Midnight (Adrian's Undead Diary)

by Chris Philbrook

  Today was February 1st, and on the night of January 30th, Sean’s people had returned and ignited the small gas station down the road from the school. It was a convenient source of fuel for them, and with it denied by destruction, their life would become much more difficult. Despite earlier arguments to the contrary, Charles and Patty decided to move the family to the solar plant immediately, and join the other group. Sean’s vendetta was against Adrian, not them. Charles had argued with the big man Adrian over food and supplies, but with a broken arm there was no forcing Adrian to do anything. Even if Charles had a shotgun there would’ve been no forcing Adrian. That was akin to trying to scare a rock with a Pez dispenser.

  The family had just left the campus in a box truck that belonged to Solar Technology Innovations Group, or STIG. Brian’s group was set up in the STIG corporate headquarters and manufacturing plant. Patty, Abby and their twelve year old boy Randy got in the back of the truck with the weapons and food Adrian had given them. Charles couldn’t get up and into the back of the truck with his broken arm easily, so he rode in the front with the former Chief and Darryl, a burly, bearded hulk of a man wearing a Husqvarna cap. A blind person could’ve told you Darryl was a logger. He permanently smelled like fresh pine. When they’d gotten the truck backed up about 500 feet to a wider spot in the road, Darryl swung it around and that’s when they heard Abby banging inside the back.

  They’d all piled out and opened the sliding door to see what was happening. She wanted out of the truck, and out of this plan. Charles and Patty pleaded with her not to go, but she was firm in her decision, and she didn’t care that she wasn’t 18 yet either. Laws didn’t matter anymore, only right and wrong. And she knew it was wrong to leave Adrian to fend for himself alone against Sean’s raiders. She would stay with him and help as best she could. She felt their entire family owed it to him, and she didn’t want to feel guilty the rest of her life about it.

  So she left. She’d taken her pillows, her blankets, the 9mm on her hip Adrian had given her, and the backpack filled with all the clothes she owned. Patty and Charles watched her jog down the hill and across the bridge blocked with vans and onto campus. Adrian stopped to meet her, and they walked away.

  Patty cried.

  *****

  The rest of the trip to STIG was easily the most horrifying hour and a half of their entire lives. Charles had moved into the back of the truck after taking one of the pain pills Adrian had spared for him. Charles knew his wife needed him badly then, and pain be damned, he went to her. The majority of the ride was not only bumpy, but blood curdling. Charles tried to keep a tab on how far they were going, but he couldn’t be sure, there were no windows in the truck.

  Twenty minutes into their journey to the STIG plant the family started to hear and feel the truck shudder from impacting the walking dead. They could envision it in the blackness of the truck far too easily. There would be a thumping noise followed by a vibration coming from the front as a body hit the grille. Moments after that the front of the truck would run over the fallen body, and you could hear a series of crunching noises followed by the tell tale bursting pop as the zombie exploded under the tires.

  This happened over, and over. At least twice the truck had to slow, and they heard the Chief shooting a heavy shotgun out the window at something. In the dark the gunshots were so much louder than normal. Charles could feel Patty and Randy flinch every time the trigger was pulled. Charles kept telling them that every hop, every crunch, and every ripping noise was one less zombie. Every time the gun went off, it was one less dead person that could hurt them. And every second they moved closer to STIG, it was another second further away from the Westfield danger.

  The truck swung a wide arc that sent them sliding in the back. Brian banged on the front wall and they heard him hollering, “We’re here!” That little burst of excitement and relief went a long way to temporarily alleviate the departure of their daughter Abigail. The truck’s transmission jerked into reverse, and with a short grinding of the gears, they sped backwards, coming to a gentle stop as the truck’s rear guards bumped into something solid. They heard the clacking of the door latch being flung open, and suddenly they were blinded by the white glow of fluorescent light.

  “Howdy! I’m Tim!” They heard through their closed eyes. It was a young voice, with a hint of the hoarseness that drinking too much cheap whiskey can give you. Tim helped Charles to his feet and within seconds he saw the man. Tim was tall and thin, and Charles recognized him instantly as one of the men who had come to the school campus to install solar panels they’d traded for a few days ago. In fact Tim was still wearing the navy blue jumpsuit with the STIG logo on it that he wore that day. Charles thanked him and winced at the pain in his shattered forearm. Even with a fresh Percocet in his system it still hurt badly when touched or moved.

  “Welcome to STIG, best place to live in this giant toilet of a town!” Tim presented the interior of the warehouse the dock door led into like a game show host presenting a prize behind curtain number one. Scattered pieces of warehouse racking reached up nearly three stories to the metal ceiling above. The cavernous room was brightly lit with fluorescent light streaming down from huge overhead fixtures. Far in the back of the warehouse Charles saw a huge metal door marked “flammable.” He hoped that was a huge room filled with fuel to keep them warm. No sooner had Charles looked around in the industrial warehouse the lights started to snap off with an electrical zap. A middle aged woman wearing a puffy skiing jacket near the dock was throwing the switches on a panel and turning them off.

