From the side of the house I saw a window was open, so I scrambled up and into the ranch house as fast as I could. I ate shit when I came down on the other side when the snowshoes snagged on the window. Bit my tongue pretty good. Doh. Once I got the shoes off I cleared out the place and found it was empty, and emptied. Nothing inside worth taking at all. All the cupboards were open, as was the fridge. The place had been tossed for its contents.
I set up the kitchen table inside the house with a chair and established a good hide spot. I could see out all three sides of the house at the plowed road, and unless someone slowed down and looked directly inside at me, I was invisible. I had left no visible tracks in either, which left me feeling pretty safe.
I set up at 11am. Something like that at least. I got my shit out, and sat there. The life of an observer. Hours and hours of boredom, punctuated by moments of sheer terror. Nothing came into my field of view until 3pm. A small pickup truck came down the street heading north towards the suburb portion of the city. There were two passengers in the truck, and they drove pretty relaxed at about 25 mph. Redheaded guy, and chick with a ponytail. They came through at about three, and returned back at about half past four. Most noteworthy was that the truck was carrying stuff in the back on the return trip.
Notice anything funny about that paragraph Mr. Journal? Anything at all? Go ahead, re-read it once more.
Find it yet?
There’s no mention of zombies in it.
I didn’t see a single zombie the entire first day and night I was there. Not one. That told me these guys had either dragged them all somewhere else, or had them huddled around the school like Patty said they had at STIG. Well, the third option is that they have managed to kill all the undead, but that scares me. It suggests a pretty powerful amount of organization, and a large and capable fighting force.
That night I slept in a back bedroom and froze my ass off. I think I got about 3 hours of sleep total. However, I never used to mind getting shit sleep on ops like this back in the sandbox. You’re so wired up on adrenaline sleep feels like it’s getting in the fucking way. Wake up Adrian! Get back to the mission! It’s funny how the brain works.
I was set up in my hide drinking a can of Red Bull at 4am. I did see a single zombie shuffle down the road at 9am. It was an old lady wearing a floral print bathrobe. She went from north to south and I let her walk. No need to kill anything or announce my presence. I decided I’d displace after seeing her walk by. I gathered my shit, and got out the back, and went the better part of mile north in the backyards of the houses. Through fences, around old pools, and over hedges. What a bitch. It took me over an hour to go a mile. Essentially I shadowed the plowed road until I got to an area where the density of houses dropped off, and I could see some farmland ahead.
At the corner of the road I had been set up on was a small cape, and I set myself up in the second floor in a bedroom that had a corner view of the farms and the street. It was empty just like the ranch was before. Clearly these people had gone house to house just like I had. They were thorough.
Not long after I had finished getting myself set up in the cape the same truck drove by with the same two passengers. The redheaded guy again, and the same chick with the ponytail. Once again it was three in the afternoon. I watched the truck make a left hand turn, drive a quarter of a mile, and then turned into the long driveway of a farm. There was a fairly simple chain link gate at the end of the driveway that the male passenger got out and opened for the truck. At that point I got the Savage trained on the farm and realized I’d hit the jackpot. The farm’s layout is a bitch to describe, but the long chicken coop area ran the long way towards me, parallel with the road. At the end of that was the farmhouse, and then behind both of those buildings were barns. Surrounding the whole damn thing was a fence that I could barely make out under the snow.
The truck people got out, and an old guy came out of the farm to greet them. They went inside, and after about an hour, the two people came out with armloads of shit. I couldn’t quite make out what was in the boxes and crates, but I’d bet twenty bucks I saw bottles with white shit inside. Pretty sure it was milk. I also opened the windows and took a real strong set of whiffs, and I could clearly smell cow shit. I think that farm has livestock. That means they have milk, meat occasionally, and if that long building is a chicken coop, then they have eggs and chicken as well. That explains how the assholes that ambushed us had sandwiches. They’ve got fresh eggs and milk available.
