“You know it.”
She laughed. “Cool cool. Hey are there are a lot of zombies out there? How bad are we talking about? Are they runners, or shamblers?
Steve sighed. “I mean it ain’t good. People driving like dipsticks and crashing. No cops or paramedics around. Looting and fighting, people getting killed over bottled water. I don’t know how it spreads, but it’s spreading. We’ll have to be careful. Oh, they’re shamblers so far.”
“Alright. Go get your plant. Bring your bat. Grab a few bags of popcorn from the break room and then maybe we’ll find some beer and figure this all out.”
“Alright, Gina.”
“Alright, Steve.”
Steve went to get his spider plant and some popcorn. He smiled the whole way, and felt awfully free.
December 4th
Short moment here, but I just met with Abby. She’s still being weird, and I don’t like it. We met over one of our few remaining cups of coffee in the hydroponics gardens. I needed some greenery (read; life)in my life, and I wanted to say hi to my sister Becca. Becca’s been working hard with her boyfriend in the garden, keeping us as buried as they can bury us in fresh produce. Right now they’re working hard on tomatoes, cucumbers, peas, and turnips, as well as strawberries and raspberries. Winter should yield us a delicious little dinner plate. I should also add that we have a reasonable garden for marijuana. Medicinally, it’s very useful for many ailments, and we grow enough in the hydro system for people to use as such. We’re avoiding growing so much that it becomes recreational, but time will tell on that. When I say that, I mean, “eventually we’ll stumble onto someone’s recreational crop and that’ll be the end of us trying to pretend like we control the consumption of weed around here.”
Abby and I sat in what used to be the gym teacher’s office just off the main hydroponics facility. With just Becca and Ryan in the building, we left the door open, and let ourselves be distracted by the smell and sound of the water moving, and the earthiness of the plants growing. All around us were three ring binders filled with notes my sister made about planting dates, germination, crop yields and more. She’s really good at this.
I won’t go into all the detail, but Abby took notes and asked me questions about how the main meeting went with the NVC people. She asked initially about the nuts and bolts of the exchange (who said what, the gifts, the plan moving forward) but then she shifted gears and started to ask me hypotheticals, and how I felt, and what I thought at the time. She kept asking me what I was feeling as the meeting went down.
I mean, I told her the truth, and told her how I kept thinking about Angela’s death, and Angela’s funeral, and seeing all the people broken up and hurt. I kept thinking the whole time about how dangerous these meetings really were. How much was at stake. How there is no routine meeting. She took notes the whole time, and when I asked her why she needed to know what I was thinking, she told me it had to do with making sure the people knew more than just the surface of what was done. She felt it important that they knew what I was thinking and feeling, so they could empathize. So they could see the why.
I guess she’s right. People rarely make decisions based on rationality or logic, despite what we think we do. Most of the time we’re doing what we WANT to do, or reacting to some kind of situation emotionally, and then backfilling the logic to make us feel better. If what we do seems to come from a place of emotion, rather than abstract logic, maybe people will feel better about it.
Or maybe they’ll get pissed no matter what, and Michelle, Kevin and I will be lambasted in the public eye as we make mistake after mistake. Though to be fair, Michelle is pretty well loved by the public here, and she could probably throw a baby in the river and still be welcomed to dinner after.
Kevin and I… not so much. Fucked if I know.
Alright, I’ve got shit to do. The interior of the barn needs work and I’m on that crew today. I’ve been slacking hard with the Abby meeting and now writing this. There’s still a few hours of daylight left, and even though we’re working inside the barn, the light helps us see. After the sun goes down we’re on lamps and flashlights, and we hate to expend resources to do shit when we don’t have to.
She also asked me what I was doing with the people who shot Angela. They’re still under lock and key down at the maintenance garage. I didn’t have an answer for her. Still don’t. I need to talk to people to figure that out, assuming they haven’t already figured it out without me. I’d rather that. I don’t want more weight on me if I can avoid it, and I don’t want to make an angry decision.
