Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 10): The Last Resort [Adrian's March, Part 2]

by Philbrook, Chris

  TABLE OF CONTENTS:

  Auburn Lake Preparatory Academy map

  December 2013

  December 3rd

  Steve Goes to the City

  December 4th

  December 5th

  December 8th

  December 13th

  December 17th

  December 27th

  December 29th

  The Only Easy Day

  January 2014

  January 4th

  January 7th

  January 10th

  January 16th

  January 20th

  January 25th

  January 30th

  January 31st

  The Last Plane out of Kandahar

  February 2014

  February 3rd

  February 6th

  February 12th

  February 18th

  February 24th

  March 2014

  March 2nd

  March 7th

  March 16th

  March 23rd

  March 31st

  The Citadel

  April 2014

  April 7th

  April 18th

  April 23rd

  April 30th

  May 2014

  May 5th

  May 7th

  May 10th

  May 15th

  May 16th

  May 21st

  May 23rd

  May 25th

  May 26th

  Terrible Things in Your Name

  May 26th (2nd entry)

  May 28th

  May 29th

  May 30th

  June 2014

  June 2nd

  June 5th

  June 7th

  Just Me

  Special Preview — Colony Lost

  Dedication

  Patreon Patrons

  About the Author

  Additional Online Content

  Also by Chris Philbrook

  December 2013

  December 3rd

  I’m a weary man.

  I thought the meeting with the NVC people would bolster my mood, but it didn’t. I don’t know what could’ve raised my spirits today after our funeral service for Angela yesterday, and the setback Annie experienced.

  I don’t know why Angela’s death is hitting me so hard. She and I rarely spent time together at length, and I wouldn’t describe her as a close friend, but still… I’m just gutted right now. I think it’s Danny, and seeing the effect her death had on him. Amanda too, I suppose. Most of our losses during the time of the undead came right in front of the people who would’ve been told after the fact. We watched our loves ones die. There was no ‘knock on the door’ and bad news session that followed a death. If there were any, they were few and far between.

  I don’t know.

  We are still cremating people as a matter of tradition. We build a viking funeral pyre, and rest the deceased on the top of it. We gather, say a few kind words usually, and then we send them off to the great afterlife riding the flames we set.

  It’s a different experience now when someone dies, versus before 2010. Back then we had no idea there was an afterlife, no idea there really WAS a God (such as it is), and funerals existed to comfort the living. A ritual of grief. Something Michelle has studied at length in her time abroad. She can go on for days about how different cultures deal with grief.

  Amanda and Michelle spoke at Angela’s service in the falling snow yesterday with the entirety of Bastion watching. I think we spared only the guards in the towers and the men and women at the gates. Kevin took one of those jobs. I don’t think he could bear to watch the service. I don’t think he could bear to watch Danny or Amanda cry. He’s got a horse in the family race now.

  Amanda spoke of how amazing her sister was, how smart, strong, resilient, kind and thoughtful she was, and everyone cried. I wept. She told us about how they both fell off their bikes when they were about ten years old, and how she couldn’t walk home, so Angela carried her. Carried her with her own skinned knees and tear-streaked face, and then patched her up when they got back. That’s a lot of what Angela was about. To think she was that person so long ago, and remained as that person right to the end… Right to her end.

  Michelle spoke next, and she said beautiful things. She always says such beautiful things. I don’t know what I did to deserve her.

  She talked of the great services we perform for one another, for the sake of love and humanity. She talked of all the things that Angela did during the time since the end began. I don’t know how she learned about all of it. She had to have talked to people and found it all out to speak so eloquently, and specifically. Michelle talked about how we now know that there IS another side, and that there is some place, or some kind of existence to go to, and how Angela persists on, though not physically beside us as she had.

  She gave Danny and Amanda peace, I think. For a time. For now. Loss is like a boomerang though. Just when you think you’ve thrown it off for good, it fucking comes right back and hits you in the softest of spots.

  The faces of the people man… the faces. I could feel what they felt. The red eyes, the tears, the handkerchiefs wiping, the running noses, the fierce, long hugs and the glances of lovers that suddenly realize that what they have isn’t forever, no matter how hard they love one another. The pain everyone suffered yesterday was real. I knew then that it would be so much worse if we faced off against the NVC. I kept coming back to that thought the whole time, all day. The idea that dozens of us would die, or be maimed in a fight against them. A fight we would be hard pressed to win, I might add, meaning all those deaths and injuries would be (could be) for naught. We could be wiped out entirely, leaving nothing but bloodstains and lost hope behind.

  And for what? What would that battle achieve for us? For the world moving forward?

  My people don’t have the stomach for a big fight. I see that now. I physically see it. We might’ve mustered the will for a battle six months ago, but we can’t today. Won’t, maybe. That fire in the pit of our stomachs has smoldered to nothing more than ash and now all we want is safety, fat babies and full bellies. No one wants anyone to die.

  But life… somehow manages to move on. Sort of.

