Midnight (Adrian's Undead Diary)

by Chris Philbrook

  When we got close to the park I had Abby get the noisemaker ready. We drove past the park heading east, and threw out the second part of our trade secret noisemaker system. I pulled a U-turn, and hung a right into the park and plowed right into more of the undead. They had been thinned out noticeably here. We heard a few cracks of gunshots ahead, and I knew Patty was still kicking. Abby hollered out some pretty vulgar shit about how “insanely badass” her mom was, and Gilbert and I laughed. It was like we had a third penis in the truck with us.

  After I busted through the last big batch we slowed down to let the rats get behind the pied piper. Abby took the battery powered radio and rolled down the window. Like a monkey she climbed out and got on the roof of the truck with Lady Gaga blaring. I’d found the old school boom box in a dorm room sometime in July and had it stored away for just an occasion like this.

  To the tune of “Lovegame,” we rolled like pimps into the slaughter.

  Yes Mr. Journal, I realize that line makes me look like I should be drinking out of a sippy cup, wearing a helmet and a drool bib. At the very least I could get my man-card revoked for saying that. Dude I gotta dress it up somehow. What’s left of my manhood is at stake.

  Poor Abby froze her faux penis off up there. (is that a strapadictomey? Or an addadictomey?) Luckily we didn’t go far. We had the crowd on us, scratching at the truck and grabbing on as best they could. Gilbert had the window down and was plugging away on his side of the truck with one of the .357 revolver. He’d blast a cylinder’s worth of rounds, roll the window up, reload, and go back it. He probably blew the heads off 30 zombies as we rolled in a circle, gathering the undead.

  When we turned back onto Main Street I hollered to Abby to hold on, and I gunned it until we had about 40 feet of space between us and them. We went to the spot we’d prepped as our noisemaker area, and Abby got down off the truck. We’d thrown a small tent out into the street. One of those two person tents that “spring” open when they’re thrown. Abby got off the roof lickety split and Gilbert opened the back door for her. She set the radio inside the tent and zipped it shut. Gilbert opened up with his AK to our rear and cleared the closest the undead. Abby and Gilbert got into the truck and I drove about 30 feet, and killed the lights. At that point we were at the mercy of whether or not Paparazzi was a more powerful draw to the dead than an idling fire truck.

  Through the mirrors I watched about 80% of them stop cold at the tent, and lay into it. They pushed at it, swiped at it, hit it, and even tried to bite it. The snow was so thick, and the nylon so smooth they couldn’t get in. Eventually they were piled in the middle of the road on the tent almost ten bodies deep. I carefully put the truck into gear, and we slowly pulled away. We were stifling our laughter to make less noise. About 50 feet further we took a right, and started a loop around some side streets to come up behind them to get into the industrial park. We had about 25 zombies follow us when we pulled away, but that wasn’t that bad really.

  Once we were out of eye shot I hit the lights and picked up speed. Those streets were completely devoid of undead. My bet was the undead at the plant had come from there. And other places I’m sure. You get my point. When we got to the other side of the loop I killed the lights and we crept up behind the undead pig pile on the tent.

  They entirely ignored us as we pulled into the park. It reminded me of rednecks trying to catch a greased pig. They couldn’t get in the tent, and the harder they all tried, the worse the cold nylon slipped away. As long as the CD kept playing we were golden.

  Back at the STIG plant Patty had the good sense to stop shooting when we led them away. We pulled around and saw there was about 15 undead milling about on the ground below her. They were fixated on her. It was almost like watching a blood soaked cat that was staring at a caged bird. Creepy.

  We drove right up next to the ruins of the office building and hopped out. The undead didn’t pay any attention to us until we actually got out of the truck, which was weird. Once we did, they literally snapped their gazes over to us. I actually recognized some of them as people from town, which was awkward for me. I got the bow up and into action as Abby started to work on getting the ladder up.

  I let loose about five arrows with the bow. At point blank range it’s hard to miss, and I’m happy to say I hit and killed with all five arrows. Now I will also go on record here and say that two of my arrows missed their intended targets and killed other zombies that happened to be in the line of fire, but frankly, there are no pictures in this journal, and only the score at the end of the game matters.

