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. Journ
al. 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.
Midnight (Adrian's Undead Diary) Page 11
