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 worl
d 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.
Midnight (Adrian's Undead Diary) Page 3