  “Gotta save the juice for the night. We leave one light on in the warehouse, and another in the plant. We actually live in the office portion of the building.” Tim gestured towards a large opening in the wall running away from them and to the right.

  Suddenly they heard the booming of multiple weapons firing outside. The woman who was turning off the lights drew a large revolver from her waistband and carefully opened the heavy fire door that led outside. Charles gathered his family and pulled away as Tim drew a small revolver from his jumpsuit pocket. He went to the door with the woman, and a few loud gunshots later, Darryl and Brian jumped through the opening, and the woman yanked the door shut behind them.

  Brain leaned over and put his hands on his thighs, chest heaving. He looked over at his logger friend Darryl and grinned. “Not bad, not bad. Only what, ten or twelve got to this side this time? Getting pretty good at this.”

  Charles was mortified. “Ten or twelve what, got to this side? What are you talking about?”

  Brian swallowed hard and stood. “Charles my friend, this building is surrounded by undead. The entire town is outside now. We trick them into moving from one side of the building to the other side when we need to get out.”

  Charles and Patty were speechless, and he suddenly felt like he had made a terrible mistake coming here.

  “C’mon, I’ll give you guys the guided tour.” Brian put his arm gently around Charles’ good shoulder, and they started towards the opening in the plant wall. From somewhere outside, they heard a faint gunshot in the distance.

  *****

  The tour was both impressive and humbling for Charles and Patty. Poor young Randy was very much scared about everything. He had lost a very comfortable home with this move, and the nearly pitch black ride through a zombie infested town had done nothing to sell him on this being a good place to live.

  The STIG facility was a technological marvel. Having been originally designed as a “green” building it had every environmental sensibility in mind. The plant and warehouse had skylights and solar panels running the entire length of the roof. The toilets flushed with little to no water, and the water removal system on the roof collected melted snow and rainwater into a purifier for drinking. The front of the building where the offices were was made of smoke tinted glass with transparent solar panels built right into them. STIG was pioneering the technology of transparent solar panels, and their corporate headquarters stoo
d as their crowning achievement, and biggest sales tool.

  Brian led them through the dark and idle manufacturing plant and into the offices. There his little girl Sarah jumped into his arms to join in on the tour. Charles and Patty visibly stiffened at the sight of the thin but beautiful girl. He carried her most of the duration of the tour, but had to set her down when they went up the stairs to the upper office floors.

  The first floor was the staff cafeteria, meeting rooms and cubicles. Because the entire office building area was just reinforced glass, they’d taken the warehouse racking down early and reassembled it bit by bit outside against the outer walls. It made a sturdy steel and wood obstacle that the zombies couldn’t get through, and it still allowed some sun to shine in for the solar windows to activate. They had driven cars and trucks up against the racking as well so the zombies couldn’t push against it and knock it over easily. The racking was only ten feet tall, so it didn’t hinder the upper floor windows whatsoever.

  The shape of the office portion of the building was similar to that of a donut. The cafeteria was situated against the open interior donut area so diners eating their lunch could bring their food outside to a small garden. The exterior area was perhaps a hundred feet square, which Brian said they planned on converting into a food producing garden when warmer weather came. It was protected from the outside, and had water and sunshine. The building had a dead glass elevator that looked out into the garden. It was stuck halfway between the first and second floor.

  The cubicles were left intact on the ground floor. The doors were blockaded on the interior by makeshift plywood and 2x4 walls and large desks. Each exterior room on the first floor had the door shut, locked, and barred so even if the undead outside managed to break a window and get inside the room, they’d need to breach the fortified inner door as well. Brian told horror stories of how they’d lost ten men just getting the racking in place the first few days. Patty shuddered at the thought of trying to do that work with the dead people slowly creeping up behind you, inevitable and unstoppable.

  The second floor had been converted to storage and living space. The open areas where the accounting department cubicles had been were transformed to create an impromptu village. Families lived in two or three cube “homes” with blankets and sheets for doors. This part of the building was much warmer from the heat that they had going, and Patty thought it felt fairly cozy. Charles thought it looked like post-Katrina New Orleans. Humanity huddled together, starving, and scared. All he could see were thin faces, stretched and gaunt, forcing out a smile at the new people they’d be forced to split food with.

  Brian was interrupted by the sound of gunshots a handful of times during their tour. He was explaining the story of how they raided many of the local businesses on this side of town right after the racking was installed when they reached the third floor. The top floor was previously executive offices, sales and marketing, and meeting rooms. Each corner of the building was dominated by an opulent office that had been turned into a guard station. A solar window on each facing of the building was removed and a clever hinged hatch put in its place. Two people were in every room, and they served as a shooter and spotter team.

  Brian walked them into one of the corner offices that faced the street in the industrial park the building was in. He gave them a long speech as his daughter clutched his leg. He rested his hand lovingly on her head as he talked.