  After the fifth arrow they were too close to use the bow on, so I drew the sword. I desperately wanted to keep as quiet as possible. Gilbert kept one eye on me, and one eye on Abby to make sure we weren’t being surrounded. Wearing my heavy winter jacket makes me feel kind of invulnerable to being bitten. It’s thick and padded, and with gloves on I feel really warm. Not that warmth equates to safety, I just felt it needed mentioning that I felt warm.

  I took the sword and hacked the legs off the leading three or four zombies. Like I said awhile back, moving in 90 degree angles confuses the shit out of them. Plus it leaves their knees exposed to a slash. Once I had them down, I checked the ladder and saw it was about halfway up. I hollered out to Gilbert to ask how much time we had before the zombies in the street got to us, and he said “Plenty.”

  I hacked a few more zombies to death after I lured them away from Abby. By then there were maybe four or five left, and Abby hollered out, “LADDER IS UP!” I stopped to go to the ladder, but she hollered out again, “I GOT IT! KILL THE DAMN ZOMBIES!” When I looked back at her, she was already heading up the ladder to get her mom. Time was no longer a factor. We had to kill fast and get the fuck out. I tried to sheathe the sword but it wouldn’t go in. I wound up dropping it, and drawing the Glock. A few shots later the zombies were dead.

  Gilbert hollered out, “They heard that!”

  I returned to the truck and got the M15 and shouldered it. On the second level of the office building there was maybe seven or eight undead, and Abby stopped halfway up the ladder to deal with them. I could hear the snap of the .22 pistol in her hands. She calmly popped each and every one of them in the head as they reached up at her on the ladder. I actually got hit in the face by falling brass and I’ve still got little round or cylindrical burns on my face.

  Gilbert and I moved to the back of the truck where the ladder was, and we started to lay down fire into the massive crowd of zombies heading into the park. Gilbert and I shot as slowly as we could. It was about a hundred yards of space and we wanted to pick off the leading walkers accurately. Gilbert took the 9 to 12 firing corridor, and I went 12 to 3. I think we got about a magazine each worth of bodies down when we heard Abby struggling with something on the ladder. I turned, and she’s coming down the ladder basically dragging a dude on his back behind her. He was fucked up bad, but still alive. Patty was coming down right after him, and she was all messed up too.

  Abby, Patty and I had this weird exchange at the back of the truck of like, “Who the fuck? I dunno? What the fuck? Mom said so! What the fuck Patty? Just grab him! Fuck that! Fuck you! Fucking A!”

  Sigh.

  I grabbed the dude’s collar and dragged him with one arm around to the front of the truck. I could tell by the way his leg sat at it was busted. Abby climbed into the backseat of the truck and between the two of us, we got his half conscious ass dragged up and into the seat.

  I emptied the few rounds left in my magazine into the crowd of ridiculously close undead and we all piled into the damn truck. I told Abby to keep one eye and a gun barrel on the dude in case he bit it.

  I guess that was a bad choice of words.

  Patty assaulted Abby. Good lord they cried and hugged and loved and all that craziness. Gilbert wound up pointing his pistol at the burnt dude while they rediscovered their lost relationship. I drove the damn truck. I spun us in a circle, told the hugging mother and daughter to hold on, and I hit that wall
of undead like a fat kid wrecking cake.

  Undead flew everywhere like frosting through a chipper-shredder. It was awesome.

  Once we made it through there it was almost entirely clear. We’d either shot or hit so many fucking zombies the herd was super thin. Patty said she had maybe a quarter of her box of ammo left, which mean she’d shot almost 400 herself. That poor woman. That poor rifle barrel. Serious solider action there though. Tough broad.

  We made it back through town and onto the other side of Main Street clean. Route 18 was smooth sailing as was Auburn Lake Road. When we finally got back to campus I had learned the burnt dude was Tony, and he was a guard in the STIG building. We got him out of the truck and into Hall E’s living room. Patty molested me some, then she molested Gilbert some.

  She told us probably ten times that night how there was some kind of explosion. You know that means right? Sean oh… Sean. You done fucked up brother. More on that later.

