Cassie (Adrian's Undead Diary Book 8)

by Chris Philbrook

  Kind of shocking. I didn’t expect everyone to be willing to help. I mean, obviously there are people who have little to nothing to offer for a task like that, but for so many to simply offer up whatever they had to help is very humbling.

  Step one of the plan is roll to the gated community and clear it. We’re going to roll out in a large team of about ten with the deuce so we can get inside the gates, and set up camp after we clear it out. We’re anticipating clearing out the exterior areas and a single house on day one. We’ll batten down the hatches overnight in that house, and then we’ll start clearing the rest of the houses in the neighborhood immediately on the day following.

  Once the entire neighborhood is clear, and we’ve assessed the situation as far as supplies and fortifications are concerned, we’ll initiate step two of the plan.

  Step two is preparation for the lure. We need a large set of lure locations that will draw in from a wide area. Therefore, we need it to be either very loud, or very visible, or both. Now wherever we lure the undead to needs to be where we can kill them, preferably efficiently. As I said a hundred times, we do not have enough bullets to do this with guns.

  Our initial idea was to lure them to the Factory, and kill them there, Alamo style, but quite frankly, we have no frigging way of killing hundreds let alone tens of thousands of undead there. I mean our options at the Factory basically boiled down to throwing rocks off the roof to kill them all, or taking the HRT out for a spin, and attempting to drive over a few thousand packed in undead.

  All aboard the failboat, if you please.

  We spun through multiple ideas. Lure them to the college basketball arena? Wasn’t feasible. Too many entrances and exits to seal, too many levels and stairwells, plus there was too high a chance that the arena became an emergency shelter that day, and was still filled with the dead. Opening it would make our lives worse. What about underground? There’s a small traffic tunnel under a highway overpass we might be able to block off one end of. Lure them in then… what? Blow the overpass up and collapse it on top of them? Besides, the tunnel had zero visibility, which was part of the plan.

  Fire? Fuck fire.

  So we started thinking of places that we could either seal off, or allow us to use some of our existing supplies or weapons in a vastly more sufficient manner. We’ve already learned bombs and explosives are marginally effective, see my fire comments above, and I already said we don’t have nearly enough bullets. However… Kevin has an ample amount of Semtex on hand from his time in England. Semtex is plastic explosive, and plastic explosive, if used correctly, can easily bring down a whole building.

  Quan is the closest thing we have to a demo expert. It also helps that Martin and Blake are technically intelligent. These three men working together gave us the inspiration for the plan we’ve settled on. The only way we can efficiently use the Semtex to kill undead is to create either enough shrapnel to guarantee strikes to the brain, or to create a situation with the explosives that will result in a catastrophic event, destroying the entire body, or so much of it that they won’t be a threat anymore. We need to make something really big blow up.

  We needed this all to happen in a place that didn’t need significant clearing before hand, and preferably was nearby the downtown area I’d be heading into. A shorter trip to the explosion site would hopefully mean we'd catch more in it.

  I thought of our time at the hospital, and the surrounding geography, and immediately had the perfect solution. Well, let's settle on calling it a good idea. I asked how much Semtex we had, and how much Semtex we’d need to bring a building down. We had enough for a few decent sized buildings, or one really large one. It’d depend on whether or not we had the time to place the explosives appropriately into the load bearing supports of the structure. We’d need a construction drill, which fortunately we had.

  I asked if we had enough explosives to bring down a parking garage.

  Turns out, we do. Two or three easily Quan said.

  And after going over a few details, and ironing out some questions, our initial plan was in motion. We are going to move to the parking garage at the hospital, a mere ten blocks from Cassie’s workplace, as well as the parking garage sort of near the Factory for two large apartment buildings on the edge of the city. The hospital garage is four stories tall, and the apartment garage is four or five stories.

  On the top floor of the garage we are going to build a massive fire. Quan says he has some ideas on pyro shit he can mix up to make the fire burn very bright, and last a good long time. I should note that he said that with a very peculiar smile on his face. While we set up the fire on the top level, we are going to drill and load explosives into the concrete pillars on the first two levels, ensuring that when we blow the explosives, the entire garage goes down in a heap. We’ll do this of course when the garage has drawn in a few thousand undead, hopefully ten thousand each or so. To assist in the overall lure factor, we are going to bring some spare working car batteries, find a car in the garage with a car alarm, jury rig the car with the new battery, and set off the car alarm. Blake has assured us he knows how to set them up to go off indefinitely.

  Once we have a full house of undead moving up to the top floor of the garage, Semtex goes boom, pillars go kaplowie, the garage collapses, and we make zombie brie. Worst case scenario, the explosion and collapsing garage structures will make such a tremendous racket everything in a five mile radius will come a-shuffling to find out what’s going on.

  While all that’s happening, we slip into the heart of downtown, and I try to find Cassie, or at least some kind of information as to what happened to her that day. I have a sinking suspicion that I won’t have to search too far and wide for her body. My bet is I’ll find her crashed car nearby, or she’ll be a starved husk in her office kitchen.

