How do I answer that question Mr. Journal? She’s frigging 17 years old. Once she asked I started to dance around an answer. I mean fuck. Does age matter anymore? She’s obviously mature, capable, intelligent, and useful. I asked her when her birthday was and she said May. If I wanted to use the age of 18 as a negotiating tool, I guess that was an option. Mostly against her case though. Charles and Patty I’m sure would not want her all by herself, even if it was with me here.
I wound up with this as an answer for her; she was more than welcome to stay here on campus with me if her parents were okay with it. End of story. At first she didn’t like that answer, but then thought about it, and decided that it was pretty good. After all, what else was I going to say? Yeah sure and I’ll tell your parents to go fuck themselves? Wouldn’t be smart really. Plus if I get all excited about fighting to let Abby stay here I start looking like a creepy pedophile. At least I start feeling like a creepy pedophile.
She said she’d bring her family over a little before 6 for our radio meeting with Brian. And that she did. They shuffled their way in around 5:30 and we all gathered at the table to shoot the shit. Randy hung on his dad, which was nice to see. He’s been plugging into the damn video game consoles far too much for my taste. Gilbert zipped over on the snowmobile and knocked on the door at about quarter of. I was checking out Chuck’s busted arm. The redness has waned quite a bit, but it’s still swollen and very painful for him. I think it’ll heal decent, but it might have a permanent weird dent where the bones are knitting a little off. I think we’ll be safe in terms of having to do surgery on it. (Thank God right? Can you imagine how fucked up me doing surgery would be? It’d be like that chef on The Muppet Show. BORK BORK! CHOP! BORK BORK!)
Brian fired up his radio precisely at 6pm again. I like the fact that he is always on time. Once again our conversation ran long. I think we called it quits around 9pm.
We are meeting on the 25th. Brian decided that they knew a good route to skirt downtown with to get near us here. He said they’d take a shipping semi from STIG and load it up with the trade goods we agreed on. I guess the few times they’d ventured into heavy zombie territory they had good luck using the trucks. Good ground clearance, lots of power, and with all the extra wheels, the only flat tire that really would be a problem would be a front flat. Brian and I agreed that we would meet them at noon on the 25th where Route 18 meets Main Street. That area has been pretty clean of zombies since day one, and there’s no houses or businesses right there either. Tree line is pretty distant as well. Seemed safe for everyone.
I told him I’d bring myself plus no more than three others, and he agreed to do the same.
Now what did we agree to trade? Excellent question Mr. Journal. Here’s what I offered up that he had on his wish list:
1 Ruger M77 bolt action rifle and 15 .270 Win rounds to go with it. 500 rounds of .22lr (we’ve got over 6,000 rounds, so that’s pretty low value to us). 2 tins of juice, one tomato, one grape, 2 cans of peeled tomatoes, 2 cans of mandarin orange slices, and a 4 pack of Red Bull
That’s all he wanted for the moment. In return, he offered to deliver four solar panels, and 80 rounds of 5.56mm ammo. These are all things we have spare. I mean shit, he’s got spare panels, and he said he raided the police station arms locker, so I’m sure he’s swimming in ammo for the station’s rifles. He also made it seem like their need for sniper/hunting calibers was greater than their need for tactical calibers like the 5.56 rounds.
Here’s the kicker; four panels isn’t enough to really do anything. We really need eight panels run in series according to the research I’ve done. Also, I have no fucking idea how to hook them up. However, there are people at the STIG plant who do. Brian also said that if we were willing to trade goods for services, he could have some of the technicians come over with the four extra panels, install them for me, hook them into a building’s system, and then wire up some batteries in series so I could store electricity from the panels and the generator.
Sounds… yummy. I’m a little queasy about letting strangers into my home, but I felt that way when a plumber came over to fix my hot water tank at the condo. The other thing is this; I might know the technician that’ll come over. They’re probably from town here, and there’s a fairly good chance I already know them. I’m much more comfortable letting people I already know in the Hall.
