Midnight (Adrian's Undead Diary)

by Chris Philbrook

  Once Kevin was outside he realized the sun was getting low. They must’ve been knocked out in the helicopter for an hour or more. He was so confused with the time zones, plane flight and helicopter crash he truthfully had no idea what time it was. Kevin’s watch had taken a beating in the crash, and it was history.

  “Marines! What time is it?” Kevin shouted as he looked around at the burning debris and dead bodies in all directions. They’d crashed right into the second floor outside balcony of the Punch and Judy restaurant at Covent Garden, and fallen to the grey cobblestone street below. The enormous weight of the helicopter crushed a dozen people or more in the process. Luckily there hadn’t been an explosion, but he knew they had to evacuate immediately, or they risked a spark igniting the chopper’s remaining fuel.

  One of the Marines checked his watch and hollered back to Kevin, “1900 local mate!”

  “How long ‘til sundown?” He hollered back.

  “Hour, maybe two at most.” The Marine answered without taking his eyes off his gun sights. Far off in the distance Kevin watched living people scrambling, running as fast as they could to get away from walking undead, or sprinting to escape with their looted goods. Kevin could not believe how fast society was breaking down.

  Kevin’s ear exploded with noise as his WPG earpiece burst to life. His teammates were hailing him from above in the other chopper, “Kevin, Kevin! Can you hear me, come back?”

  Kevin thought it was John F, one of his elder operators, “Fitz is that you? What the fuck man?”

  “Yeah it’s me man, you guys okay? What the hell happened, you guys did a nosedive right into that huge ass building.”

  Kevin got Henke standing by himself and surveyed the sky. A few hundred feet above them Kevin saw the helo hovering with two of the Marines at the door, pointing their L85s down at the streets below, looking for targets. He could barely make out the shape of someone’s arm waving from inside the helicopter behind them.

  Kevin waved up in return as he took in the scene and continued the conversation, “The Marine medic was bitten by Nate I think. He came back and attacked the pilot, and we went down. The pilot is dead, the copilot is dead, that medic is history, and Anna has one good leg. Otherwise we are downright brilliant.”

  “Good deal. The pilot here is saying that if you can make it on foot south by south east to the Strand there’s enough open space there for us to set down and get you. It’s about 500 feet from where you’re standing.”

  Kevin looked at the position of the sun, and oriented himself facing roughly south. The enormous twin glass roof of the market was to his left. “Alright we’ll be moving slow though, Anna has a busted foot.”

  “Roger that sir. The Marines can give sniper support from up here. Pilot says to follow our lead and he’ll walk you to the landing site.” Fitz’s voice got unintelligible as the helicopter powered up and moved above them, dropping to just above the rooftops.

  Kevin addressed his people on the ground, “Alrighty, we’re following the bird to an exfil site. The Strand, 500 feet that way!” Kevin pointed south. Kyle nodded and the Royal Marines leapt into action. Even without their leader they were professionals and acted immediately. He had tremendous respect for them, and was glad they were here. As they started to walk around the wreck of the helicopter Kevin noticed that many of the dead bodies were starting to move. Their infernal movements were hideous to him, unnatural.

  “Move move! They’re coming back!” Kevin took a running step, then realized his HK416C was still somewhere in the downed bird. He spun and jumped back inside the chopper. The copilot strained like an animal in the front when he saw Kevin enter. He had succumbed to his injuries and was trying to break free of his harness to kill Kevin. His face looked almost comical as his helmet slid down over his eyes. He was a giant bulbous mouth. Kevin let a single “ha!” loose, and found his rifle, still stuck under the chair he had sat on, now upside down in the helo. Right next to his rifle he saw a small green satchel bag and impulsively he snagged it. He was pretty sure it was either medical gear, or spare clips, and figured anything might help. Beside that was the spare gear he'd taken from Nate, and he grabbed that too. He checked to make sure a round was chambered in his carbine, and left the undead pilot strapped in the helicopter, his teeth snapping together, biting the air.