Off to hammer nails, pegs, and maybe Michelle later, if I’m lucky. Oh, and Smallworld was fun. We’re going to play again tonight. I’m hoping for Spirit Ghouls on turn one.
-Adrian
December 5th
This one’s gonna be angry.
I woke up to gunshots this morning. Faint, distant little pops from a long way away. As you might expect, I launched out of bed (leaving a scared shitless Michelle behind) and immediately started to rally up our full defensive muster. I don’t know where Otis was. Maybe he was hiding already.
Kevin called the emergency off, and said I had to come down to maintenance as soon as I got dressed. I knew something bad had happened, so I did as I had to, and trudged my way down through the near foot of snow that accumulated last night. Our grounds team hadn’t started to plow or shovel yet.
In the field near the maintenance facility I could see a small group of men and women standing in a circle, looking down at the ground. I recognized Kevin, Amanda, Eddie, and Danny Junior, and I knew what happened.
On the ground, in a row were the people we’d taken into custody the other day. The people in the group that had shot Angela. They had been executed by my people. One shot to the back of the head each. My people stood over them, and I hate to say this, but they looked satisfied. Danny Junior more than the rest.
“What happened?” I asked when I finally got close enough.
“They tried to run. We had to shoot them,” Kevin offered up with zero shits.
“Dude their hands are still tied behind their backs, and look at the footprints. They head to here, walking side by side. Don’t fucking play with me. What happened?”
Amanda answered. “We were taking too long to figure out what to do with them, so we had a trial, and they were found guilty. They got the death penalty.”
Dead eyes, Mr. Journal. Dead eyes.
“We felt it best that you weren’t a part of the decision,” Eddie said in his Texas accent. “Clean conscience.”
“Fuck you all,” I said. “You just fucking murdered them. Do you even know if any of them were the actual trigger puller? Or if they were innocent? Come on.”
“Adrian, it doesn’t matter. They shot at other people for no reason, and killed someone. You can’t, I mean, we can’t just allow folks to shoot and kill for nothing. There has to be some kind of order,” Kevin said.
“How does killing them help us?” I asked him. “Are we going to parade their dead bodies into town and hang them on main street with a sign that says ‘mess with us and we’ll fucking shoot you?’ huh? Killing them like this satisfies one thing; your fucking thirst for vengeance. Say it. Just be honest and admit you wanted to settle the score. Don’t hide behind some bullshit moral code.”
“I wanted to kill them, yeah,” Amanda answered for him. “They killed my sister, and they deserved to die. How could we ever trust them? How could we set them free, Adrian? We couldn’t risk them coming back here to get their own payback. It’d never be safe again with them alive.”
That’s when Danny Junior walked away.
“Which one of you killed them? Who pulled the trigger? No. Don’t tell me. It doesn’t matter.” I sighed and walked in a circle. I had to control my anger. I had to… fucking set a precedent. “We’re the better people, remember? We’re the ones who are the fucking heroes right? We don’t do this. We don’t execute people.”
“Maybe you
don’t,” little Danny Junior yelled out over his shoulder. “But I do.”
Callous words from the Ginger Reaper. Not a nickname I’ll use again if I can avoid it.
How do I hold my friends responsible for this? How will I trust my own people now?
-Adrian
December 8th
Didn’t get back here until very late last night, so I’m writing this morning. Weather coupled with driving at night has been a real beeyotch, if you know what I mean. The state and local DOT have been slacking.
Like I said the other day, the team we brought to Calendar Mountain had to be balanced across several facets. We met a couple of days ago in a fairly large gathering in Hall E to discuss who could go, who should go, and who had to go. That meet up was a big one, with us bringing in the Nordic twin husband and wife Agnes and Anders (plus Adam from Texas, who also lives in Spring Meadows with his son) as well as Mike and Patty representing MGR, and Hector and Celeste from the Factory. Representing here, we had Michelle, Kevin, myself, Abby, Fletcher, Annie and Melissa (but not Ollie, who drew dad-duty for their kids). That cross section gave all our locations a voice.