So noon on the 25th we meet, and hopefully everything goes well. We said our goodbyes, and everyone here felt it went well. We were all super tired from the long day and night, and we decided that tomorrow we’d get together to figure out what our plan was. Everyone shuffled out in short order, and now here I sit, typing this.
I’m excited, for real. I think this is on the level. Tomorrow I’m going to make a few runs down to the gas station and top off all the barrels. We’re not low by any means, but I’ve got nothing else planned, and I’d rather have the fuel on hand in the event we need it. If I can build up the nerve I might take a jaunt all the way down to the intersection where we’re meeting to make sure that it’s clear of zombies. After that we’re getting together to hatch our plan for the meeting over an early dinner.
Tonight I think I am going to say fuck it. I found a bottle of Ambien digging around in the pill stash, and I am taking one. I’m so fucking tired from trying to listen to that radio all night every night plus all the shitty dreams when I finally do fall asleep... I just want to black out, and get some fucking rest. I hate being skittish and irritable all the time.
Pillow, meet head.
Later Mr. Journal.
-Adrian
January 25th
Well. That could’ve gone better.
Of course, it could’ve gone worse too.
Ambien might be my new friend. Although, I really can’t afford to take a whole pill. I was a zombie all day yesterday and I don’t want to risk getting mistaken as the real thing and get shot by my friends. Half a pill should be more than enough to put me down. I also realize that chopping it in half will probably fuck with the pill and make me sick or something.
I should just not take the pill, and sleep like a relatively normal post apocalypse survivor. Hilarious that I even have the option to take a sleeping pill. I can’t even imagine how many people in New York, or Paris, or Shanghai that are trapped in apartments and are eating rats and drinking leftover toilet water to get by. I eat well, sleep reasonably well, and feel pretty safe for the most part. I need to man up, and quit being a bitch I guess. Hike up your fucking diaper Ring.
Yesterday after I came out of my Ambien coma I made two trips down to the gas station. Patty wound up riding shotgun with me. I decided it wasn’t the best idea to go alone, and she said she wanted to get out. Abby stayed behind to take care of Chuck. It was horridly cold out the last two days. The thermometer has been reading in the negatives, which is cold enough to hurt. If you take a deep breath, your lungs literally flare up with pain. It blows goat cock.
Patty was nervous about the upcoming STIG meeting, and she was sick of dealing with Chuck’s gimpyness. I can imagine waiting on him hand and foot gets old rapidly. Granted, his arm is pretty fucked up, and it’s a painful injury to move around with. I believe getting her out helped rebuild her patience.
We cleared Auburn Lake Road with the plow on the way down, gassed the truck and all our empty gas cans up, and then we got brave and swung down to where Route 18 meets Main Street. It’s a T intersection with a single building near it. That building is a day care, which to be honest, I had no interest in checking it out. The idea of a daycare filled with undead children is just too damn much for me to wrap my head around right now. And you know what? Between you and me Mr. Journal, I can guarantee that building is filled with undead kids. Whole new definition of the terrible twos. I might just burn that one straight to the ground before I go inside it. Zombie children on fire for whatever reason scares me less than adult zombies on fire. I know, I’m strange.
Patty and I checked around to make sure things w
ere quiet and clear, which it was. A quick glance down the Main Street area told us there were no walking undead, so as long as we made a quiet exit, the meeting tomorrow would be all set. (Famous last words) We made note of the places where snipers could hide, and doubled checked our exit strategies, and then we headed back to campus.
Patty was freezing to death so she called it a day. I refilled all the gas barrels until they were maxed out, and went down to the gas station again. I refilled all the gas cans so everything was full again, the way I like it, and then headed back to campus once more. Fuel supplies have been low enough to make me paranoid.
The rest of yesterday was lame. The furnace ran on overdrive all evening and through the night. So fucking cold out. I wound up keeping the heat low and hanging out under a few blankets on the couch downstairs. Watched more Trigun. Thank goodness one of the kids here on campus was into Anime. I’ll be neck deep in poorly dubbed Japanese cartoons for a year. Guess that’s cool. Otis wound up crawling under the blankets with me to stay warm, and he never does that.
