The road north, English Close was its name (don’t ask me what Close means), was too packed up by car accidents, and several tipped over streetlamps for us to risk a foot transit over or around, so we went around the side to the west, then up and through the northern part of Hove Cemetery to get to the corner of the fire station.
Fences and walls, Mr. Journal. Brighton has them EVERYWHERE. It’s a damp, cool version of Iraqi neighborhoods, minus the destroyed government, IEDs, VBIEDs, DBIEDs, and chaos of war. Different chaos, same walls and fences dissecting property lines everywhere. Every yard has a fence or brick wall around it. Every business has a gated wall or chain link barrier.
Like... everywhere. Soon as we get off the streets, there’s a fucking wall or fence to jump over or cut through. The back of the fire station, where it bordered the cemetery, was no different. We cut a big hole in the fence and slipped into the rear (heh) parking lot of the fire station.
Nothing in any direction in terms of threats. Brighton remains dead in many ways.
Our group did a full circuit of the building as a single force, checking all windows and doors of the fire house, as well as the windows and doors of the surrounding (facing) areas. We moved fast, even though we were a bit spent from the hard run north to get there.
I say spent but that’s an exaggeration. It was only a mile. The exhaustion came from having to manage the damned animals yipping, yapping and meowing. The daring lunges where they darted in to try and nip at our heels wasn’t fucking kosher either. My balls retracted up high enough to give me Mickey Mouse ears. Thank Oprah for that fence at the rail line.
As it has been a few days since this happened, my memory might be a bit off, but I’ll do my best here; we found more than a few undead inside the buildings surrounding. Several were left in place, as they were on higher floors, behind closed windows, and if they did manage to get out, the breaking glass would alert us, and the fall just after would more than likely kill them, or maim them.
Several were taken out with well-aimed, suppressed shots from Abby, Hal covering her as she did so. The four garage doors on the facility were made of clear heavy-duty Lexan, so we were able to see the three fire department vehicles, still parked in place. One was missing, and we don’t know what it was yet. Doesn’t matter. Likely we won’t find it. We were also still able to see the small number of flat tires, and the handful of undead firemen roaming around inside, as well as a handful of really maimed people mixed in. Blood smeared the glass in several places, and there were numerous bullet holes in both the doors, and the fronts of the vehicles, and the walls beyond.
Pretty clearly things had started off bad back in 2010, and only got worse. Briefly. Then it just ended. And then we showed up.
After yanking down a fire escape and climbing up, we smashed out a second floor window. Fagan posted guard for us at that window outside, and the rest of us cleared the dark building top-down, one cautious room at a time. It was one of the larger buildings we’ve cleared. Two story bedroom/living quarters/offices section, plus the single-story garage area where the fire trucks and gear were stored. There were no undead in the two story area, but the garage was the aforementioned mess. It took us the better part of two hours to secure the place. Hot, and sweaty, with cobwebs and mold. Unpleasant environment to work in, really. Not the worst I’ve seen, but just icky.
Chokepoint of a fire door where the two buildings met with a big chicken-wire window gave us the edge. Made it easy, all things considered. I smashed the glass out with my halligan, and then as they approached, we speared them through the opening that they couldn’t crawl through. Fish in a barrel.
Once we’d killed what we thought were all of them, we put our shoulders into the door to force it open. I think I blew a gasket doing that. For real. Popped an O-Ring and left it on the floor, no pun intended. Pun intended? We were pushing the literal dead weight of about six zombie corpses, and I saw stars I was pushing so hard. That’s what he said.
I’m full of it today. Ate my Wheaties.
Once into the vehicle bay area, the smell was bad enough to gag a maggot, and we knew we had to clear the place of threats that didn’t come to the door, then open a window or five to air it out. I myself got nauseous from it (and I don’t gag from many smells. My own smegma has given me a superhuman resistance to vile stenches) but we cleared out the space between the vehicles (I had to brain one poor fireman who was unable to walk due to legs that had been crushed by something, a car hitting him, maybe, plus he was tied down by his fireman jacket half on that was hooked on a step attached to the pumper truck.
