Mike brought them specifically for separate reasons. Lisa offered free physicals, which everyone gladly took up, and happily, we all passed with flying colors. I am proud to announce Mr. Journal that a woman looked at my penis. It’s been awhile, and I’m pretty happy for myself. Patty’s rib is tender, but we knew that already. Oh, and Gilbert is old. Surprise!
Gavin demanded he be brought along strictly to try and talk to “the hot chick” who we discovered was Abby. Abby was not informed of Gavin’s desires towards her by anyone else, but for a fairly shy guy, Gavin made excellent headway talking to her. Abby’s very forward, but also shy at the same time, and I really think they hit it off. Gavin was impressed by Abby’s survivor story I think, and she was impressed by him being the first guy to show any interest in her in… forever.
Mallory came because in Staff Sergeant Mike McCarthy’s opinion, our “personal grooming standards” were sorely lacking. Mallory gave us all haircuts. I barely noticed that my hair was hanging in front of my eyes. I gave myself a haircut with a little trimmer back in September, but I have completely bricked doing it again. It was nice to have a professional give me a haircut. In honor of my boy Kevin, I had her give me a “high and tight.” The girls said I looked stupid, but it brought back memories.
Mike seemed suitably impressed when I shared my Ranger school info. Apparently he always wanted to go, but never got around to it. I told him it was overrated. Lots of running around carrying heavy shit, swimming around carrying heavy shit, and falling down carrying heavy shit. Incidentally, that sums up almost all training in the military.
As far as trading shit goes, we definitely sealed our first deal today. Mike said they desperately need fresh water, and he brought about ten empty gallon jugs with him to show. I swear he almost cried when I filled them from the tap in the kitchen of Hall A. He watched me wash my hands too and I think he almost tried to stop me. I was wasting water don’t you know?...
So we put forth the ten gallon jugs of water, and in return he dropped a dozen eggs, and two bottles of milk. He’s got a more or less endless supply of those, and we’ve got a more or less endless supply of water. Seems fair to me.
Now for stuff that isn’t endless, we can haggle, and we did. He said they were getting really low on soap and toothpaste, and general hygiene products, and wouldn’t you know I’ve got a shitload. I ponied up three tubes of toothpaste, 4 bars of soap, 8 sticks of deodorant (some partially used), one container of Gold Bond medicated powder, and three 8 roll packages of decent toilet paper. These are all consumables.
In trade, Mike offered up a crate containing two M2A1 ammo cans of 5.56 for my gun. For those of you with no military experience, that’s 1,680 rounds of .5.56. Sha boing. Totally answered my needs for the M15 for some time. I felt like that was more than fair for the stuff I gave up. I told him we’d be super interested in getting chickens down the line, and he said he’d be super interested in eating some venison down the line.
So I think I might spend some time in the woods coming up here. I would kill for some goddamn chicken right now. I’ve got barbecue sauce coming out the asshole in the cafeteria, and man… just thinking about that makes me drool some.
So the whole afternoon was positive, and the entire time no undead came on campus, which was nice. Made the campus seem a lot more secure than it has been lately. Mike complemented us on what he thought was a great spot, and a job well done. He invited us to come visit them for a similar trade on March 1st, which we’re planning for already. He said if possible to bring more water, and venison if we got any. He said they’re really going through laundry detergent as well, and they’d be willing to trade for that too. I know I left some behind in the houses in the area, and we’ve got a bunch here too, so that’ll be a nice trade for us. It certainly makes me want to hit more houses for their contents. Fucking zombies though.
Mike and company left, and said they were having emergency elections on March 2nd, and we were more than welcome to attend, though we couldn’t vote, which makes sense. I told him we’d be in Westfield for the 1st, and we’d see what happened that day. Who knows what the weather will bring. Shit, it’s been almost 50 here the past few days. Prolly be 20 below next week. Fucking weather.
And that was that. Everyone was really happy this evening. Gilbert seemed very pleased with the meeting, and the lunch went over well. We’re planning on having pancakes tomorrow. Made with fresh eggs, and milk.