The meeting went on for hours and hours. Long story short, we decided that one person from each location should go. Mike went from MGR, Celeste from the Factory, and Adam from Spring Meadows. From here we decided to send me, Kevin, and Ethan. (Ethan strictly for medical emergencies, over Fletcher because Fletcher can’t shoot like a special operations kid.) That made six. We wanted ten bodies to fill two humvees.
To fill out the remainder of the ten, we chose the new guy David, and Texas Rich as they are new faces with fresh ideas, and they can handle themselves a bit. Rich has trigger time aplenty, and David seems like a cool cucumber to me. He also hunted back in Texas, so he can shoot straight, I think. I have a good feeling about them both. In other news, I also asked Mallory to come from MGR. Mal volunteered to cut hair while we were there, and as we all know… people talk to their hairdressers. It’s a nice gesture from us at a minimum, and if she hears anything while we were there, then that’s the bonus round. One arm as it is, she’s still a tough bitch.
Michelle oddly was cool with us bringing my ex along. She doesn’t do the jealousy thing. The final person we wanted to bring was someone with a good memory, and trigger time. The obvious choice was girl-genius Abby, but Patty, Mike and I all immediately forbid that. New mom, and with us already sending Mike, the family had too much at risk in the visit. Mike particularly fought against her going. He’s so in love with Patty and his new ‘step’ daughter, and his new grandkid. It’s silly to see such a tough guy be so soft on family. I love it.
I asked for Quan (demolitions guys are pretty sharp) but Kevin maintained we’d be leaving Bastion too light on defenses, and with too soft a QRF. I then mentioned Danny, but realized he’s too fragile for the trip. I don’t think I can trust him, especially in a tense environment. He’s still only 16 or 17. I forget.
Let’s not overstate how if I were to invite him on such a big trip, it could be interpreted to be me saying all is well after his execution antics. Can’t have that.
Then Michelle suggested little Sylvia. Sylvia was just 12 when we rescued her from the woods, and she’s a year older now, and no longer feral. She’s as sharp as they come, wiser than most adults, and we all know she had some kind of strong connection with the other side. Yeah she’s young, but she’s a good candidate. Ultimately, she became #10. At the last second Annie made the case that she should go. Initially everyone looked at her like she’d grown a ponytail out of her forehead, but when she explained that the chance of getting a look at their bio-diesel facility could help our facility, we conceded, and she became passenger #11.
Our QRF staged itself ten miles north of the Factory off the interstate, and kept a twenty mile buffer from our six. If we called for help, they’d be a half hour away. A little silly really, considering what they’d be walking into, but everyone agreed to be ready no matter what. We could always call a close rescue off.
We left Bastion before dawn, and met the NVC convoy and the rest of the group outside the Factory. Thorpe was our hand-holder again, and with his one APC and two humvees, he led us north under the cover of his civilian bird above.
Strange little feeling that aroused. Moving in humvees behind armor with a helicopter above us triggers some deep, dark memories of patrols in Iraq. Granted, moving through a string of abandoned American towns during the onset of winter couldn’t be more different than the Middle East, but the memories still came back. They weren’t all good memories, either. I could see Kevin’s mind drifting off as we drove, and I knew he shared the same thoughts. You can’t forget some things. Try as hard as you like, you just can’t.
I felt bad for Ethan and Mike who rode in the SAW turrets. They froze their balls off exposed to the weather for three hours, but they wore the warmest clothes we could find plus body armor and hats and helmets, so they survived. The urge to tell them to spray a burst at the helo as it flew over us though… man. We could’ve downed it. Maybe not for good, but long enough to raise havoc on the convoy and then get the fuck out of Dodge. The opening strike of a war.
I’m glad we didn’t.
The approach to the NVC headquarters is east on state routes to the city, then north on the interstate, then off an exit just as the mountains begin. You cut east, then north into a steep river valley with ski resorts on both side of the road. There’s a fast moving river on the right (east) side of the town road. I think it was Main Street, I’ll check with the crew when we meet and debrief. We saw lights on in most of the condo complexes (lanterns likely, though some had the crispness that comes from electricity) and that went on for miles. They’ve restored a lot of power to the area, and that’s impressive.