  Patty and Abby blacked out on the couch holding each other. Gilbert and I couldn’t sleep. I gave the Tony guy some first aid, but to be frank, I am giving him a snowball’s chance in hell of even coming back to consciousness. One whole side is burnt to shit. His left leg is broken down near the ankle, and I know for a fact it’ll never heal right without surgery. He’s got a shard of metal in his hip the size of a deck of playing cards, and he’s lost a lot of blood. I got an IV going in him, and he sucked the damn thing dry in minutes.

  Gilbert and I discussed what the hell we were going to do as the sun came up. Hard to believe it, but we were up all night. We had the good fortune of bad weather rolling in. Pretty much as soon as we started talking the snow started to fall. Tony’s color came back after a few hours, and then Patty woke up. She told us all about STIG, and I was kind of shocked. From what I heard, it sounded like they were eventually going under. They were consuming food faster than they could scavenge it or grow it. Patty said a lot of the folks didn’t expect them to make it through winter. Great building, shitty location. Brian wasn’t kidding when he said they needed us more than we needed them.

  Now that he’s dead, I’m not sure he was right.

  Patty said she’d take over watching Tony, and Gilbert and I passed out. I got about five hours of sleep and woke up in the early afternoon. Patty was with Tony, and he was still out. Abby was sleeping on the couch and Gilbert was out cold on the recliner with Otis on his lap. Guess he can’t be a complete turd if Otis still likes him.

  I showered, then Abby was up, and she showered, and then Patty showered, and we all sat around like we were at a funeral. Not far from the truth. Everyone was on pins and needles all night waiting for the Westfield assault force to roll in. I got the guns cleaned, and we all took stock of our fucked up lives. Turns out, we’re miserable.

  We went through a lot of ammo on that run. Worth it though. We got Patty back. That’s enough for me. Both trucks were filthy with carnage, but they took fuck all for damage. I mean with a good washing they’ll be fine.

  That night we posted guard at the bridge after getting the plywood planks back into place. We knew that they were aware of them, but that doesn’t make them useless. It’s like barbed wire. The enemy can see it, and it still slows them down. Cuts down their options for attack.

  I took the first half in Hall A’s furthest window, nearest the bridge. There was no way anyone could get across the river right now, and the lake is covered in two or three feet of loose snow. Nothing came. Patty took over at 4am, and she said nothing happened either. The snow lasted through the entire night as well, and kept on during the day. I’d say we got a foot or more.

  Earlier today we began our plan to strike back at Sean. We’re in a pickle here. Once I told them about the unloaded guns on the patsies at the gas station everyone knew the stakes had been raised. The basic idea is this: we can’t go in there guns blazing without more info.

  If Sean is setting people up to die, then he has an agenda, and enemies on the inside. Now it’s not always the rule, but as the saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and I think in this case, it’s damn applicable. What we need is inside info. I need to know what’s going on in there.

  Then, I need one bullet to end this. McGreevy’s rifle will dish out a little bit more justice if I have my way. I need more time to plan this though. And time… is something I don’t know if I have.

  I’m exhausted. I need rest. I however would like to end this journal entry on a positive note.

  Team Vagina is bloodied, but not dead.

  Lol.

  -Adrian

  February 6th

  You know… I lost my fucking sword. I’ve got the long sword I brought from home still but it’s huge compared to the small one that’s gone. I can’t imagine carrying that thing around all the time, especially getting in and out of vehicles. On foot yeah sure, but in vehicles, the scabbard alone is a pain in the ass. I think the blade was bent the other night at STIG anyway. I shouldn’t complain, I got really good mileage out of it. Best three hundred bucks I’ve spent in a long time. Not that I’ve spent any money recently. The world is on sale. Free for the taking, as it were.

  What’s that Mr. Journal? How am I? How’s life?

  Life sucks.

  But, I am alive, and so are some of the people I care about, so I guess all things considered, it could be much worse. Yesterday, last night and today we’ve had at least one of us on guard watching and waiting to be hit. We’ve upped our patrols to three a day to look for foot prints or movement of any kind. We’ve seen nothing. The paranoia is a motherfucker though. It’s worse than before when we were waiting for them to show up.