  Not sure what I’m going to do if I have to put her down. I might need to lean on my friends to get that done for me. I’m now very glad Kevin will be there. If there’s anyone in this whole world I want there with me to do this, it’s him.

  I know this sounds hasty, but we start tomorrow. We’re packed and ready to go with the HRT, one humvee, and the Deuce to visit the gated neighborhood. While we’re doing that, another small team is heading to the Factory to get ready for a quick recon from there of the parking garage close to them. For the first time in a long time, we’re not worried about making too much noise.

  We’re worried we might not make enough noise.

  -Adrian

  February 20th

  I’m writing this from Spring Meadows. Spring Meadows is the gated community that we’d been eyeing for some time, and visited yesterday. As you can clearly tell, I’m still alive, and I am happy to report that we met some survivors that didn’t shoot us. I think I might look into having them Sainted.

  I’m not sure quite how we made it all the way to this phase of the planning without having the realization that there could be people living in the community, much like we ourselves wanted to. Silly in retrospect that none of us even considered the possibility that someone else was using the area already.

  When we arrived at Spring Meadows yesterday morning we knew immediately there were probably survivors inside the walls. Spring Meadows is large, 18 houses large, all on about two acres each. It’s a central road leading into three cul de sacs arranged like a cross, or ankh. Six houses on the straight road in, then four houses arranged on the circles at the end of each of the three roads branching off. Surrounding all of this luscious, previously high valued property is an eight foot tall, two foot thick concrete wall covered in red bricks and ivy, and topped with ornamental wrought iron spikes. Looks classy from a distance, but it means fucking business.

  The main gate to the community is also wrought iron looking, but is actually very sturdy steel with a coating to age it with a neat looking patina. Just outside the gate is a guard house with the controls to open the gate. When we arrived the controls were inoperative, but the gate opened with little fuss. Espec
ially when we asked the locals politely and talked to them. Insert smiley face for avoiding violence.

  Our first huge tip off to the presence of survivors was the number of dead bodies arrayed right at the gate. Not undead bodies mind you, actually dead bodies. I’d guess at twenty or thirty, all close enough to have been killed with melee weapons from through the gate. It told us someone inside had killed undead outside, and likely fairly frequently, and recently based on the condition of the corpses. Dead bodies rot pretty fast, and many of these looked mighty fresh.

  So with our team in the front of the gate like that with likely survivors, we formulated a new plan: try and talk to the people.

  I mean talking has gone so well for us in the past right?

  I sent one of the humvees away and around the corner of the brick wall so it was out of sight of the main gate, and obscured by some trees, but in a spot where they had a healthy line of fire, and approach should we get shot at. Once they were set up, I got on the HRT’s loudspeaker and let out a quick holler, announcing our peaceful presence at the gate, and asking if anyone on the inside would be willing to talk to us via radio, or in person if possible.

  As you’d suspect, we received no reply for several minutes. Long enough for them to gather their weapons, and get themselves into shooting positions at the two closest houses of course. Ethan was with us, leaning over the hood of humvee twenty feet behind me, and through his M24's scope he had their two shooters eyeballed long before they were ready to fire on us. Finally, after sending my second message out, a tall man and woman came down the straight portion of the road towards us. I was going to go out to greet them but Kevin told me to toss his salad, and he went out instead. The Warden takes his job seriously, despite his clever use of the English language.

  The couple were tall as I said, and both blonde. They looked Nordic. Swedish or Norwegian or something. Hawkish facial features, long arms and legs, and very clean. They looked like they’d managed to get all this way after the end of the world without missing a single shower. Pretty folk, especially considering the state of the world. Both of them had a blade and a pistol on their belts. They had slate-like faces until they got to about forty yards away from the gate. Once they saw the humvee, the deuce, and the military issue hardware all over us, their expressions changed immediately. They had confidence before, but after that moment, you could feel their unease. I knew immediately that these people were used to being safe, and having the upper hand. Now they looked like they felt the opposite might be the case with us. Some folks are easy to read.

  Kevin had his throat mic turned to on, and we could kind of hear them, but the sound was utter garbage. The man spoke first. He introduced himself as Anders, and the woman as Agnes. They politely explained that the Spring Meadow area was their area, under their control, and they were unable to share any of their dwindling supplies, and that they had ample ability to protect themselves should we object with them. They were polite, but insistent. Kevin tried to talk to them in circles, similarly to how we'd talk to English speaking locals in Iraq, asking them the same questions over and over again in different ways to see if we'd get a different answer. I felt like he was losing them though. After about that I had enough and walked up to talk with the two of them myself. Ethan shat an acorn on the spot and thumbed his safety to off. If either of their shooters in the houses did anything funny, they’d be dead.

  I introduced myself as Adrian. I watched their eyes judge me. They saw the Mohawk and instantly thought less of me. I feel very… Road Warrior-esque when I meet people. They don’t see the fun and humor in having a Mohawk. They take it sheerly on face value. They only think “likely violent and or flesh eating moron who is immature.” I might need to rethink this haircut if we keep meeting people.