No Ambien last night, and no weird dreams. Two for two. This morning when I got up I felt pretty good about life, and was pretty excited for the meeting at noon. I ate a good sized breakfast and assembled all the goods that we were planning on trading at the meeting. I also was feeling generous, and threw in a can of green beans. French cut style. The top shelf green bean. The Cadillac of canned vegetables, if you will.
At 10:30 we all gathered down in Hall A. Gilbert wound up showing up at 10:45. Over an early lunch of cereal and reconstituted milk we went over our “oh shit” plan should the meeting go south. I told them all I would much rather take Abby and Patty down with me. Randy and Charles are obviously useless right now, and I said that I wanted Gilbert back up here in the event this was a clever ruse to get us out of the campus. (In reality, I didn’t want him there because if he was trying to fuck me over, I didn’t want to give him more opportunity with allies present)
Gilbert put up a little protest, but conceded. Charles, in his painkiller fueled daze actually put up a pretty big stink over the fact that I was dragging his two women to a potential firefight. He was beaten into agreeing with us through belligerent logic though. That and the fact that he was lit like a Christmas tree on Percocet. Thank god for that. He was fucking steaming at me.
I grabbed some spare blankets in case we had to cover shit in the back of the truck. I wasn’t sure how they were going to bring the solar panels. At 11:30 Patty, Abby, and I headed down Route 18 to the intersection in two separate vehicles. Patty and I rode in the plow, and Abby drove the Tundra. Fucking cold again. We had to let the trucks run for 15 minutes to get them warm. My face hurt just walking from the Hall to the frigging door of the truck. How pathetic is that? It’s fucking cold this year. And it’s been snowing like a bitch. Mother Nature is a mean broad.
We left with the same combat loads as if we were going down to the police station. I had the M15A4 and the ladies had their .22’s. I wasn’t expecting trouble, but there was no reason to not be prepared for it. Of course, with my whopping 100 rounds I wouldn’t be able to accomplish much if the shit got thick. I shouldn’t say that. I could do a lot of damage with just 10 rounds if given the chance. Anyway, negative Nancy is done now.
We drove the plow truck all the way to the intersection, and Abby sat back about a hundred yards in the event she needed to make a fast getaway. Patty and I parked in the middle of the intersection and waited with the radio on. I think we got there at 11:50 am or thereabouts.
It was 12:30 when we heard the rumble of their truck in the distance. Brian came over the radio and let us know they were incoming, and we got out of the truck and waited. They pulled up in a diesel box truck. Looked like a twenty footer or so, and had the STIG company logo on the side of it. Following behind it was a large 4x4 Police Cruiser that used to belong to the department. The cruiser parked about a hundred yards behind their truck just like Abby was parked behind ours, and the meet was on.
Brian and Jason hopped out of the semi and were all grins. I mean they looked so damn happy. I was grinning too. We shook hands about as vigorously as you can. Patty was nervous as balls, but she was pleasant, and I think after a bit she warmed to the idea of them being here with us. Brian and Jason looked very slim. I think they’ve both lost 20 pounds easily. You can see it in Brian’s face. He looked stretched out, and tired. Jason was always a slim guy, but he looked out of gas. It was especially apparent because he’s young. I don’t know if their thin figures were because they’re strict on food rations, or if they’re lower on food than they’ve let on. Shrug.
The front of their semi was covered in goop, bits of flesh, and chunks of hair and bone. Most of it was still fresh and unfrozen as well, which told me they’d just recently driven through a real mess downtown. That was our first topic of discussion, the “ice breaker,” if you will.
They confirmed that the roads right near downtown were a fucking mess. They took a wide route off of the Main Street going through residential neighborhoods. They were fairly sure that once they were off the main road it’d be less populated with the dead, and I guess it was still pretty thick with roamers. Luckily their semi is a beast, and has good ground clearance. The 4x4 cruiser followed behind in the wake the truck made, and they made it all the way to the meet site with problems no more serious than frayed nerves. I thanked them for making the trip out.