You can see the peak of Calendar Mountain before you get there. It’s taller than all the other mountains in the valley by a quarter, and is streaked with twenty plus white smears of ski slopes. At the top you can see where the lifts terminate, and there’s a four season tower above that. The tower was lit when we left there, meaning they can probably see vehicles moving on the interstate before they get off the exit. I can’t confirm that, but I have to assume it. They also have guard posts at the highway exits, and along the roads leading up to the resort itself, as well as the offsite condo complexes they monitor and protect. All of the posts radioed to someone as we drove by, so they kept close watch on us. Sneaking up via the standard highway approach won’t work unless we use NVGs and drive lights-out in the darkest times of night in our war-wagon Prius.
The resort itself is the closest thing to a perfect medieval fortress I’ve seen that wasn’t actually a medieval fortress. It sits at the base of a five thousand foot mountain behind a river that has a single four lane bridge crossing it. There is a single approach to the mountain, unless you hike the miles and miles over the river around and over the mountain. They’ve also built log walls similar to ours on the sides and top of the mountain to prevent foot traffic from undead, and to hamper living encroachment.
The bridge is a tactical nightmare.
They had access to more building materials than we did for our bridge, and it shows. They’ve constructed dual pairs of two-story concrete towers on both ends of the bridge. Each of the four towers is topped by gun emplacements, with multiple guards. All of the towers can see each other. The front gate on the road side is protected by jersey barriers so ramming it won’t work. You need to drive carefully around the barriers to even get a straight shot at the steel doors they made. If you fuck that angle up, you’ll bust the guard rail and go over into the drink.
Between the two sets of towers they have the four lanes of the bridge blocked off with Jersey barriers into a zig-zag approach. Standard stuff really, but it prevents any vehicle from having a straight shot again. No ramming the inner gate down, and certainly not with how much time the four towers would have to light you up as you wound your way through their Jersey barrier maze. A frontal assault wou
ld be a nightmare unless you could take out all four of the towers more or less simultaneously. We don’t have enough explosives or AT4s to do that. That also doesn’t solve the riddle of the helicopter that’d be flying over you, perforating you from on high.
And that’s just the front door.
Inside and center to the bridge is a parking lot. Two ski lodges flank the massive parking lot, and beyond those are luxury condos, maintenance facilities, garages, multiple ski lifts, and even a gondola that heads up to the top of the mountain. In all, the facility probably covers… 200 acres along the river, and up the mountain. It’s massive. Almost as big as ALPA in territory covered, but it has far more in the way of structures. In condos alone… it has to have two hundred units. By comparison at Bastion we have five dorms, with about twenty bedrooms each. Each condo at the NVC has two to four bedrooms each. Do the math. It’s a city.
Thorpe pulled us into the center parking lot where they keep most of their vehicles parked (yesterday at least) and we were welcomed by a thirty or forty person strong greeting party. I was introduced to a ton of people but focused on just a few names and faces. Most important was General Mizaki, now to be known as King Shit of Turd Hill (north).
Mizaki is Asian, as his last name might indicate, Mr. Journal. He’s about five six, maybe five eight, and keeps his dark hair short. He’d grown out a short beard (for the season he said he relaxed grooming standards) and he wore his uniform a little looser than I expected him to. He looked sharp, but not like an asshole, if you know what I mean.
He and I walked side by side towards the closer of the two ski lodges. He asked me what we would like to tour, and assured me that the entire place was open to us. I replied by asking him where the bio diesel facility was, where they kept their ammunition, and which of the condo complexes housed the majority of their military personnel. He replied with a smile that there might be a few places that might not be the best idea for me to visit just yet. That got a laugh out of everyone in ear shot, and set us off on the right foot.
Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 10): The Last Resort [Adrian's March, Part 2] Page 3