One swing of the bar later, he was at peace, and the fire station was ours. Our in-process loot:
One ladder truck.
One larger ambulance (not quite HRT sized, but a good one nonetheless).
One pumper truck.
One empty bay. No idea what went there. Clown car?
We had to search the dead bodies, and desk drawers, and lockers where the firemen stored their civvie clothes, but we were able to retrieve all the keys for the three remaining vehicles. I wish Blake had been there. He would’ve crawled under the fuckers, lifted the hoods or whatever, and within an hour had them started, or had a parts list we’d need. I miss Blake. Good kid.
We unlocked a storage locker with ample medical supplies, and inside the ambulance there was a pretty full complement of goodies too. Some of it had gone bad, but still, overall, the haul was Grade A.
Anyway, we did our best, and took a lot of pictures with the digital cameras we brought from the ship. The nerds here aboard Reuben James are breaking down what we saw to assess how much work will go into what’s needed to get them running again, but from what I’ve gleaned in my inquiries, the trucks are in good shape.
All are diesel, which is good. Diesel fuel lasts much longer than gasoline, as we know, and diesel fuel is in much higher supply here. I’ll mention again that there’s a fuel company across the water from us. We haven’t secured it yet, but I don’t think anyone is gonna try and take it with our fleet anchored a few hundred yards away.
I’m already getting my Mad Max wet dreams rolling. I want us to modify these motherfuckers to roll hard north as we go. In military jargon, when you strap a crew-served weapon on a vehicle, it gets called a technical. Pickup trucks with .50cals on rotating poles in the back, or vans with a mortar that shoots out the roof, for example. Saw those in Iraq more than once. Watched a few rednecks troll deer deep in the forests with similarly equipped trucks.
I want that dream.
I want to drive around like a post-apocalyptic madman, goggles affixed to my face, wind blowing my Mohawk around like the sail on a fucking idiot’s land boat. I want to gun down swathes of zombies as we speed along the British road system, fully erect and unsatisfying boners in hand.
Soon, my gently throbbing. disappointing boner.
Soon.
We wound up staying there well into the hours of darkness. I think it was almost 9pm when we made the collective call to make our way back under the cover of darkness. We all had NVGs in our kit, and had done enough fighting in them while on active duty, or fucking around in them casually to make the trip pretty safely. Only Abby and Chris hadn’t done any live-fire fighting, and that loss was acceptable in the dark to us.
Move fast, get back quick, and that’s what we did, as best the frigging animals let us. We picked up an aggressive and loud late night dog train, which prevented us from being stealthy, and kept us on edge, as we couldn’t see all the animals barking at us.
So that was… shit. Days ago. Three days? Four? Time’s a little blended together right now.
Our gear heads and tech brains have gone over the pictures, and are getting together the parts and expertise we need to get at least one of the vehicles up and running on a return visit. We’ve got a meeting first thing in the morning to figure out those logistics.
In the meantime, we’ve still got a line out in the street. People getting aid, and what food
we can offer them. Hal and Kevin have worked with a couple locals, plus Chris to clear some of the more emergency-level locations of zombies in I’d say a tenth of a mile radius. Four places maybe. No more than six. Not even like, proper tactical operations. More like, “Can you come shoot this fish in this here barrel?”
Barrel fishing.
Still no zombies roaming the city proper, tactically or not, but they’re coming. We know it.
Gonna ruck out. Might hit the head to relieve some stress, if you get my drift.
I forgot to mention: Eagle-eye Williams noticed that the ground in front of the garage was littered with cigarette butts. Dozens, all in varying degrees of breakdown from rain/snow, elements.
Someone, or several someones, at many different points in the recent past had been sitting or standing in front of that garage rather recently, and they were smoking butts. When we return, we will expect trouble from our potential smokers, but then again, if we don’t find trouble of someone else’s making, we make it all on our own.
We’re an ambitious lot, in that way.