  “So the rules here are simple. Conserve food, conserve water, and conserve electricity are the easy ones. Marx’s rule is that everyone pitches in. Whatever skills you’ve got we need to know about to make sure they’re getting used properly. Everyone works every day to get shit done. The Pandora’s Box rule is do not go into the hazmat storage area in the warehouse under any circumstances. There are toxic and flammable chemicals in there that can really hurt you if something goes wrong. We keep most of our fuel in there as well. You can keep your guns, but if you draw them on someone who still has a heartbeat, then you lose them. Or worse.”

  Brian looked over his shoulder briefly out the window then looked back at them. “The really hard rule is this; never go outside. I know it sounds silly, but you’ll go stir crazy in here in a few weeks. Get into the garden, go on the roof, run in circles out in the warehouse, but whatever you do, do not open an exterior door. We’ve got people with guns at every door that can open to the outside, and they’ll keep you from leaving. We can’t afford a door opening with all the dead folks outside.” He thumbed over his shoulder out the windows.

  “How many are outside?” Patty asked, wrapping her arm around her husband.

  “Dinner is in about a half hour in the cafeteria on the first floor. I think all your food went in there already. We have to store it all centrally so we can control the supply. Otherwise people steal it, and then we start running out and getting into fights. Don’t be late for dinner either. If you’re late, someone else will eat your portion. In the meantime, you’re welcome to check out the view.” And with that, Brian and his little girl Sarah left them with the two shooters in the office. They sat smiling sadly at the three family members.

  One of them, an athletic blond man with curly hair holding a powerful hunting rifle smiled and spoke up, “It’s been a good day. The truck dragged most of them off when they left to get you. The mob won’t be back for another good hour or two.”

  Patty and Charles walked up to the window to look out at the white world underneath the grey skyline. It was cloudy again, and it would snow soon. Parking lots and office structures went off in all directions for a few hundred yards. Cars were neatly organized in the giant STIG parking lot. It was easily the size of soccer field. Filling every open space between the cars, hedges, and fences, for a hundred feet in every direction, trampling one another and the fallen snow was a knotted mass of bloody, rotting, and festering undead. They pressed forward against the building like a tide of putrescence.

  Patty and Charles suddenly couldn’t breathe.

  *****

  The cafeteria was dimly lit with energy saving fluorescent bulbs. Only four lamps were turned on for the meal, and the people were packed into the room like sardines. Every round plastic seat at the long tables was occupied. Everyone smiled at them when they came in. It was almost like they were welcome. Almost.

  Dinner was atrocious. Cafeteria food is rarely a delicacy under normal circumstances, and this was anything but normal. A “staff” of about ten survivors worked in the industrial kitchen opening cans and heating them over electric burners fueled by the solar power system. They had run out of the majority of the popular spices and seasonings months ago, and they were down to using the more obscure and disliked flavorings. The dinner choice that evening was warm canned tuna with dill, limp green beans with paprika, and canned fruit salad. Salt was low and reserved for very special occasions. To say the people looked unenthused at the tables would do them no justice. Most of the adults left their food half eaten for their children, who were too hungry to not eat the bland offerings eagerly.

  By comparison Charles and Patty felt fat in the cafeteria. They were by no means overweight, but at the school with Adrian they ate very well compared to the people here. The husband and wife picked at their meal and watched Randy do the same. Patty wasn’t a tuna fan in the first place, and choking it down was a true struggle for her, especially with it being so dry. Charles wound up giving half his meal to a family with three children sitting at the long cafeteria table next to them. The mother’s bright blue eyes sparkled with tears as she thanked him. Charles shook his head when he sat down across from Patty. He started to regret his decision about leaving the campus when he saw her dab at the moisture in her eyes. Then he really regretted it.

  After the meal one of the women in charge of the cooking stepped up on a table and announced that tomorrow’s meal would be spaghetti with chunky tomato sauce, and quite literally, there was a standing ovation for her. Apparently pasta was a very popular cafeteria meal post apocalypse. Charles and
Patty couldn’t help but laugh at the exuberance the people had over boxed pasta and canned sauce. After the meal many of the people came over and introduced themselves. It took the better part of twenty minutes for Chuck and Patty to shake all their hands and smile and nod. There was no chance either of them would remember any names that night.

  Charles was feeling the dull ache of his broken arm as he and Patty brought their plastic plates to the window counter looking into the kitchen. A young girl took their plates with a weak smile and started to wash them in a sink. Brian happened to be at the window at the same time with his little girl Sarah, and his young son Tommy. Both Patty and Charles realized that the little boy looked just like Brian. Tommy looked as if he were stamped out a miniature mold of his father. Patty bent down to him and said hello, and the shy little boy hid behind his dad’s leg.

  Charles had a question for the former police chief, “Brian, Adrian said he put some pain killers in the package he gave to us when we left. Any chance you know where they are?”

  Brian picked his little boy up and plopped him on his hip. “They’re probably in the medicine closet upstairs. We keep all that centralized so folks can’t overdose. We had a few folks kill themselves early with sleeping pills so now we’re a little more cautious about it. Head upstairs to the top floor and find Susanne. She was a pharmacist’s assistant before the poo hit the fan.”