch like Mike asked us. I knew roughly how to get to the school from my recon trips before the Sean bullshit, and really all I had to do was follow the plowed roads. They’re only moving on a few roads really, and they all lead to the school or the farm.

Patty pointed out where her house was, and we stopped there after our visit. I’ll share that after. Mike filled us in when he was on campus on how to get into the school, and we did what he told us to. They have two gaps in their vehicle wall that are blocked by a truck or van they can back out of the way. We pulled up to the gate, flashed our lights, honked our horn, waved etc, then we drive slowly around the school to lead the undead away from the gate.

When we got to the opposite side of the school, we gun it, and by then they have the van moved out of the way. We pull in, they move the van back, and viola, we’re in there like swimwear. The whole time one or both of the two guards on the roof have their rifles trained on the gate to shoot any stragglers that make their way inside the parking lot.

We parked, and literally Mike came out to greet us with an entourage of people. Mostly women, as advertised. I felt so popular. I think the women have been a little starved for fresh male meat, and I really think as a tall, masculine fella, I was what the doctor ordered. I had to play hard to get all day from the flirting women. It was really weird getting hit on like that too. It’s been awhile since I’ve been hit on at all. Let alone treated like a piece of meat. Hm. Food for thought, right?

Patty was well received. She actually knew two of the women from around town, and once in with those two, it was like a gossip festival. During the lunch we shared the girls just chattered on like squirrels sharing their best nut hideouts. They were talking so fast I could barely make out what they were saying. Prada this, zombie that. Tuned 'em right the hell out.

Mike and I laughed. I met a lot of folks today, and to a one, they were nice people. I saw that Chad guy again too. He kinda sat all by himself in the corner. I think he’s fruits of the poisonous tree if you know what I mean. Being Sean’s flunky is no longer cool or beneficial for him. I think he was also one of those guys who had a job that’s entirely useless now. Didn’t seem to me like anyone even spoke to him the whole time I was there. I actually took the time to point out to Mike that he could be a problem if he was kept ostracized from the group.

Social outcasts often lash out, and the last thing a place like this needs is an unhappy person with access to weapons. God forbid he got to their fuel or food supply and decided to exact some kind of vengeance. I suggested Mike or someone actively try and get him involved with their culture. No sense holding a grudge against him because he played the cards he was given. Not sure if Mike agreed with me or not, but at least I said my peace.

I was thanked a lot. I think they all really wanted to get rid of Sean. I seriously mean ALL when I say it too. Everyone there seemed to hate the guy. I guess sometimes all it takes is a pebble to move a mountain I guess. I’m glad no one seemed hostile towards us. Lots of talk as well rotated around their election tomorrow. It seemed like Mike was the hands down favorite to win it all, but a few folks suggested that Goldman (the doctor) take on the job. She’s pretty smart (no shit, right?) and personable as well. I think she’d do just fine.

Gavin, to his credit, hung on Patty’s ass the whole time asking about Abby. It’s cute. He obviously likes her. He’s also taken the initiative and is talking to Patty directly, which is pretty ballsy. I think some of the girls in the school went to bat for him as well, saying he really is a nice kid. Patty’s stance on the cockblocking might be softening. We’ll see when we meet them again.

Mike gave me the tour of the first floor, and most of the second floor as well. He pointed out all their housing areas, communal areas, and general resources. He said their food and weaponry were mostly stashed in the basement under lock and key, and that I wasn’t “that good a friend” yet. I had to laugh at him. I like Mike a lot.

We concluded our day with the trade. Patty was our chief negotiator. She’s really good at it, especially when it comes to selling the women the stuff they want. They were mega-moist over the clothes and perfume. The laundry detergent went over well too.

When it was all said and done, Patty managed to score a crank radio for us to use, ten gallons of gasoline, two more bottles of milk, another dozen eggs, and a chicken. Luckily it was a dead chicken, otherwise I’d have to kill it, and I really wasn’t in the mood to kill a chicken. Don’t get me wrong though, I’ll kill the shit out of a chicken right now if I have to. We’re going to eat it tomorrow for dinner.

When we left we agreed that we would meet again on the 7th at our place, at about noon. Being able to sit down and share a meal I think is really nice. Eating together is a bonding experience. Plus it allows us to shoot the shit about whatever before we get down to business.