  On the way to the Factory today we left Bastion in a larger, more intimidating convoy. Instead of two pickup trucks we went out with two humvees and the HEMTT. Full crew, including people in the turrets with the SAWs at all times, cold be damned. We were not going to be popped like last time and lose a crew member without striking back hard and fast. We don’t want to go looking for fights, but we want to be able to end them if we happen into one. My people were more nervous than I’d seen in a long time, but they came with, and did their jobs.

  The NVC people were waiting for us at the Factory. Like us they had come in a heavier set, with two of their APCs and a deuce and a half truck. We hadn’t seen the truck yet, so that adds another military vehicle to their capability. One more problem to solve in a fight. They had 25 infantry spread out amongst all their vehicles.

  Anyway, Colonel Thorpe stood in the inch or two of snow we had with a laughing Hector, and the two seemed to be getting along well. With Thorpe were two other uniformed officers, one male, one female. Thorpe introduced them to me as Major Tina Acworth (military surgeon, and their chief doctor) and Captain Roberto Vega (promoted unit Lieutenant from before that day). Tina hadn’t started it all as a member of the Guard. She had been a doctor at a Brockton, Massachusetts hospital, and managed to link up with them before they left for Calendar Mountain. During r
egular times, military doctors are all officers, so she ‘earned a battlefield commission’ and got her rank and a uniform that’s one size too big.

  Roberto is a dark-skinned native Puerto Rican who was in the unit before it all went down. Strong Spanish accent, pock-marked face from adolescent acne, and a good sense of humor. He and Hector seemed to get on like a wildfire in Spanish, which I do not speak. Shitface McDickForBrains with his silly winter hat wasn’t present. I liked that.

  The three officers were part of the nine member council of the Northern Valley Cooperative. The nine members (all military officers, which I didn’t like) vote on matters pertaining to their territory and populace. They each attempt to represent a different aspect of the community. Tina for example, votes based on the medical needs, and health requirements of the people. Thorpe is their resident ‘diplomat’ and he votes on matters of social engagement. Others vote as they see fit based on whatever their responsibilities are, and no member carries more weight than another regardless of what their rank actually is. Sitting over it all is a nebulous character named General Tim Mizaki. (Not Miyazaki, which would’ve instantly made me think he was this awesome dude who was related to the awesome dude who made cool anime movies.)

  Mizaki is actually Air Force, not Army or Guard, but he happens to be the ranking guy, so he’s in charge. He was vacationing out this way with his family that summer and hasn’t been home since. He’s originally from Seattle. Not much else came my way about him, other than the generic kind of stuff military dudes say about their higher ranking military dudes. Well, specifically, what officers say about their higher ups. Non-comms shit all over their officers at every given opportunity, and seek out opportunities like it’s their day job. Officers say lots of nice things because they have to, when they have to. Hard to gauge whether or not Mizaki is a POS or not. We’ll get there eventually.

  Patrick and Kevin got along as you’d expect, and the overall mood of the meet was good. Our guys mingled with their guys, everyone seemed pleasant, and they even brought us a few gifts to show us goodwill. Thorpe said they would’ve brought us fresh food from their harvest, but he didn’t want us to think that they might’ve poisoned it or anything, so he brought about fifty cans of decent food. Beans, corn, green beans (ghetto regular, not premium French style), one can of brown bread, and a few little containers of spices and seasonings. He also brought a few packs of cigarettes, and a five gallon drum of their biodiesel for us to play around with. Blake’s in the garage right now fooling with it like a mad scientist. Not that we’ll have bio-diesel ever.

  I accepted their gift happily, and apologized for not bringing something of our own. I told them next time I’d bring a jar or two of honey, which got them pretty stoked. They don’t have any hives, and that single mention turned the entire conversation onto, “How can we trade for a hive or two?”

  They didn’t think about asking for a keeper, which I got a laugh out of later on with Ollie. If they think they’re getting Ollie and Melissa off of us to tend bees, that’s worth going to war for. I’ll flatten a convent if anything happens to Ollie or Melissa.

  So we parted as the sun started to dip low, and the clouds turned dark to the west. We managed to beat the snow by ten minutes when we arrived here, and it’s coming down thick as porridge right now. Two inches already, and no sign of it letting up. Makes me wish for a weatherman, not that they were all that accurate to begin with.

  So we are meeting them again on December 7th and the plan is to join up at the Factory, and drive north for a visit to Calendar Mountain. I got my wish.

  The next couple of days we’re meeting to plan on who to bring, and how to go about it. They could make a high-value snatch on me while I’m there. Hell, if they grabbed Kevin or Michelle, or either of our PJs we’d be up shit’s creek, so we have to be careful in the event that they try something fishy with us. I also need to bring people that represent a cross section of our population, so as to show my people I want their genuine opinions.

  I also need photographic memories to draw up maps after the fact, and people who can throw mad lead for me if they try any funny stuff.

  I figure I can fill that shopping list with less than 20 people, right?

  I’m watching you, Jinx Fairy. I’m watching you.