-Adrian
October 8th
Meeting this morning went well. Short entry to recap what the plan is. Otis keeps fucking with my hands as I type. He wants attention.
Of the three vehicles, the easiest to get running again, based on what they saw in our photos, is the ambulance. Also the easiest to drive back and forth, which on a first run, is something to consider.
We need at least one tire for the ambulance, which should be available in the parking lots nearby, based on the photos we took, and what we were able to remember. Some replacement hoses will be needed, and there’s a good chance the brakes will be seized up, so spare pads are coming with, as are the tools to get all that done. We’ll need a jumping kit (suitcase that jumps cars) plus some extra fluids to make sure the ambulance has brake fluid, power steering fluid, all that. The gear head we’re bringing (motor pool maniac marine Corporal Crystal Corriveau) is serving as our car paramedic, and I was pretty impressed by her in the meeting.
I’m gonna chuck this cat if he doesn’t chill out. I’m scratching your head between sentences, dude. Take a fucking valium.
We’re gonna roll out tonight at 9pm, using NVGs to get there. We’re bringing Crystal, as well as two of Lancaster’s bodyguard rangers that we haven’t worked with yet. Sgt. Maple, and Sgt. Oak.
Yes, they have tree names, and yes, those are not their real names. When I scoffed at Lancaster after he said their assumed names he shrugged, and clucked his tongue a few times.
“Opsec, kid,” he said.
“Ha. Who are they afraid of learning what their names are? The literal Devil is rolling around, and I don’t he gives a shit what their real names are. Whatever. Long as they shoot straight and can listen. Fucking Rangers, man. What kind of asshole wants to be a ranger?” I said back to him.
Kevin looked away.
We had to come up with a plan about the animals that nipped at our heels, and the best thing we got was borrowing one of the sailor’s personal airsoft guns. A few of the dudes over on Crommelin own $500 airsoft M4s, and we appropriated one of them. He gave it up with glee, and after a lengthy argument with Hal over who should be the one carrying it to keep aggressive animals away from us, I put my foot down, and now the pellet gun is mine.
I couldn’t let our one black guy be the dude who shoots animals with a pellet gun. If anyone ever reads this fucking diary, I need to keep Hal’s reputation clean. There’s enough racism issues out there as it is. Please scroll up and read my thrashing of three pricks on the deck of Reuben James as supporting evidence. I should also add this: I want to help these animals. When we are able to move safely, we’ll get them caught, and made safe. We’ll feed them, and give them a home, and make them a part of our family, but we need to get stuff done first.
So we’re headed out later tonight. Plan up is the same, though this time Kevin and Hal are leading with the NVGs, Team Paranoid Forest is in support, and Crystal, Chris, and Abby will be secondary.
I will be looking for animals to shoot with my airsoft gun, and boy do I hope I don’t have to shoot any. I should note; the gun isn’t powerful enough to really hurt ‘em. I dialed down the oomph on it so it’ll just give ‘em a sting on the ass to scare them, hopefully sending them running.
I am not a bad person.
I think.
I do have my days.
Gonna try for a nap before we leave. Gonna be a long fucking night. Otis is driving me up a fucking wall, yo.
-Adrian
October 11th
Been back for a couple days. Took me a bit to find time to make this entry. Had some shit to think about, and stuff has been… busy.
Our trip out was an almost literal, moment to moment repeat of the first journey, but with everyone carrying an extra twenty pounds of gear, and in some cases (Chris, for example) much more than twenty pounds. Replacement parts for the ambulance, plus the jumper kit, and all that. Now Maple and Oak, Lancaster’s retinue, were already loaded for bear with about 60 pounds of kit, so we were not moving as fast as the night prior. Also, with each passing hour, and no zombies of note appearing, I get progressively more and more nervous that we’re going to round a corner, and get mauled by the entire population of metro London.
It’s gonna happen. Mark my words.