We stopped at Patty’s family home on the way out. The roads weren’t plowed so I dropped the plow on our truck and cleared the way. Patty got pretty emotional as we got out of the truck. I had to be on guard doubly because we’d driven by undead to get there, and Patty was just checked out entirely. She was on auto-pilot hardcore.

I had to give her a hug and just hold her a couple of times when we were inside because she just couldn’t handle the memories. The house had been emptied of most of the usable stuff by other people, but she was able to get some pictures, and mementos that meant something to her and Abby. Seeing pictures of Randy and Charles was sort of painful for me, and I can’t even imagine what it was like for her. To lose them so suddenly and painfully like that? Awful shit Mr. Journal.

I lost myself there for a minute. Wasn’t sure what else to say. It’s tough talking about this stuff.

I can deal with violence, I can deal with physical pain, and I can deal with gore, but when the emotional stuff is put on me, I can feel cracks forming in the great wall of Adrian. Maybe that’s the part of me that’s still human? Maybe that’s the part of me I need to foster instead of hide? I don’t know anymore. It is funny that I have these weird retrospective moments every now and then. Maybe that’s just normal? I wish I had this life figured out.

I want to so badly to earn whatever time I have left, but it’s like I am being tested over and over. I try to do the right thing, but at every turn it seems like I am either forced into making a decision that no matter what, I feel terrible about after. Maybe that’s exactly what’s happening? This is all just a big fucking test.

I should’ve gone to church as a kid. Bottom line.

After Patty gathered what she could from her empty home, we left. I had to kill a shambler in the yard which was sort of ugly. It was a huge bastard, and Patty sort of freaked because it was one of her co-workers before everything. She was so out of it from crying and whatnot she actually greeted the guy before she realized what was going on. I didn’t want to mess around with the hatchet, so I just capped him with the Glock. Patty stood there in complete shock as he bled out into the driveway. We were off after that.

Our trip home was uneventful, though we did hit five more undead on Route 18 and Auburn Lake Road. I feel more confident using the plow to hit them now that I’ve done it a bit. I can set the plow to the correct height and I know about what speed I should be at to do it safely. It’s still gross as balls, and I think we need to take the time to clear the bodies out of the road shortly. It’s starting to feel like a morbid four mile long string of juicy speed bumps.

Abby as you’d expect got really emotional when we got back and saw all the stuff. All of her stuff. She got really angry too at one point. She’s definitely got a temper that one. I guess her beef was about the fact that her mom essentially “disturbed” the sanctity of their old house. Almost like Patty was a tomb-robber or something. I can see that actually. Some things are best left as memories I suppose. Makes me start evaluate whether or not forgetting might actually be an effective coping mechanism.

Bah. Forgetting isn’t an option. My dreams will see to that.

Next couple of days I think I’m going to beat some snowmobile paths into the woods around here. I’m betting that’ll draw more of the undead into the area, which might not be a bad thing. If they continue to meander towards campus at this rate, they’re just making it easy for us to kill them. If I’m a little lucky, I’ll get some additional time behind the bow and maybe get a deer or five.

I bid you adieu Mr. Journal! Godspeed.

-Adrian

March 3rd

Something is wrong.

Something is very wrong.

I always knew there was something going on just behind stage left, and somewhere up above in this grand theatre of life, someone has started turning on lights, and I tell you what... this isn’t Romeo and Juliet, it isn’t Cats either, it’s a fucking freak show.

Campus has been sliding downhill since the explosion at STIG, and between last night and tonight, things have gotten much fucking worse. We can’t leave Hall E right now. There are too many undead outside on campus.

At about three am last night I woke up from an exceptionally fucking strange dream. In the dream I was sitting in a fairly small white room with two other people in it with me. We were arranged around a small, white round table, and in the center of that table there were three items. The first item was a gleaming silver sword. The second item was a small book. The third item was some kind of religious symbol. I think it was either a cross, or maybe a Star of David. But it could’ve been a statue of Buddha too. I don’t remember now. I just remember it was religious or something.

I remember looking at the two other people sitting at the table with me, but I can’t remember who they were. I remember now that they looked very familiar, but for the life of me I simply cannot place their names or faces. We couldn’t have been more than three feet from one another, but no matter how loud I shouted, they couldn’t hear me. It was like there was a whole world between us instead of just an arm’s reach.