  They raised the ante considerably when they hit the gas station and STIG. Fucking Sean. I’ll watch him bleed out before this is all said and done. Mark my words Mr. Journal. I want that asshole’s blood running in the snow.

  Yesterday Tony got a little better. He woke up for a few minutes and talked to Patty. He was grateful to be alive, but in a lot of pain. We won’t leave him alone on the outside chance he kicks the bucket. Mostly Patty has been his babysitter. She’s got at least one busted rib, and any kind of movement blows for her. We’ve got her chest wrapped up tight, which helps some. She’s been relaxing with him in the living room of Hall E, making sure he’s still alive. As I said, he got a lot better yesterday, but he slipped into a fever overnight. He’s just got too much damage to fix. We’re wasting medicine and food keeping him alive, and I hate to say it, but his suffering needs to end soon. Patty can’t see the light on this yet, and it’s making things a little uncomfortable for Gilbert and I. Combat triage isn’t easy for anyone to deal with, but it’s a fact of life.

  I’m feeling very disorganized in my head. I haven’t been sleeping well at all, and with the stress and sudden changes going on I frequently feel like I am a spectator inside my own head. It’s almost like I don’t realize something has happened until after and then I’m trying to recall it. I forgot to put the magazine in my M15 this morning when I went on patrol and didn’t realize it until I was a hundred yards outside the building. I gotta get my shit together here or I’m going to die.

  I really need to get some sleep. When I have been sleeping I’m having those shitty ass dreams again. Lots and lots of violence, lots of arguing with people, and tons of just really odd bullshit. When I don’t wake up freaking out, I wake up confused and sad. I think I might go back to taking something to help me sleep, because I can’t function on three hours of sleep broken up over the night. I can’t focus at all.

  One thought keeps fucking with me. I never asked Brian if Cassie was there at STIG, or if Steve was for that matter. I haven’t been listening to the radio at the times Steve said he’d broadcast, but honestly with the state repeaters down, he’d need to be within ten miles or so anyway. If he was within ten miles, he’d fucking stop by, he knew I worked here. Simple reality is that Steve is probably dead. And as far as Cassie is concerned… Well, I am hopeful she’s either holed up somewhere safe, or
she’s been dead for a long time. Those lines of thought allow me to get some sleep at night.

  Yesterday we accomplished jack shit. Resting, and trying to stay vigilant for an attack. I did get Abby, Patty, and Gilbert keys for Hall E though. I think we’re at the point where they can have keys to their own home. Today was more of the same bullshit really. Well, Patty and I got into it. Like I said, she really wants this Tony kid to survive. I can totally see where she’s coming from too. They were trapped on the top floor of the STIG building and had this intense bonding experience, and they kept each other “sane” and I’m sure her motherly thing is going crazy too. Here’s the thing. He’s dying. We can’t break his fever, and he’s got severe burns on at least a quarter of his body. We’ve already gone through several of the IV bags from the heavy rescue truck, and it’s not like those things are growing on trees. Which reminds me. Apples grow on trees. Something to look forward to if I live to fall.

  We managed to get the hunk of iron out of his hip and get the wound packed, but the dressing needs to be changed at least once and probably twice a day to prevent infection. Speaking of which, he’s so susceptible to infection right now it isn’t funny. Burn victims have their immune system so compromised… Hence the hospital “burn unit” idea. It’s much cleaner there than in the rest of the hospital.

  And! He has a busted ass leg. Which we can’t do fuck all about. Even if he heals from the burns, and heals from the chunk of his hip missing, he’ll be on crutches at best for the rest of his life. Realistically, the man will be a burden on us if he survives. I hated to be callous about him to her, but he’s going to drain our medicine, our supplies, and our food.

  She screamed some. Abby intervened and the two women had a moment together. I apologized for being a dick about it and that helped some. I can be very black and white when things are bad. It’s like the way I cope with ambiguity. Pick a course of action and ride it, even if it rides me into the sun. I need to see it through no matter what. Cassie said I was pig headed more than once. No arguments from me about it. I can be an asshole. I’m not perfect.