Oh dear. Just.. oh dear.
-Adrian
February 27th
Hello hello. How ya doing?
Oh, that’s awesome. I’m fine thanks for asking. How are the Knicks doing? I think they’re all dead Mr. Journal. What’s that? The Redwings? Probably skating on thin ice har de fucking har.
Not much going on here if you didn’t get the drift. Like I said in the last entry, we’re staying here on campus and just taking care of business. Undead roaming up the road have been worrisome. We’re actually at the point where yesterday morning we’re back to stationing someone in Hall A with the Tac .22 to take them out. It’s a steady stream of the bastards now, almost two or three an hour.
Abby got a marker board and put it up in the room where we’re at and we are currently keeping score. Patty has 14 kills, Abby has 11, and I’ve got 8. Gilbert claims to have killed three thousand, but we’re pretty sure he’s full of shit. Only pretty sure though. You can never really tell with that guy. Crafty bastard.
Otis has been good, thankfully. He ran and hid when the Westfield folks were here the other day, and spent a day or so in seclusion afterwards. He’s been out and about lately, and pretty affectionate.
My haircut makes my head cold as hell. I’ve taken to wearing my little knit winter cap around everywhere. The girls keep telling me it’s a lot better than having to look at the haircut. I’ve told them to eat my ass multiple times lately, and despite my insistence, they have yet to actually toss my salad. If they keep picking on my ranger haircut, I will be forced to retaliate with pseudo-violence. I might throw one of them down and force feed them my stinker. That’ll teach em.
It’s nice that we can joke about shit now. Seems like the humor here has been missing for a long time. Stress is such asshat.
Speaking of asshats. Basking in the aftermath of the whole Sean is dead thing, I feel really bad about calling all those people asshats. So far, they’ve all been really good to me. That Chad guy seemed like a douche, but I think he was just a sycophant. I do feel bad lumping them all together with Sean. I’m happy though because in the big attack that failed here by Sean, we actually killed almost his entire base of supporters. His failed attempt to remove those three people who didn’t like him during the gas station thing backfired too. I think he did more to kill himself than anything we did really. We were just the nudge.
That’s pretty much everything. And I’ve got an hour until bedtime. I kinda thought this would take longer to write out, but as it turns out, there’s fuck all to talk about. Soooooo… yeah.
How about I share a story from my past? Adrian story time? Okay Mr. Journal, I’m in a good mood, so I’ll share a good story. Hm. What story? Oooh. Remember way back when I mentioned that I had a friend shot in the ass? And that the story was a winner? Well here it is.
In May of 2004 Kevin and I were in Baghdad doing counter insurgency operations with our unit. Most of our days we rolled around Baghdad in up armored humvees sweating our balls off. Most days we’d take small arms fire that pinged off the trucks, and half the time (especially towards the end of our tour) we’d get hit by some form of explosion. Most popular were IED’s, and the occasional VBIED. Once we were hit by a DBIED. That’s a donkey-borne improvised explosive device. That made a MESS, man.
We were lucky on most of our patrols in 2003. We only had a few casualties, and no deaths in our unit until December. In late April I think, we started to do a lot of patrols on foot. Handshaking was important, and that was about when the real bastard part of the insurgency was kic
king off. I remember it was about when the Blackwater bullshit went down, and the whole Fallujah mess got rolling.
Anyway, our unit was deployed on foot for about a 10 hour patrol, and myself, Kevin, and a buddy of ours named Patrick suddenly took accurate fire from a sniper position. We had been going down a street that was maybe 15 feet wide, and when we went for cover, the three of us dove into a tiny ass alcove on the side of a building. All of the guys in our unit took cover, and for about two hours our entire unit was pinned down, waiting for another fire team to maneuver on the sniper. So about the time we were supposed to get some relief by the other fire team finding the sniper, they got pinned down about a block or two away by foot mobiles, and then we hear that we’re about to be surrounded too.