  I told them plain and simple that we were from a settlement outside of the city, and we were making runs for supplies into the city, and we saw their community, and thought it would be absolutely perfect as a secondary place to reinforce and stage from. Walled, gated, large houses that were well spaced, and lots of lawn and garden areas that could grow a lot of food. I essentially framed my talk about how it was awesome that they had already secured the place, how happy we were for them, and how much of a shame it was for us that they were already there.

  Agnes and Anders both agreed with me on all counts, and were civil and pleasant. After asking a few questions about us and our and various locations, they became far more comfortable, and started to ask us about how we able to go into the city. I told them we had military men on our side, and fuel still, as well as ammunition and whatnot. Without sounding threatening, I made it clear that we were armed, able, and willing to do whatever it was that needed to be done to stay alive, and help others around us stay alive. I exuded confidence, and competence. I tried to avoid seeming arrogant.

  That’s when they opened the gate, and invited us in. Three of us went inside and headed for the first house to get out of the street. Just about at the same time a few undead had managed to catch up with us, and they needed to be dispatched by one of us with a halligan. It made a lot of sense for us to all move inside the gate, I asked them if that was okay, and they agreed, so we did.

  Inside the first neighborhood house Kevin and I sat down with the two who’d met us, as well as a few others. Three more adults all armed with side arms, though not holstered, as well as two younger teenagers. They looked hungry, and a little cold, but they also looked hardened. Like survivors. Like people who’d been through it and were still kicking. I had respect for these people right from the jump.

  From what I gathered, there are four families left in the neighborhood. Agnes and Anders are the Jessen family. They have two kids, a 13 year old boy, and a 14 year old girl. Other families include the Winthrops (mom and dad plus two kids and an uncle), the Cartwrights (mom and dad plus two kids), the Whites (mom plus two kids), and the Littrell family (mom and dad plus four teenage kids). That’s a grand total headcount of 22 souls. Most of which are less than 18 years of age.

  Luckily, the youngest of the kids is just 10, so even the littlest of them is still somewhat productive.

  An hour turned into two, two turned into four, and before you know it, they’re sharing some of their small amounts of freshly made beer with us, and we’re sharing some of our fresh food with them. It was really pleasant. We had brought enough food for days with us, so as a gesture, we gave them lunch out of our stocks. We ate chicken salad made with Melissa’s new homemade mayo, and some potato salad, also made with the mayo. These people absolutely, positively devoured our food. I don’t want to say they were starving, but I think they hadn’t had chicken in a very long time.

  After the food and the subsequent stomach aches from eating all that food, we asked them about their situation. The four families still here have been here since that day. They happened to be home that day for whatever reason, so they didn’t get caught up in the bullshit in the city. They also managed to miss the large scale bombings late in the summer of 2010. (Which apparently were enormous and loud. From the sounds of it, there were several runs late in the summer on the city, and based on their descriptions of the noise of the bombs, it was probably a huge drop of cluster munitions. They’re pretty unique when they go off.)

  Anyhoo, they knew shit was bad, so they got some chains from their sheds, chained the gates shut early on, parked their Escalades and Expeditions against the gate to prevent ramming, and hunkered down. Lucky for them many of the nice homes in the community already had large organic hobby gardens in the back. They had a ripe harvest that first fall, and with careful rationing, they made it through to last spring. They expanded their gardens over the year, and now they’re essentially vegetarians, and self sufficient. Miraculously, they have been able to save rainwater and snow for hydration up to this point. Of course it’s been really dry the last week or two, so they’re starting to redline a bit.

  I wonder how you make a pond?

  They have had to fend off severa
l groups over the last year and a half. Many more than us, but with such an excellent wall and gate, as well as multiple firearms they’ve managed to do well for themselves.

  They were still jealous of our chicken, and I think that was the straw that broke the camel’s back for them. As we were winding down into the early evening they made the offer for us to stay in the house inside the community to talk more with them. They needed some technical help fixing things the next day, and we didn’t want to drive back in the dark unless necessary, and frankly, having the bulk of today to spread our people out and bullshit with them was super helpful in coming to the agreement we just came to with them.

  They want to join our “network of friends.”

  Essentially they wish to become like the Factory is to Bastion. A linked but separate settlement that can offer assistance both ways when needed. An affiliate I think is a good word. Safety in numbers and all that jazz. Plus, they’ve got a solid ten or twelve acres of land that we could easily transform into farmland for them when winter is over. God forbid we have more crops growing, right?

  We told them we were preparing to mount a large mission into the city within a week or two, and that we’d love be able to use Spring Meadows as a launching point to help us with timing the operation. We didn’t say what the mission was for, but they were more than willing to assist us. A chicken leg helped seal that deal, I shit you not.

  We’re still here tonight, socializing and whatnot. These are nice people. People that had money before the end of the world, but people that worked for it. New money people. Workers. Self made. Not trust fund assholes. They’re still here because they busted ass, and made good decisions that day and every day since.

  It’ll be a pleasure slowly bringing them into our fold. If tomorrow goes well, we’ll leave them with one of our walkies. Not our military comms, but just a walkie. We can’t quite reach Bastion from here, but we can contact the Factory, and the Factory can contact us at Bastion. Better than nothing, and it’ll give them some much needed reassurance.