I didn’t see a single guard around the farm. Not one. I think they’re relying on the fences for defense against the undead. I’d also bet they haven’t had to deal with another group of survivors yet either. (well, other than us) That leaves them pretty wide open to be fucked with. Especially by people who know how to fuck with people. *evil smile*
Once the truck left I got the fuck out. I had seen enough and I bugged out back to the snow machine. What a fucking chore to make that trip twice in just a few hours. We got some light snow last night as well, which helped with the noise. The truck was undisturbed and I got the snowmobile into the back after fucking around with it for twenty minutes. Felt like an asshat every time the boards moved on me. I need to find the little bumper ramp attachments.
Anyway, I had to break into the house there to find a shovel to get the truck unstuck. When I backed out of the garage it got bogged down in a rut or something. I had to dig it out a bit. Clearing the house at night was a little freaky. I was about to go room to room like normal, but instead I just popped the maglite on and started talking out loud. I figured if anything was undead inside they’d come to my voice. Luckily the place was empty.
So I dug the truck out, got it turned around and made it back to Route 18 with no issues. I noticed the snow was undisturbed in the road as well, which meant they hadn’t driven out to this point while I’d been in town. That’s good news. Of course if they find the tire tracks before more snow falls, they’ll know exactly what was up.
It took me almost an hour and half to make it the 25 miles back. I’d bitch about how long the drive was, but frankly that was as warm as I’d been in almost two days, so I hardly noticed how long it took. Gilbert was on watch when I arrived, and because we’re afraid to let Westfield in on our communications, we’re not using the radios unless we absolutely have to. I stopped at the nail boards and flashed my lights five times. I moved the boards (again with the fucking physical labor) reset the boards, moved the vans, reset the vans, and got my ass inside for a Gilbert debrief. Patty and Abby tackled with me with nervous hugs and fed me hot food which was great. I was fucking starving. Otis showed me some love too.
I showed Gilbert the maps I drew and the notes I took, and we worked over a new plan for tomorrow. I’m headed back at 5am or so I can beat the sunrise. Instead of going back to the same two houses I was in, I’ll be heading further away towards the farm so I can see exit strategies for the farm. Is there a second exit from the farm if we ambush? Where is a good spot to hit the truck on a trip? If we’re going to hit the truck in an ambush, we want to do it as far from the high school as possible so we can mitigate the threat of a QRF from there, but we also don’t want to draw fire from the farmhouse.
I won’t be staying over in Westfield if at all possible tomorrow. I’ll hopefully get in, see the truck making it’s trip again, and then hopefully get some good eyes on the farm so we can plan a hit either the 13th or the 14th.
That reminds me, I need to think of something nice to do for the girls for Valentine’s. I’ve never been a good romantic though, and I also don’t want to send the wrong message. All the florists seem to be… dead. Roses might be out of the question. Maybe I can do breakfast for them or something nice.
I think they desperately need something nice right now. I know I do. Sleep now, then back to Westfield tomorrow for another recon op. If all goes well, we can plan an ambush for the 13th.
Later Mr. Journal.
-Adrian
February 13th
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More blood my hands today Mr. Journal. Seems to be the rule lately. Adrian gets to kill people who may or may not deserve it. Our hand may be played with Westfield. I don’t know how this will work out, but it seems the wheels are in motion. I need to stop rambling. Man I’m an idiot some days.
Sigh. I hope this doesn’t make things worse. Gilbert isn’t sure one way or the other. As I said in the last entry I had the time for I planned on returning to Westfield yesterday. I did. Before I left yesterday Gilbert and I planned a different route into the town on side roads that were even more off the beaten path. It was almost all side roads to get there, and I tell you man what a bitch of a drive. I almost switched to the maintenance plow just to make it a little easier, but I didn’t want to risk losing the plow if something should happen. Not that a plow isn’t replaceable, I just don’t want one more fucking hassle. I’ve got 99 problems now, and a plow isn’t one.