At some point, and it felt like forever to be honest, the table slowly started spinning, and after a million slow revolutions, the table came to a stop with the three items arranged directly in front of us. The person to my left had the cross, or the crescent, or whatever it was in front of them, and the person to my right had the sword. In front of me was the book.

The items slid all on their own a few inches until they were almost touching us, and then I woke up. When I woke up, I was here in Hall E, but things were different. The room I was sleeping in was larger than normal, and I was in a double bed instead of a single. In the bed with me was Cassie. When I woke up, I sat up like a bolt, and she rested her hand on my thigh, and I just knew instantly I was safe. I sat back and rested my head on the pillow and she rolled over to face me.

I’m crying. Thinking about seeing her face just a breath away is breaking my fucking heart right now. I don’t know if I can handle this. I don’t think there’s enough man left in me anymore to deal with this shit. I’m just not strong enough.

She leaned in and kissed my forehead, and rested against me, pressing her warm body against mine. I can still feel her right now. My skin is still tingling with her warmth, and I have the scent of her hair fixated in my mind. I wasn’t quite aware I was still dreaming, and for a moment, I forgot about the way things really are. I know in my dream we sat there for what seemed like hours, but when she finally spoke again, it was all taken away from me in an instant.

“Adrian, it’s almost time to wake up.” Her voice was like a spring breeze in the morning. Right after the weather turns warm for the first time, and you know summer is really coming.

I said back, “No, there’s still plenty of time left to be together.”

She let out the longest sigh I’d ever heard, and said back to me, “Our time is over baby. There’s someone else out there for you.”

I remember opening my eyes in the dream, and looking at her. I couldn’t stop wondering why she would say that to me. We loved each other? I looked long and hard at her, and there was no anger, no malice, and no sense of disappointment. She looked at me with love and affection and…..

jesus I can’t do this…

And she looked at me, and I knew she was dead. I know it more than I know how to breathe. I know it more than I feel the guilt in my heart over not having gone for her that day. It’s my burden to bear for the rest of my days, and I don’t need to see her body to know it. When I looked at her again in the dream I had tears rolling down my cheek into my pillow.

She nodded at me. She knew what I was thinking. I broke down sobbing. She pushed herself against me firmly, and draped an arm around me. If I think about it now, I can still feel it on me. That welcome pressure that tells you someone is there, and everything will be okay. You’re safe, I have you…..

The last thing she said before I snapped awake was this; “You must prepare yourself. Trials and tribulations are the way of the world now, resting is not part of what judges our worth. Everything happens for a reason Adrian. Sometimes we don’t understand when things happen, and sometimes we never understand. Just understand I always loved you, will always love you, and that you are needed by more than just me now. Someone must be the memory.”

I woke up to Patty and Abby standing above me, trying to wake me. They tell me I was screaming bloody murder. They said I was screaming Cassie’s name over and over, and crying. I don’t recall much of that because the girls got me sleeping again, and I woke up with the dawn.

My pillow was still damp from the crying, and unless I’ve gone completely insane, my pillow smells like her. For a moment I sat there on the side of my bed, cradling my pillow in my arms inhaling deeply, trying to absorb her smell.

Maybe I have gone insane.

Patty and Abby couldn’t sleep that night after waking me. They were too shaken by the sight of me screaming to get back to sleep. When I made my way downstairs to eat something, they looked at me as if I’d been stabbed. I guess I looked horrible.

Patty gave me a glass of juice, and cooked me an egg. I vaguely remember eating it. I think I enjoyed it. I don’t remember to be honest. At some point this morning after I finished eating I realized that Patty and Abby were sitting at the table with me. I guess I was so out of it I didn’t notice they were there.

Patty slid around the table to me and for a moment I had a flashback to my dream. Three people sitting at a round table, right? But something was off, this wasn’t what I was dreaming about. Mother Williams put her hand on top of mine, and we sat there for a minute in silence. Finally she asked me the million dollar question.

“Adrian, what did you dream about last night?” Her voice was quiet. Abby leaned in closer and rested her elbows on the table.

I told them everything. Just like I wrote it above Mr. Journal. While I was talking they sat listening, and when I started to cry, they joined me. It wasn’t pretty. Today was the first time I let everything out to someone about Cassie. The women were just wrecked. Cassie always used to say that the one thing she couldn’t handle was watching a man cry. I think the Williams ladies might be in the same boat.

I can only hope they don’t judge me as I judge myself. I am my worst critic. The hero revealed for his true nature. The coward. The sheep in wolf’s clothing.

