Cassie (Adrian's Undead Diary Book 8)
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ADRIAN’S UNDEAD DIARY
Chris Philbrook
Book Eight
CASSIE
Adrian’s Undead Diary: Cassie
Copyright © 2012 Christopher Philbrook
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.
Published in the United States of America
First Publishing Date December, 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
"A kick-ass protagonist. Bad-ass zombies. A cool-ass thrill ride. Adrian's Undead Diary is easily one of the best zombie tales out there. Chris Philbrook is on my keeper shelf." Rachel Aukes, best selling author of 100 Days in Deadland.
"Well-rounded and intriguing story arcs, three dimensional characters, and the perfect blend of humor and horror create the exquisite amalgam that is Adrian's Undead Diary. Philbrook earns his place in The Bookie Monster's hall of fame best reads." Shana Festa, The Bookie Monster & author of Time Of Death.
"It’s been a wild journey down the Adrian’s diary rabbit hole. I am a huge fan of the diary entry format, which works exceedingly well for this series. Chris has also managed to do something with his books that most authors cannot do; keep the story fresh! Each of the characters has earned a place in my head for their strengths and frailties. The good guys are well written and complex. Likewise the antagonists often have logical reasons for what they do; this sometimes paints them in a grey light that blurs the lines between who is good and who is actually evil. The characters make the story compelling and many a night I’ve stayed up late to read ‘just one more entry’ to find out what becomes of them. Now that the series is winding up what shall I do with my evenings? Oh yes, the author’s other series, Elmoryn or Tesser will do nicely! I look forward to reading all of the future labors of love by Mister Philbrook and when I am at the end of ‘Cassie’ I am sure I will be both sad to see it end and satisfied with how it ended." Mark Clodi, Author of The Zombie Chronicles.
"Walking Dead < Adrian's Undead Diary. The End." J.C. Fiske, author of The Renegade Series.
"Adrian's Undead Diary series is a must have for your zompoc collection. The only time I only put it down was when the battery on my Kindle died. Adrian is the kind of hero I want on my zompoc team." Ben S Reeder, Author of The Zompoc Survivor Series.
“Why did I not know about this? I recently met up with Chris, and of course talk turned to our perspective novels. Chris was kind enough to get me started on his series … and Holy shit… Are you looking for some good hearted zombie romping fun with a side of mushy romance, but still able to keep thing politically correct? Well, then stay the hell away from this set, Adrian's Undead Diary is fast, action packed and covered in zombie flesh. Chris Philbrook has masterfully brought you a gem of an old school zombie war log that will keep you burning the pages until your fingers are numb.” W.J. Lundy Author of The Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Series.
“Surviving unfiltered from an unlikely hero, intense from the first word. A must read.” Dave Lund, author of the Winchester Undead Series.
"A realistic account of the zombie apocalypse that sucks you right in. A great series!" T.W. Piperbrook, author of the Contamination series.
“Ever read a book that's been sitting in your Kindle (or on your shelf, if you're still reading them that way) and kick yourself for not picking it up earlier? That's exactly what I did when I got a few pages into this one. At first, I didn't really like Adrian, but the story sucked me in and the character grew on me. Eventually, I realized that Adrian was one of the most real characters I'd ever come across. He's flawed (aren't we all), makes mistakes, and regrets them. He speaks the way you'd expect a thirty-something year old guy to speak and has realistic skills for someone with his background. The entire story had a great flow with plenty of tension and excitement. The best aspect of this book was the way Adrian's writing style changes slightly as he becomes more alone. By the time it ends, you can really see the effect that being so isolated is having on him. As someone that drove a truck over the road for a little while, I can tell you from experience that being alone with your thoughts for too long can have very strange results on the old noodle, and Philbrook does a fantastic job of portraying that. Don't put this one off like I did. It's a great book and you should read it now!” Ian McClellan, author of One Undead Step.
Also by Chris Philbrook:
Elmoryn - The Kinless Trilogy
Book One: Wrath of the Orphans
Book Two: The Motive for Massacre
Coming Soon:
Book Three: The Echoes of Sin
Reemergence
Tesser: A Dragon Among Us
Coming Soon:
Ambryn: The Cheaters of Death
Adrian’s Undead Diary
Book One: Dark Recollections
Book Two: Alone No More
Book Three: Midnight
Book Four: The Failed Coward
Book Five: Wrath
Book Six: In the Arms of Family
Book Seven: The Trinity
Book Eight: Cassie
Don’t miss Chris Philbrook’s free e-Book:
At Least He’s Not On Fire:
A Tour of the Things That Escape My Head
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
Auburn Lake Preparatory Academy map
Auburn Lake Vicinity map
December 2011, Continued
December 24th
December 26th
December 28th
December 31st
January 2012
January 2nd
January 4th
January 6th
January 8th
January 10th
January 13th
January 15th
January 17th
January 20th
January 22nd
January 24th
January 26th
January 28th
January 31st
February 2012
February 1st
February 2nd
February 4th
February 7th
February 9th
February 11th
And the Bombs Fell
February 14th
February 16th
February 18th
February 20th
February 22nd
February 24th
February 26th
Cassie
February 28th
March 2012
March 1st
The Crucible
March 5th
March 12th
March 19th
About the Author
Additional Online Content
AUD Merchandise
Free Short Fiction by Chris Philbrook
December 2011
Continued
December 24th
Oh the weather outside is… mediocre. We’ve had a bit of a warm streak here. The days have been right around 45 or 50, and the nights are staying at about 30. Feels like early November, not almost January. Not almost Christmas.