Seems like no matter where you go in the world there’s always one main way to get there, and then a bunch of out of the way routes to get there. For example, I can take Route 18 all the way to the interstate to get to the city. Straight shot. However, I can take a combination of twenty different back roads to get there. Same idea here.
I arrived in the outskirts of Westfield at about 11am. The side roads I took brought me right near the farm I’d seen the other day, so it was a longer drive, but a much shorter walk. I established that my recon yesterday would largely be on foot, so I didn’t set up anywhere. Using the snowshoes I made decent progress through the woods around the farm. The snow was packed hard from the freeze/thaw cycles, so it was easy moving. I had the M15 slung on my back, and I rolled with the Savage so I could observe through the scope.
The farm itself was fairly small. This isn’t a massive dairy operation, or a chicken factory. Like I said there was one large chicken building that was maybe a hundred feet long, plus a good sized barn and a reasonable farmhouse. Few shed style outbuildings as well. I got close enough in three or four spots where I could see with the Savage that there were indeed chickens in the long building, and at least three cows in the barn. I suspect there were more cows than that, but I couldn’t get an angle to see. Judging from the beaten down snow and the piles of shit all over the place, I’d guess at maybe 6 to 8 cattle. Looks clearly like a family run farm.
My friends in the pickup truck arrived once again at a little after three and stayed until a little after four. They brought back empty crates and when they left the same crates were full. I was set up about 25 yards into the woods, and with the scope I could clearly see they had bottles of milk with them.
Fresh milk. Oh dear.
The same old man from the day before greeted them and saw them off. After they left he went back inside, then a few minutes later came out on the back porch with a cup of coffee. He fired up a pipe and smoked it out there for about half an hour, then headed back inside as the sun was finally dipping down.
Once the sun was down I exfil’d back to the truck and headed home. The ride back was just as shitty as the ride there, in case you were curious Mr. Journal. Shit-tastic winter we’re having here.
I got home at about 8pm and we had ourselves a pow-wow. After explaining the trip of the passenger truck and lack of a second exit from the farm we essentially had ourselves a bottle neck for the truck. The only exit for them was on the plowed road, or through really thick snow, and the smaller truck wouldn’t be able to handle it. If we slipped a few 2x4s into the snow right there, we’d be even better off in preventing an exit that way.
Gilbert and I agreed that the best ambush location would be near the cape on the corner, but perhaps a few hundred feet south. That way we’d be obscured from the farm, and still quite a ways from the high school should they send a QRF to answer an ambush on the small truck. After some pretty raucous arguments, we decided that using Abby as bait would be our best plan.
Abby walks down the road with me in a house with the Savage. Gilbert sets up nearby with the snowmobile, and when the truck sees Abby, she gets them to stop to “help her.” Gilbert rides out on the snowmobile with the AK, asks them to drop their weapons and radios, and we begin our question and answer session. Hopefully it all ended with no violence.
And by now you already know it ended with violence. Gilbert and I (rashly, you could argue) decided to hit the truck today. We’ve got a lot of intel, and the longer we wait, the more time they have to attack us. Patty’s rib has gotten good enough that she could take watch in Hall A while we were gone so she obviously begged up a storm to come along. We told her it was a bad idea, and after yet another screaming session, she conceded that she actually was still in fair amount of pain. Patty has done a lot of screaming since Charles and Randy died. I hope she can find some calm soon because that bitch has pipes. It’s a good thing I’m half deaf from fucking gunfire.
Gilbert, Abby and I took off in the plow truck. We got the snowmobile loaded and grabbed up a bunch of good shit and were on the road by 4am. We arrived just as the sun was rising, and when we saw no additional tracks in the road, we headed to the same spot I’d parked on my second trip to Westfield. Abby and Gilbert sat up a rear guard with the snowmobile until I got fifteen minutes ahead on foot. After that time they rode out very slowly following my tracks until they reached the spot I’d decided for the ambush.