Now clearly that’s fucking bad. We are canned up like sardines, and being hedged in on all sides by people who are fucking excited about hacking your head off. We’re starting to discuss eating bullets instead of being captured. So finally our L.T. decides we need air support, and the only thing he can get approved is a re-tasked Marine Cobra. Buuuut, they were like 30 minutes away, and Patrick has to take a shit.
Kevin and I are like dude, just shit yourself. Straighten out a fucking leg, and shake it into the damn street out the bottom of your pant leg. Patrick’s all prissy and shit, and he starts getting loony about having to take a dump. He’s already sweating from the heat, and I am pretty sure his sweat started to sweat from having to take a dump. At this point our whole unit stuck in the street is yelling at him to either hold it, or to shit himself. DO NOT GO IN THE STREET!
Finally Patrick snaps, and wiggles his fucking trousers down, and quite literally proceeds to hang his ass out into the street to launch his load. Well if you can picture it from the sniper’s point of view, this snow white ass cheek hangs itself out into plain view, and starts to drop a deuce. What would you do?
Now for the record, anyone who shoots a friend of mine is automatically an asshole. I mean, that’s pretty cut and dried right? But I gotta hand it to the Hajji with the rifle, because he shot Patrick right square in one butt cheek, through it, right past his ass crack, and straight on through the other butt cheek. Now we saw the bullet whizz by because it was a fucking tracer round. The burning of the tracer instantly cauterized his wounds, and just like you’d imagine, Patrick goes straight backwards, and manages to fall right into the pile of turds he’d fired off into the street a few seconds prior. Now he’s shot in the naked ass, and he’s fallen into his own shit smears on a Baghdad slum street.
Our entire unit, to a fucking man, just sat there making the fucking O face. No one could believe that had just happened. I mean it was horrible, and hilarious all at the same time.
Patrick’s feet are now pointed at Kevin and I, and almost simultaneously we grab his feet, and drag him back into the tiny ass alcove we were in. The whole time Patrick is screaming bloody murder, “MY FUCKING ASS! HOLY SHIT, MY FUCKING ASS! THEY SHOT ME IN THE FUCKING ASSHOLE! OH MY GOD MY ASSHOLE!”
Hilarious.
I grab Patrick’s arm and got him turned sideways so his head was in the alcove, and wouldn’t you know, Patrick wasn’t done shitting. Luckily for me Pat’s business end was facing toward Kevin, and for the next five minutes, Patrick proceeded to empty his bowels out of his three assholes (two of them brand spanking new, by the way) all over Kevin’s boots. Straight up fountaining bloody poop all over Kevin’s feet. God it was terrible. And the whole time Patrick is screaming that his ass is on fire, and holy shit my ass…
The L.T. manages to speed up the Cobra, and about five minutes later we spot the sniper’s position, and the Cobra fires off some chain gun rounds and puts the fucking sniper down. While we’re cheering on the Marine Aviation support we were getting, our L.T. calls for armored evac, and about 45 minutes later some Bradley AFVs and an Abrams show up, and get us the fuck out of there.
Patrick got taken to the hospital at Balad, and when we finally got to see him there a few days later, one of our guys donated a Purple Heart so he could have two. One for each ass cheek.
Oddly enough, he didn’t think that was funny at all. Having to be on his stomach all day for the foreseeable future as well as having to eat a largely liquid or soft diet, kind of put a damper on his spirits.
Funny part too is that when he was about to be removed for transport out, Balad got hit by mortars, and he had to run all stiff assed to take cover. I mean hell, how much worse could it get, right? Apparently that reopened his wounds, and set him back at least a week on the healing. Poor asshole. Lol.
I heard from him a year or two later, and I’m happy to report that he healed up nicely. I hope wherever he is , he is keeping his rebuilt ass in one piece.
I love that story.
Tomorrow is another do nothing day for us. I think we’re going to chill out here and assemble a potential “trade package” to bring to Westfield. We need to get more water containers to transport back and forth, and I know elsewhere on campus there are empty jugs. Milk, orange juice, etc.