  The grey stones of Covent Garden’s plaza were stained a rust color from the blood. Kevin jogged to catch up with the others as the scores of bodies in the plaza began to sit up, or crawl in their direction. From far off in the distance Kevin saw scores more undead shambling towards them. Others must be dying nearby. Kevin’s breathing became hard, and his heart began to hammer. Adrenaline began to pump as he realized in mere seconds London would be the scene of a horrible massacre.

  One of the Marines turned to check on Kevin and realized the undead behind them were awakening. Kevin saw the look of horror register on his twenty something face. He swallowed hard, and shouldered his bullpup rifle and started firing into the awkward, shambling masses closing in on them. His first few shots were to be expected, dead center in the chest. He had perfect form, perfect aim, and his shots were entirely useless against the dead.

  Kevin raised his carbine and came to a stop. He put his aim point red dot on the side of the head of a chunky brunette getting to her feet five yards away. One gentle squeeze later and her head popped like a gore filled water balloon, sending her girth crashing into the smooth stones below her. Kevin looked up and saw the Marine looking at him, “Hit the head. Only head shots.”

  The Royal Marine nodded and slowly backpedaled, shouting as he went, “head shots only men, destroy the brain!” The rest of the fire team responded by completely opening up, sending round after round of 5.56 into the faces and skulls of their fellow and now former United Kingdom citizens. Bodies began to pile two and three deep as they moved across the front of the giant open air market. Their group was like the pied piper of the dead, trailing a flock of ravenous ghouls.

  Kevin moved closer to Henke as the senator helped his thin aide hobble along. To her credit she was moving along and being a real soldier about it. Kevin started to think he might’ve been wrong about her. Henke was sweating profusely in the warm London summer evening. He was older, and not exactly a physical specimen. Kevin would’ve helped him with his blonde charge, but keeping his gun up and firing was far more important.

  Kevin fired round after round into to the masses of British undead. When they rounded the corner of the third and final portion of the outdoor mall and walked past the giant glass roof of the market they were assaulted by nearly a dozen zombies from the front. One of the Royal Marines was taken to the ground, a young black man, but his thick military uniform and helmet bought him time against the bites to fight back. Kevin rushed forward, spraying half a dozen rounds high into the standing undead near him. His shots killed two of the murderous dead. The Marine kicked savagely as he swung his rifle back and forth above him, clubbing the undead off of him enough to scramble free. He did a neat backwards somersault, and landed in a near perfect firing crouch, and opened up on the zombies that had nearly just killed him. After they were dead he checked his body for wounds and smiled. He had escaped unscathed.

  Kevin was floored at the combat skill he’s just witnessed. The rest of the Marines were nonchalant about it, as if that kind of ninja-like prowess was to be expected. Kevin popped off another half dozen shots to support the break dancing ninja Marine, and they moved on. From above there were multiple gunshots as the Marines in the helicopter fired on the undead ahead of the group on the street. Kevin watched the spent shell casings fall from the sky, and bounce with a barely audible metallic ring off the street.

  Five hundred feet in a city is a few minute’s walk. Five hundred feet in a gun battle is a marathon. A marathon in which people are trying to kill you every step of the way. It seemed to Kevin like the entire city had died while they were knocked unconscious in the downed bird. Kevin had brought eight magazines f
or his weapon with him when they left the Tel Aviv embassy that morning. When they finally were halfway down the hill and saw the Strand where the chopper was leading them he was slapping in the last of his magazines. Kevin amusedly realized there was a Wagamama restaurant to his left. Decent soup he remembered. He checked the small bag he grabbed out of the downed helicopter hoping there would be magazines inside it, but it was just some kind of spare electronics parts. They still had two hundred feet to go, and a broken radio in a bag was not going to get them there.

  Kevin assessed his ammunition situation and realized he had to start using the pistol. Kyle had already taken a sidearm from one of the Marines. All he had was a Glock in the first place, and as usual, Kyle probably only brought five magazines with him. He had less than half the ammunition Kevin started with.