Officially, we are shut down for the next few days. All we are doing is preparing food for tomorrow, performing basic security tasks, basic maintenance tasks, and being human beings. I’m sick of us being human “doings.” We never relax anymore. We push, we work, we slave, and reap the meager benefits of that massive amount o
f labor. I’ve said this several times already, but it is SO MUCH work to just exist right now. I’d like to do the math sometime on how many labor hours go into each calorie we consume. I bet the ratio sucks.
Despite my ranting and raving, I am in a very good mood, and I have precious little to actually talk about. Our young guest Sylvia has dramatically reduced her violence against us when she sees us. We post a guard at her closed and locked door, and when we go in to feed her, or talk to her, she used to attack quite literally on sight. Now she sits patiently on the bed, clearly in fear of us. Michelle has taken the lead in trying to make verbal contact with her, and she has stopped attacking Michelle entirely now. Every once in awhile she will try and bite or scratch the guard at the door, but if we recoil or fight back, she’s been dropping her attempted aggression and calming down after a few minutes.
I guess that’s progress. Michelle and I have had lengthy conversations about her over dinners or lunches, and whether or not she’s a project worth working on. Michella maintains there’s no choice in the matter. We HAVE to help her. I maintain that she is a lot of work, and she is taking away from the greater good. Most of the people guarding her want to break her jaw. Hell, I already tried. In the interest of full disclosure, I'm talking about Sylvia, not Michelle. I just re-read the last few sentences and realized it could've been taken either way.
Michelle is back to teaching, which is funny, because we gave the kids a few days off for the holiday. I think it’s Hanukah right now too, so we decided to give the kids a week off. So yeah, she’s back to teaching, and yeah, she just sent the kids on break. Two steps forward, and all that jazz.
We are planning some light festivities for Christmas. A breakfast and early dinner spread for everyone. Some of the folks went out and cut down a few trees to decorate for the different dorms, and a really big tree for the cafeteria where we are gathering for the actual day. We got some toys and age appropriate gifts that the youngins should appreciate, so it should be fairly normal. Well, what passes for normal now.
Should be fun for the kids. I'm somewhat impressed and saddened by the fact that we have no practicing Jewish folks here, or practicing Buddhists, or Kwanzaans. Literally all we seem to have for folks who are interested in actively pursuing their faith is Christians. I don't like that. It's too one-flavor. Not enough variety.
No violence to speak of on or off campus. The Factory is doing okay. With all this rain they have plenty of water in storage, and despite their relative proximity to the city, there have been precious few undead. So few undead in fact, that they are actually reporting it as being “creepy.” I've made an active effort as well to stay off the inter-site internet, and avoid watching their cameras. I feel dirty when I do it, and that's not good for anyone.
MGR has been the same. We’re rotating staff regularly now to give people breaks. The only people living there permanently are Renee and Mallory. They’ve chosen the tower as the home they want to stay at permanently. Mike and Patty, previously in charge of MGR have essentially relocated back here since I got shot. I think they wanted a fresh start away from all of this, and once they were gone realized they actually want to stay here. A lot more resources here I suppose, as well as real estate. I wonder how much of it is them wanting to be closer to Abby. Their short amount of time together at the Factory was a huge step forward in gelling the three of them. Mom and daughter are back in the swing of things, and Mike is no longer the enemy. All is well in Williams-burg.
Speaking of which, tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of the arrival of the Williams family. Only Abby and Patty are left. A good batting average. Wish I was only playing baseball.
We haven’t seen a single undead near campus or on any of the video feeds in days. We are all thinking about how Sylvia may have been leading undead to us all this time. It makes sense. If she was coming and going, and not putting any undead that saw her down, then she was likely just leading them to us the entire time. I think we were lucky that she didn’t lead more to us prior to when the walls went up. Although, it does make sense that she was leading them to us all along. How else were they getting up here?