Not sure what else to bring other than what they suggested. I’m sure they’ve got a lot of what we have as well, so it makes sense to not bring shit they’ve got extra of. I’d like to get some hunting time in. Maybe I can do that tomorrow with the bow. I don’t have a tree stand, but if I get out there early enough, maybe I can snag a deer. Unlikely, but here’s to hoping.
I’ll slap another entry in when I get some time and energy Mr. Journal. I hope you enjoyed this short journey into Adrian’s past.
-Adrian
March 2011
March 1st
Mr. Journal, there are a lot of people in Westfield. I mean a lot. Well, there’s less than forty, but that seems like so many people. It was insane. People everywhere. And they were nice too! Can you imagine it? Nice people. I thought they’d all been eaten.
Weird stuff.
Yesterday we had an all hands meeting and decided that I would go to Westfield with Patty. Knowing what we knew about the huge amount of women there, we felt it’d be a good idea to bring one of our own women. Abby was too young we felt, and Patty was pretty adamant on cock blocking her and Gavin from talking again. Well, at least for now.
Gilbert said he was feeling a little meh yesterday, and today he seemed kinda under the weather. I wonder if he’s getting a cold from having met the new folks the other day. Nothing like a good old germ sharing event to shove everyone’s health into the toilet. It’s all good though. We really need to get these germs anyway, otherwise we’ll get hit by some super germ down the road and we’ll all die or something. We got him some juice to drink, and Abby babysat him all day today.
As for shit to bring, when we last met Mike mentioned that they really needed laundry detergent and hygiene supplies. Obviously I didn’t get a deer yesterday. I did go out walking in the woods, but the damn snow is so deep I couldn’t get anywhere. I’m thinking I might do a sip around with one of the snow machines to pack a trail or two so I can at least get around a bit easier.
So yesterday afternoon Patty and I went the length of Auburn Lake Road and scavenged for laundry detergent. As it happens, I left behind 8 things of it. Patty also grabbed an ass ton more clothing, as well as perfume and cologne which wound up to be pretty fruitful. Mr. Journal, women love clothing. They also like to smell nice. They’re also willing to trade well for those things. We found six more jugs of water to fill for them as well, and I grabbed another tube of toothpaste. Gilbert made us bring one of the containers of salt I got awhile back, which also turned out to be a great idea.
Auburn Lake Road yesterday and today was a little treacherous. The weather has been fine, a little cold maybe, but the real danger is the steady stream of fucking dead people. We had to kill six more yesterday while we were checking houses. Fortunately they were really spread out, and Patty was able to pop them with her .22. I wound up killing one with that little hatchet I have. I do not like using that hatchet man. It got stuck in the head of that Tera chick in Westf
ield, and it got stuck in the head of the dude I killed yesterday too. I really need to source out a machete or a more substantial short sword.
My kingdom for a Kukri.
The drive to Westfield was uneventful. We timed it to arrive right before lunch like Mike asked us. I knew roughly how to get to the school from my recon trips before the Sean bullshit, and really all I had to do was follow the plowed roads. They’re only moving on a few roads really, and they all lead to the school or the farm.
Patty pointed out where her house was, and we stopped there after our visit. I’ll share that after. Mike filled us in when he was on campus on how to get into the school, and we did what he told us to. They have two gaps in their vehicle wall that are blocked by a truck or van they can back out of the way. We pulled up to the gate, flashed our lights, honked our horn, waved etc, then we drive slowly around the school to lead the undead away from the gate.
When we got to the opposite side of the school, we gun it, and by then they have the van moved out of the way. We pull in, they move the van back, and viola, we’re in there like swimwear. The whole time one or both of the two guards on the roof have their rifles trained on the gate to shoot any stragglers that make their way inside the parking lot.
We parked, and literally Mike came out to greet us with an entourage of people. Mostly women, as advertised. I felt so popular. I think the women have been a little starved for fresh male meat, and I really think as a tall, masculine fella, I was what the doctor ordered. I had to play hard to get all day from the flirting women. It was really weird getting hit on like that too. It’s been awhile since I’ve been hit on at all. Let alone treated like a piece of meat. Hm. Food for thought, right?
Midnight (Adrian's Undead Diary) Page 41