The dogs. The borrowed airsoft rifle performed. I did have to adjust on the fly with Kentucky windage. The gun fires in a gentle arc, lofting the pellet up a bit then laying it down, and using an IR laser ($2,000 optic on a $500 gun) I can actually watch bright green pellets shoot out like PacMan pellets in reverse. Snap snap snap… so yeah. Had to adjust for elevation, arc, wind, and movement. I’d say I missed about half my shots, but I am happy to report none of the dogs I plinked were hurt. No worse than the bite of a horsefly.
Which sucks, but they’ll get over it.
After hitting the first few dozen shots, the dogs started to catch on that the invisible horseflies kept biting so long as they stayed on our heels. By the midway point of our journey, my airsoft rampage was no longer constant. Just the occasional plink here and there.
Relief.
The inability to move silently at night feels like such a waste of time and effort.
I took the time to convince the boys on Crommelin that their pellet arsenal was going to have to be put into patrol rotation for a bit, and they went with it, hook line and sinker. I think they were proud to lend their pewpews to the cause. We’ll run out of pellets eventually, but those of us who are clearing flats and businesses know now to keep their eyes peeled. I’ve also asked that the locals be inquired to.
We arrived around midnight, and secured the perimeter and building a second time. Took twenty minutes, and we found no threats. We posted our two rangers (the previously mentioned Team Paranoid Forest) into over watch positions, and the rest of us got to work on the ambulance, and providing security for them.
It went swimmingly for several hours. It all changed the moment AND I MEAN THE MOMENT Crystal turned the key in the ambulance’s ignition. As the engine turned over Sgt. Maple called out over our network.
“Headlights approaching from the north. Mile and a half out. Multiple vehicles, fast-moving.”
Well fuck, right? Just when we get the party started, locals crash it.
Immediate need to make a decision fell to me, as it should. I called back to Reuben James and ordered them to get William’s helo in the air, and to prepare our perimeter for a good and loud time. I asked Team Paranoid Forest to stay in place, in hiding, and then ordered Kevin and the remainder of the crew to take the fuck off as fast as they could go, running dark, driving with night vision. We had to get the ambulance back safe.
Hal told me to fuck myself, and that he was staying. Not even like, politely. Logically, sure, but not gentle in his refusal to leave. And he was right; Kevin, Abby, Chris and Crystal were more than enough muscle to get the ambulance back. It also made sense to split our g
roup of eight into two groups of four, and with what I knew I wanted to do, having another high-end shooter on hand was a bright idea.
Team B went out the fire station’s garage like a bat outta hell, heading home. As they escaped, slipping between the car accidents on the one street heading out, Hal and I shut the fire station down and took up two different positions in areas we’d cleared the other day, and were confident remained clear. I had a feeling these were our smokers, and I just knew they were heading to us. I had to see them.
Hal went up in the same building Sgt. Maple was in, and I took cover behind a large truck parked in the nearby lot. Gave me a decent view of the garage doors, and two avenues of escape. Once in my spot, I radioed to Reuben James, and told them to bring the helo up, and provide air support to the ambulance, and then remain on station to rain down hell if I called for it. I screwed my suppressor on my rifle, snapped the scary switch to scary, and took a deep, centering breath.
I briefly debating praying, but decided against it. I don’t think that line is connected right now.
Just seconds later, four vehicles rolled into the parking lot, driving fast and stopping equally so. They came up that street called English Close, using their biggest vehicle to push the car accidents out of the way. Same street our ambulance had just left on.
They rolled in with two four door sedans, a small van, and a flatbed tow truck, equipped with a… like a turret made of welded steel near the back of the cab. In that turret, was a shooter with a long-barreled L85 rifle. The bullpup design the Brits used. Silly looking machine. He provided security while the rest of the vehicles emptied. All men, all armed with brandished melee weapons, started scanning the area, looking for whoever had been doing shit at the fire station. By that I mean us. I spotted multiple sidearm holsters amongst their number, which tipped me off that they had guns, but didn’t have a lot of ammunition to spare. Smash their foes with a pipe first.
Dead Cities: Adrian's March. Part Four (Adrian's Undead Diary Book 12) Page 9