  “Guys we need to move faster, we’re not gonna make it shooting this much, we’ve got to run.” Kevin ran up to Henke and Anna and snapped off a few rounds with his pistol. The Marines immediately started to pick up the pace. “Gimme,” Kevin said to Henke, gesturing at Anna. Henke let her stand on her own and Kevin threw her over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry. She let out a loud oof! as he got her body settled on his shoulder. Relieved of helping her, Henke started to move at double speed. Kevin’s sturdy muscular frame was more than up to the task of carrying the tiny blonde, despite his intense bruising all over. He grunted every few strides, but they moved with haste.

  The benefits were immediate. The pack of undead behind them began to fall away, and the few undead coming onto their street from the two side streets were left in the dust as well. At this rate Kevin thought, as long as they didn’t meet a huge cluster of the dead at the end of the street, they’d make it.

  Kevin threw his pistol back in the holster on his thigh and thumbed his throat mic, “Fitz you gotta clear the way for us, we’re almost dry on ammo down here.”

  Fitz didn’t respond, but a second later the intensity of support fire from the hovering helicopter doubled. The fire wasn’t as accurate as their own fire had been, but the heavy downpour of lead destroyed legs, arms, and hammered bodies down into the road, sending the undead following sprawling as they failed to climb over the fallen. They were going to make it.

  Reinvigorated by the wall of lead coming down behind them the crash survivors ran with every ounce of energy they had. Kevin watched as another Marine’s rifle clicked dry as he tried to shoot a zombie, and without stopping for a second, he smashed the rifle into the zombie’s head, sending it flying into a giant pane glass window of a restaurant. He had to take pride in these men.

  The Strand opened up before them. The road was wide, and the traffic strangely clear. They had perhaps 50 yards of open space directly ahead and the chopper was setting down in the middle of it as they ran. The marines on that bird leapt to the street and began to open fire, taking accurate aim and dropping the closest of the shambling dead. Even with an unlimited supply of rounds, Kevin knew they’d never clear the whole street. It seemed like the undead were pouring out from everywhere, and killing everything that moved. Several civilians, still quite alive, ran at the helicopter, and the Marines shot them down too. There was simply no room for them on the helicopter, and no margin for error. If they were bitten, helping them could be the end for everyone.

  Kevin sat Anna down on the floor of the chopper. She was bright red in the face from hanging upside down so long. She quickly pushed herself further into the helicopter to get to safety. Kevin watched to make sure she was safe, and then shook Fitz’s hand. The Marines greeted each other the way Marines in combat normally do, handing them more magazines for their empty guns. The Marines that had been with Kevin slapped the fresh mags into their L85A2 rifles, took a knee and began to fire with their brethren, literally sweeping the street clean of the horde of undead. Their efficiency and accuracy was remarkable.

  Fitz and Kevin jumped onto the helicopter and made sure Henke and Anna were taken care of. Already on board this bird were the two other aides to the Senator, plus the two pilots. The two men sat huddled in the far rear of the helicopter, clearly about to lose their minds from the hammering gunfire and hordes of undead coming in from all sides. Kevin went to the Lynx’s door to check on the Marines outside and shouldered his HK416C once more. He took down three zombies coming across the street then motioned to the Marines to get on board.

  The Marine Sergeant gave hand signals to the six men left from his two fire teams. They continued their suppressing onslaught as he trotted back to the Lynx. He grabbed one Marine on his way, dragging him back to the helicopter. He yelled something in the Marine’s ear, and without hesitation he nodded and jumped onto the helicopter next to Kevin. The Sergeant locked gazes with Kevin and simply nodded at him. The Sergeant said something into the microphone in his helmet, and Kevin felt the powerful helicopter engines flare, and the helo lifted up, leaving the five Marines and their Sergeant behind.

  Kevin screamed and grabbed the single Marine that had gotten on the helicopter. As he yelled he realized it was the Marine that had done the somersault in the Covent Garden plaza. “What the FUCK?!”

  “THERE’S NO ROOM! Helicopter can’t carry everyone, and your people are the package, not them!” The black Marine yelled at Kevin as he slid the Lynx’s side door shut. The noise dropped dramatically.

  Kevin shook his head, “We could’ve thrown gear out, that’s fucked!”

  “Sir. They’ll be fine. They are her Majesty’s finest. I fear for the dead.”