Well, I guess the whole “led and powered by evil” argument could be thrown into the mix.
But that’s depressing as shit. I don’t want to think about that just hours from Christmas, on the first Christmas Eve in some time that seems even remotely normal. I didn’t get anyone any gifts. I feel weird about that. I feel like this year, there are people I should’ve done something for. I can’t really hit the mall or anything, but I guess I could’ve gone old school and drawn a cute sleigh on some construction paper and made some cards for people. Ghetto gifts, courtesy of Adrian Ring.
I’ll wish people some Merry Christmas tomorrow, thank them for all they’ve done for me, and do my level best to show them how much I appreciate them. Maybe that’s what this is all about after all. Less about gifts, and more about showing people you care. I’m like Bob fucking Ross, only for wisdom. Getting back to basics, with Adrian Ring. Public access channels, and hopefully, if I go big, I could make it onto the PBS stations too. Maybe even the BBC.
I could be famous.
I want to write more. Nothing is stirring, except for some mice, and I am not quite tired yet. I saw a few kids running around in head to toe snowsuits the other day when we had an inch of snow, and it made me think of the last time I ever wore a snowsuit. It’s a funny and horrible story.
I think I was in third grade, and the weather had gone south during the winter. It was the last school day before Christmas break, and it had been raining and sleeting all day while we were in class. My entire family was home sick except for me, so I had to walk home from school on my own, without my brothers and sister. I don’t think Becca was in school then either, so I think she would’ve been at home already. When the weather was crappy my mom made me wear an old snowsuit that had been passed down to me. It belonged to Caleb. The feet had been worn out from years of sledding, so my mom cut them off, and I wore classy black moon boots instead. Those were also hand me downs, and had some pretty sweet duct tape patching. You remember moon boots? Later in life my brothers and I called them 'virginity guard boots.'
Anyway, the elementary school I went to at the time was at the top of a hill, and with the cold temperatures, and sleet, walking down the hill all alone (Caleb had run ahead, as he always did, and the younger brothers walked in a pack behind me) in my head to almost toe snowsuit complete with worn-down moon boots was a real motherfucker. I remember taking inch steps for the entire mile long walk trying to stay upright.
When I was about two thirds of the way home I suddenly felt my stomach lurch, and I knew instantly I had a case of the ninja shits coming on, and in a hurry. I was puckering like a fucking Olympian trying to keep back the brown tide while still making forward progress on the sidewalk that was more skating rink than anything.
Our house was on Main Street, across the road from the school geographically, and when traffic stopped to let me cross I booked it as best I could across the way. Of course Mr. Journal if you have ever tried to run while squinching up to keep from shitting yourself, you know it’s a stiff legged process. You’re more or less walking on stilts while keeping every muscle below your nose taut as hell to prevent slippage into your fucking drawers. Terrible to do, fun to watch.
Anyhoo, as I cross the street and start up the walk way to the front door I see that the entire way is covered in solid ice. It was smooth, and glassy, and the snow on both sides in the yard was far too deep to trudge through while I was so close to shitting myself. I couldn't risk bending my legs, not even an inch. Just as I took the first the step onto the surface, my mother opened the front door, and waved to me.
It was a tease and I knew it. I was so close to the safety of wooden, ice free floors, and yet the final twenty feet were clearly the most treacherous of them all. I slid my moon boots inch by inch on the glassy ice all the while yelling to my Mom, “Open the screen door! Open the
screen door! Get out of the way Mom, I gotta GO!”
Of course my Mom had no damn idea what I was yelling through the storm door, and when I finally made it to that door, she opened it for me, and I started through it, trying to get past her to the blessed bathroom where I could purge the pressure that was still building behind my asshole.
But by now Mr. Journal… you already know something goes horribly wrong.
As I stepped over the threshold of the house past my mom, both of my feet slipped on the last few inches of ice. I remember distinctly the sensation of soaring up into the air, my legs straight out in front of me as my sphincter gave in to the poop. I literally can remember seeing both vertical tips of my toes against the screen of the television. I think GI Joe was on. As I dropped down onto my back I felt the shit squirt powerfully into my snowsuit, past the back of my thighs, down my calves, and all the way down into the torn feet into my moon boots. Right after that wonderful sensation I slammed my snow hat covered skull into the icy walkway, and the tears came.
I bawled like a bitch.
I stood up, completely ignoring my mother’s attempts to pick me up and find out what was wrong. At the moment, all my crap was contained by the suit, so all she knew was that I'd fallen. I pushed her out of the way, still screaming and crying and ran directly into the shower, where I stripped out of the snowsuit, and revealed my shit covered lower half. My mom saw the wreckage, snorted something halfway between a sob of grief, and cackle of laughter, and pulled the bathroom door shut so I could clean myself off.