After that Brian asked me about why were downtown the other day when they heard all the gunshots. That was the day we were on the grocery store roof getting the guns. I told him the truth. I told him that were down at the grocery store to get the guns off the roof of the store, and to possibly try and get any remaining foodstuffs out of the store. Of course with the impending horde heading into the parking lot we bailed before going inside, but we did get the guns.
He and Jason got a kick out of that. Brian was actually laughing and pissed at the same time when he realized that he and his group had totally forgotten to try and return to get the guns. Of course when they had their huge firefight there things were pretty messy at the time, and after they left with their food there were still survivors there shooting at them, as well as a growing population of undead from the recent deaths and whatnot, so I’m sure they didn’t have all the information I did. When I got there, everyone was dead except for what? Two or three people? The irony is that if I hadn’t killed that shooter on the roof, they probably would’ve been killed by the three dead friends that I found as zombies up there. Weird stuff.
Brian thought we made the best choice by getting the hell out after getting the shit off the roof. Then it got weird. He asked us how we got in, got on the roof so fast, and got out. I told him we had raided the municipal station for the fire trucks and radios.
He DID NOT like that.
At first he was all like, “What’d you do? You took the trucks?” And thought I was joking about it, but I told him we needed the ability to fight fire, and I knew I’d need the ladder truck to get on the roof, and plus I wanted the radios to communicate with, and that sent him into a little bit of a temper tantrum. At one point Patty and I backed away he was steaming so bad, and Jason had to pull him aside and calm him down. He didn’t get aggressive, or threatening, but he was pretty clearly pissed we’d taken the fire trucks.
After a ten minute relaxation period that was as flat out awkward as a 5th grade dance, Brian came back and apologized. He admitted what I’d done was smart, and he was a little pissed he didn’t think of it first. He also said it was a little straight up assholish of me to take town property. His line of reasoning was that the equipment was town property, and with so few people at my location, it made more sense to leave the fire trucks in town, where they were more accessible. (And don’t fucking think for one second that I didn’t catch his “with so few people” line. Starting to think he knows exactly how many people we’ve got. Fucking Gilbert.)
I see his logic, I just don’t agree with it. I agreed that ye
ah, it was a little greedy of me, but he had to realize that up to that point, I had no idea there were survivors anywhere near here. Plus, as I’d mentioned earlier, we’d had negative interactions with what few survivors, and I was worried we’d be firebombed at some point. Plus, and this almost set him off again, I flat out told him this, “Brian, this town is dead. Deceased. There is no more town, there is no more state, and there is no more America. It’s like the clock got rewound back to the 1100’s man. We’re feudal lords fighting over land and resources again. It sucks, but that’s the fucking reality. Only the strongest survive right?”
He got pissed again, but he knew I was right. I also told him that without him and his men who knew what would’ve happened to the people at STIG. Without his expertise, and leadership skills, those folks might’ve died a long time ago. He was a good person and had a lot to be proud of. I told him that eventually we might be able to get the equipment back into town, or maybe someday we could figure out a way to stage the equipment again so both groups could have access. I didn’t want a fight over this.
He was fine after a bit. I think he isn’t an intellectual, and hadn’t put it in perspective. Plus being a town official I’m sure for years his guiding principles were town town law law order order, ya know? He’s upheld the law for so long, it is his first instinct to preserve the old ways, and to hope everything goes back to “normal.”
Naïve really. This is normal now, and we have to adjust to it, or die.
We made the swap for stuff. I handed him the rifle, the ammo, and a milk crate with all the food. I even made sure to point out the extra can of green beans to him as well, which got a laugh. He said they’d had plenty of the, “Cadillac of canned vegetables.” I laughed. It definitely helped with the tension.
Midnight (Adrian's Undead Diary) Page 19