  Not much else coming up soon. We’re heading there in four days, then we have until the 20th for our next Maria meeting. Our task here at Bastion is to wrap everything up for the winter that’s happening outside. The last of the harvest has to be done (if it hasn’t already, Ollie’s on top of that shit like stink under my balls) and we need to get chains on tires, plows on trucks, and get the snowmobiles up and running. Most of that list of shit to do falls to Martin and Blake. They’re never bored here.

  Abby just tapped on the door of Michelle and I’s bedroom. She asked me if I’d be willing to sit down for a talk about the meeting today and the fire at the bio-diesel house for her newsletter. More on the fire convo in a bit.

  I told her I would. That made her happy. I got to kiss little Gavin on the forehead and that made me happier. Babies are definitely a mood-improver, when they’re not screaming like a tornado siren in the middle of a baby feces tornado.

  Abby is still acting different around me. When she talks to me, it’s almost like she’s always bothering me, or distracting me from doing something more important than talking to her. Like she’s a burden on me. Strange.

  Oh, I forgot. Annie’s bio-diesel system experienced its first live test and it… failed. Hard. Like, failed with fire, and smoke. I don’t know what went wrong, but it took three fire extinguishers to put out, and set back our fuel production indefinitely. She said she’d need new parts, and months of work to rebuild it. She’s heartbroken. Poor woman feels like she’s let us down because it didn’t work. She’s in the fight still though, and we’ll get there. There’s no rush, and she has plenty of time.

  Michelle has just set up some board game called Smallworld. She’s been playing with the kids at the school during the day, and has become obsessed with it. I guess you use a fake fantasy map to build your fake fantasy civilization doing fake war.

  She’s convinced I’ll love it. She isn’t wrong about much.

  Gonna grab a big fat cup of water, and join her for a round of nerdery. I think that’ll complete my mood transition from melancholy to positive. Worst case, I let her steamroll me, and make the play for pity sex.

  -Adrian

  Steve Goes to the City

  June 2010

  Steve’s lunch boiled on the electric stove in the kitchen. A box of macaroni roiled in the hot water as the milk and butter sat waiting on the counter. Optional slices of American cheese were stacked on top of each other beside the milk. The discarded box had fallen off the heaped trash and sat on the floor.

  Steve stroked the stubble on his chin and watched out the big window of his front room as the chaos unfolded in the parking lot of his apartment complex.

  Paula in 2b across the lot had just thundered her way out the front door of her building with both her little shits tucked under her arms. The bratty boy kicked and screamed the whole way but the kind and quiet little girl hung limp, watching her panic-stricken mother deal with her brother, and whatever it was that caused the panic.

  Paula threw the boy in the backseat of her Altima as she sat the girl down on her feet. The mother punted the duty of buckling the boy into the daughter and she dashed back up the few steps and into the center door of her apartment building.

  “Well shit, Paula. What’s got her feathers all ruffled?” Steve muttered to the spider plant hanging beside the window. He walked over to the window that flanked the central window and lifted the bottom up. He leaned over and pressed his face against the screen. When Paula appeared, he yelled.

  “Hey Paula, everything okay?”

  She stopped, overstuffed backpacks and suitcases swinging in her hands like a set of idiot’s pendulums counting off moronic moments. She looked around for the sou
rce of his voice.

  “It’s Steve! In 1c! Up over here, are you cool? You need a hand or something?”

  “Jesus, Steve. Get the fuck out of here. Get busy, the world is ending.” She resumed walking to the trunk of her car. She dropped the idiot bags and went into her jeans pocket for the keys.

  “World ending? I just woke up, dude. What are you talking about?”

  “Zombies, dude. They’re in the city. People are dying and coming back to life,” she said, tossing the baggage in the trunk on top of the flat spare tire.

  “For real? Like in the movies?”

  She nodded as she slammed the trunk shut.

  “Are they eating people too? Is it viral? Did a satellite fall from orbit? Do you have to hit them in the head or can you just shoot ‘em again? What am I dealing with here?”

  “I don’t know if it’s viral, and I haven’t heard anything about a satellite. They’re only overseas so far I think. But it’s getting worse and the news is saying it’s happening here now. I ain’t sitting around and waiting for it to get worse. Tom’s mom and dad got a home up north near Calendar Mountain and we’re locking up tight. I’m meeting him there.”

  “He at work?”

  “Yeah. The foreman is sending everyone home for the day and shutting the work site down. What a nice guy,” she mused, pulling the driver’s door open. “Steve be careful. Don’t smoke too much weed. Stay sharp, this is scary stuff. Aim for the head. STOP YELLING AT YOUR SISTER!”

  “Okay Paula. You tell Tom I said ‘wassup,’ okay?”

  “I will. Get a gun, Steve.”

  “I don’t need one. I have crazy skills with the bo staff.”

  “I bet you do.”

  Paula sat down in the car, started it, and drove away with her demon boy, and angel girl.

  Steve shut the window and returned to the kitchen to drain his overcooked pasta. He stepped on the empty box on the way.

  “The more I think about it,” Steve said to his hanging spider plant as he sat down his colorful glass pipe, “the better this is for me.”