Once we gathered ourselves, and I’d purged the glut of emotions running through me, Patty took my hand in both of hers, and got my attention. “Adrian, there’s something we need to tell you.”

I perked up and my head cleared. Usually when someone says something like that to me, there’s danger involved. What Patty said broke my heart. Shattered it like glass really.

“Before Charles died he and I were having very strange dreams about people.” She looked over at Abby, and then Abby spoke up.

“I’ve had some strange dreams as well. Not just, like, weird dreams, but like, WEIRD dreams.” Abby looked very small and scared when she said that.

Patty continued, “Charles and I talked about them, and eventually we figured out that we were only dreaming about people we knew that had died.”

I didn’t get it right at first, and I guess my expression told her I was lost.

“Adrian have you had a dream about me at all?”

“No.”

“Have you dreamt about Abby?”

“No.”

Abby chimed in then, “What about Gilbert? Have you dreamt about Gilbert?”

“I don’t think so.” It was starting to make some sense.

“Adrian I didn’t have a dream about Randy or Charles until after they were killed downtown.” Patty let go with one hand to wipe her eyes. She was crying again. I can remember how red her eyes were.

I started to nod, and before you know it, I was sobbing again. What a tough guy huh?

I don’t think I can say this any more bluntly, but the living only dreaming of the dead. We sat at the table and cried, and discussed it, and cried some more. None of us have had a single dream about someone still alive in recent memory. It would seem as if though our dreams made this switch right about the end of June, when this all started.

Are we dreaming of ghosts?

I can handle zombies. I can handle murderous survivors. I think, given enough time, I can even handle my guilt. I don’t know if I can wrap what’s left of my sanity around the idea that ghosts are in my head at night. I just don’t think I can handle that. There’s no real choice in the matter though is there? I either find a way to cope, I go insane, or I die.

After our talk we decided that there was no more that could be achieved on the subject. Now that it was out in the open, we could at least have dialogue about it. I geared myself up for a campus patrol, and just as I was about to leave my bedroom, I caught sight of something moving outside.

I hunkered down, and went to the window slowly. Zombies in the middle of campus. Dozens. More than dozens. Maybe a hundred of them. Shambling, meandering, staggering, and looking directly at Hall E. I pulled my curtain aside to get a better look, and Abby burst into my doorway. She started to tell me what I already knew, but stopped when she saw me looking out the window.

I grabbed my radio and called for Gilbert. He didn’t realize it until he looked out a window, but his house was surrounded as well. I went down to the living room and looked out the windows over my barricades. I did a quick count and just in the street and yard areas I counted fifty. I could see more down the way towards the bridge.

The three of us all watched them out of the windows for what seemed like eternity. I don’t know what to do. We need to kill them, but I’m not sure how we do that without leading all of them to our front door. I know Hall E is strong, but is it strong enough to hold back a few hundred hungry, lost souls?

One way or the other, I think we will find out tomorrow. I’m very worried though. Mike is coming here to visit us for another trade meeting the day after next. I don’t want them to roll onto campus and straight into the fucking maw of doom. If they get killed now, after all we’ve just achieved, I’ll be very, very unhappy.

We’ve been devising plans all evening in the dark. There’s enough of a charge in the batteries from the solar panels to keep the furnace going tonight. We were worried letting the gas generator run would attract them to us, but I think that’s silly. They’re all standing still, looking straight at this building.

I just looked out the window again. They’re still there, and they’re still staring straight at us. I cannot even begin to tell you how creepy it is to look out the window into my formerly safe home, and see a mob of undead illuminated in milky moonlight. Surreal.

Tomorrow we’re going to start doing something about this. Wish us luck Mr. Journal. With any luck at all, I’ll live to write again. After I save this entry, I’m going to finish packing up everything I need if we have to relocate in a hurry. Campus might not be an option anymore.

-Adrian

Oh. I almost forgot.

They are all holding books. Every single one of them. Just one book each, and from what we can see, there is no rhyme or reason to the books. They’re each simply clutching a book.

Something is very wrong with the world, and that’s saying something.

- About The Author -

CHRIS PHILBROOK is the creator and author of Adrian’s Undead Diary as well as the popular webfiction 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, or follow Chris on Facebook at www.facebook.com/ChrisPhilbrookAuthor for special announcements.

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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