Abby and I slipped into and cleared another small home for me to use and Gilbert rode the snowmobile around and towards the farm so if they suddenly slammed the truck into reverse he’d be able intercept them. At just about five after three the truck drove by heading to the farm. I was set up in a second floor window with a radio, and I could clearly see the quarter of a mile or so to the farm. I had an almost perfect little space between the trees and houses so I could see the driveway, and when the truck parked in the yard, I could see it.
Gilbert and Patty had a radio on them as well, and we switched to a seldom used channel and did a hot mike test to make sure no one else heard us. We sent some garbled chatter out, waited for reply, and after ten minutes we were reasonably sure we had the channel to ourselves. Abby staged down at the door of the house, and when I saw the two people get in the truck at the farm, I hollered down to her they were on their way.
Abby jogged outside through the snow and made it to the road, and started walking slowly as if she was heading towards the general direction of the high school. We planned on her having a hot mic so Gilbert and I could hear any conversation she had. It took maybe two minutes after that for the truck to reach a point in the road where she could be seen. They slowed down, and through the scope I could see the male passenger fumble for, and get a handgun ready. They didn’t radio anyone though, which was great.
Abby waved back at them at just about the perfect time. They might’ve mistaken her for a dead chick if she waited too long. Like we had discussed, she spun to face them, and then did a wave and a handful of “OMG! PEOPLE!” jumps. She basically freaked out like a cheerleader, which was really funny to watch, because if you knew Abby, she is so not a cheerleader. Probably pretty enough, but there’s too much faux penis and nerd culture in her.
The truck slowed, and came to a stop about 15 feet from her. I got up and bounded down the steps three at a time and switched to the M15 so I could come out the front door if I had to. The passenger stepped out of the truck and I watched the female driver put it in park. Mistake #1. Never put your car in park when you might need to get away in a hurry.
Over Abby’s mic we could hear the man talking faintly, and with eyes-on I could read his lips, and make out the whole conversation. Here’s what I remember before shit went south.
“Holy shit, people!” Abby hollered out.
“Show me your hands please!” The guy said back.
“Oh sorry!” She already had her hands out, but she raised them out so she wasn’t being a threat. He said thanks very politely, and Abby smiled at him. “Hey are you guys from here? I’ve been moving through some side towns here and was he
ading this way to look for food. Most of these houses are completely emptied.” She gestured around at the rows of houses in the development we were in.
“I’m part of the Westfield Council. We’re currently centered in the high school a mile or two down the road here. We’ve got plenty of food if you need a place to stay. There’s plenty spare food for everyone.” The guy was congenial, and looked older than he probably was. I caught a faint hint of him being a little slow too. Maybe too much time watching porn instead of hitting the books or something. Sort of tall with receding reddish hair and was a little chubby even, which told me a lot. I was pretty round when the shit hit the fan in June, but now, I’m lean and there’s little cushion. If this guy was still chubby, then they really were eating good there. That told me a lot.
Abby took a few seconds to respond, and I had to stifle a laugh. “Oh yeah I bet you guys have free candy back there too. I uh, think I’ll pass on the ride back to Pedo-ville. Do you guys have any food with you though? Just a granola bar or something?”
The guy clearly didn’t get the joke. He wasn’t pissed, but the humor went right over his head. He took a few steps back, still holding the gun in her direction, and popped open the passenger door of the small truck. I couldn’t hear him, but he was talking to the woman driving. After listening to him, she hopped out herself, and approached Abby. She had a long dark ponytail, and was wearing a digital camo National Guard jacket.
“Hey, what’s your name?” The woman asked. I didn’t like her posture. It said “bitch” to me. Abby kind of stiffened when the two of them were both out of the truck.
“I’m Clara. I used to live in Morgan, right down the road back that way.” She pointed to the general direction of the farm. It was nice to have a local doing the talking. I had no idea what the names of the little shitville burgs were around here.
Midnight (Adrian's Undead Diary) Page 30