  Kevin looked out the window as the ground shrunk below them. As their vantage point rose higher and higher he could see the masses of shambling dead coming towards the six Marines from every conceivable direction. Kevin noted with sorrow as the Marines grouped up, and started to move west towards Buckingham Palace, and hopefully safety.

  More car accidents and burning buildings spilled out as the helicopter pulled further and faster away. Kevin saw the six Marines had an army of the undead in the streets of London to contend with before they reached any chance of survival.

  London was burning.

  January 23rd

  Lots to report Mr. Journal. I don’t have a lot of time to explain all the boring shit, so I’ll cut right to the chase on the good stuff. No I won’t. First I’ll share the fact that I haven’t slept for shit the past few days. I’ve been half awake all night listening to the damn radio, and when I finally do fall asleep I keep having nasty dreams with my parents in them, or the bad fights here on campus when I was clearing it out. My recent dreams have been about Amy, the chick from admissions. I think I’m dreaming of her because I talked to her boyfriend Chambers on the radio the other day. It’s terrible. I don’t even want to sleep anymore. Sigh.

  Yesterday I sat down and counted up all the guns and ammo we got off the roof of the grocery store. Sadly, it wasn’t a lot of ammunition, but what we did get was good. The guns we got were also quality finds. The big deal was a new Beretta 9mm with 3 magazines. One of the long guns was a .223 bolt action rifle, and there were 40 more rounds of ammo for it.

  There were two Ruger M77 bolt action rifles (which gives us three total now) and a fairly large amount of .270 Win ammo. Big find there. That’s a lot of spare bullets for trade bait, and spare parts if they break down. There was also a Colt M1911 clone and 2 magazines for that.

  There was more .30-30 ammo, .223 ammo, 9mm, .357, .45ACP, .270 Win, .300 Magnum, and 12 gauge buckshot. As I said the numbers weren’t astronomical, but there were good totals of good, usable calibers. It was definitely worth the trip for us, especially seeing as how no one got hurt.

  I made a trip on foot out and about today to check out that fuel barrel near Gilbert’s house. To be honest… I really did not want to be alone and outside, but I had to go. Ever since that zombie with the watch incident on the bridge I’ve been kind of skittish. I can’t get the vision of him just… staring at me out of my head. That and every time I hear tapping my blood runs cold.

  Shiver.
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br />   I walked through the snow yesterday morning to the house next to Gilbert’s place. He was in his place and I don’t think he saw me poking around in his neighbor’s yard. The fuel in the barrel seemed low to me. I can’t say for certain he’s using a lot of it, but it definitely seemed about five gallons light. I have no idea what kind of mileage the snow machines get. That might be a single gas tank, which wouldn’t be unusual at all really.

  So that proves nothing. Gilbert may be using a radio, or he may be using the snowmobile to get in touch with Brian and his people. There’s no way of knowing at this point. All I can do is keep the radio close, and try to build a relationship with Moore’s people. Nothing undoes a devious plan like communication. I hoofed it back to campus and summarily locked myself in Hall E. Still not kosher being outside.

  No word from Brian last night. In fact, no word from anyone really. The Williams clan never even came out to see me yesterday at all. I think Abby and Randy were on wood collecting duty all day. I spent the evening watching the boxed set of Trigun and cleaning the weapons we’d gotten. Vash ftw. I really like maintaining weapons. It’s detail work. I understand them. It gives me satisfaction, and lets me think while still being productive. It’s like knitting for people with penises. I did a lot of thinking about what I was going to talk to Brian about.

  Slept like ass again last night. Had a dream about Cassie for awhile that turned sour. More undead eventually rampaging all over the place. That shit is irritating.

  Today I chilled out. Abby came to hang out after lunch and we wound up throwing down a heads up Hold ‘em game. We used Ritz crackers as chips. Wasn’t quite the same as using money, but in reality, food is more important than cash. So I guess it was like using money. It was fun. She wound up getting all weird and quiet when we were eating our crackers at the end. (Turns out she’s pretty good at poker, and won and ate an entire sleeve of crackers off me) I asked her what was up, and she danced around it for a bit, but finally asked me if it would be okay if she stayed here on campus with me if her family left to go to the STIG building.