I put my boot straight into Parvati’s midsection and sent her back into the house like she’d been hit by a small car. She’s so tiny. I heard the air whoosh out of her, and I could barely hear the beginning of a pained grunt as she flew away. The girl disappeared out of my flashlight’s luminescence and I had to move. You can’t just stand in a doorway.
Inside I saw a past that I begged and pleaded to have been far beyond. In the center passage where the people of Spring Meadow had put all the twin mattresses they could find I saw Gerald (Lurch) squatting, facing the door I’d just tried to kicked in. His face had regained color, though it was from dark red blood smeared across it. His bared teeth were pink, and I could see thin strands of skin and muscle lodged in his mouth, stuck on something. He slavered and snapped his head up at me, forgetting about the dead band mate he had just murdered with his hands and mouth. He had that same malicious, foreign presence to him. That same distant fury manifested in his flesh.
He had died, and reanimated as a zombie. The first since Cassie I’d been close to. Since March of 2012 they’d been gone, but now, they’re back. After all we went through…
Someone else inside the house fired a gun twice. The two shots came from my right to left across the foyer from the living room. I think the shots were aimed at Gerald but they missed him. Someone else out of my sight screamed in pain, and I knew the shot hadn’t missed everyone.
“Cease fire!” I yelled. Whoever had fired didn’t know what they were doing, and hadn’t cleared the path of their shot. It wasn’t clean. People were beyond the target.
I had no sooner yelled when chaos took over. Everyone had started to rouse from the yelling but when the gun went off, they woke up in a complete panic and started to scream and try to get up to run. They couldn’t see anything other than my light, but they knew a gunshot when they heard one, and that’s never good close.
I couldn’t shoot Gerald as he stood up. A dozen people were rushing around near him, past him, and if I missed or had a pass-through someone else could’ve died. So I yelled at him. I yelled and screamed as loud as I could to get him to come to me. He listened, but then again, so did everyone else. As they rushed around his giant body, he came. He reached out and grabbed everyone moving, and managed to bite more than one person. I might be remembering this wrong, but he seemed more coordinated, faster than the vast majority of undead I’ve dealt with. Not like, alive speed, but faster than he had any right to be, dead. Three was the final count of people he got his mitts on, and I’m trying not to associate the Trinity with that number. They turned after, just like he did.
I took a few measured steps back out of the door and down the steps, yelling for people to get clear, get clear, and screaming at him to keep following me. Once outside, he tripped on the steps of the house and toppled down, smashing onto the flagstone walkway face first. I leapt at him.
I thought for a second I’d zip tie him, or restrain him facedown to ask him why he did what he did, so he could face trial for his crimes, or something, but I had a flash of memory about what happened to the people that shot Angela, and I pivoted. I mean, I knew he was dead, and I knew he was a threat, and I knew that if I tried that, I might be bitten. It’s the same reason we lost so many cops that day. They tried to restrain zombies, and got bitten for their effort. Not me. Not after all I’ve been through.
I still leapt at him, and I still landed on his back, so I had to act fast. Barrel went to the top of his neck, finger went to trigger, and a second later the brain that gave Gerald all his musical talent, and his cheery jokes was spread out all over the pretty stones, beneath the white moon. The recoil of the pistol surprised me a little. I forgot how hard the 10mm kicked, and almost misjudged it and lost my grip. Rookie shit. He twitched as I got up and moved back towards the front door.
Just as I squared up, one of the Spring Meadow citizens came out, holding a Smith & Wesson semi auto pistol in her shaking hands. I knew her. Adaline Cartwright. Mom of two boys, PTA regular, survivor, and now, a murderer of an innocent.
I made eye contact with her shaky, tear-running eyes, and as I walked past her, I took the pistol from her with my flashlight hand. I sat it down in the cool grass and she walked away on stiff legs, crying. I turned and walked in, flashlight up and looking. I heard my backup coming up the lawn behind me but I didn’t wait.
Gerald had killed Beatrice. Eaten her face and chest until most of the flesh had been chewed down to the bone. She’d struggled. Streaks and smears dragged across the pools of coagulating blood. As I approached her where she’d died on the floor, she started to sit up. Her eyes like all the others had gone white, though she looked somehow more coordinated than other zombies had been. Lurch had too. Seemed less… loose. More driven.
She turned her head and looked straight into my flashlight and she started chewing at the air, angry that something had disturbed her rebirth. I flashed the light down the corridor to the kitchen entrance and saw nothing in the path of a bullet. When I brought the light back to her, I put a second 10mm round into the face of a new friend. Deafening inside the house. Bad night. No trouble with the second recoil.
She went down, and I saw the light switch. A flick of a finger later, and everything came into focus. As I moved into the left living room, old man Peter White entered the house behind me with his little pistol up, and on his heels were two Spring Meadow people, rifle and shotgun up and looking. I motioned for them to stay back, and for Peter to follow. For some reason, I trust that old man, and I barely know him. He moves like someone who’s seen some shit. Careful, cautious, and smooth. Maybe it’s the power of the Gilbert association. Before doing anything else, I went back towards the door and hollered out at the gathering crowd of people who came to help, and the people who had fled the house. I hollered out to them.
“Zombies! Undead! Several people were bitten. Isolate them and keep an eye on them!”
People responded. I’m told the bitten had already pulled themselves to the side to protect the others. Good people, them.
In the second living room where Adaline’s shots went, I found two bodies and one of my people crying. One of the dead had taken a round straight to the chest, killing him. I vaguely recognized him as one of the British people, and as I closed in on him, he began to twitch, and clench his fists. He was coming back, and fast.
The man crying I recognized as Fletcher. He sat on the couch not ten feet from the reanimating guy, holding his wife. She’d been hit by one of the two errant rounds and she’d died too. Both husband and wife were covered in blood, though I couldn’t see where she’d been hit. It had to have been a bad spot for her to die so quick.
“Fletcher, you need to step out,” I said to him in a firm voice.
“No, I need to stay with Annie,” he mumbled back at me. His voice creaked and broke. The effort it took for him to stand up to me must’ve been immense.
“Fletcher, one of them is coming back as a zombie right there, right now, and I need to deal with it. I don’t know what’s going on, but Annie might be dangerous. I need you to lay her back down on the couch, and step away.”
“No,” he said back without looking. I don’t know how he wasn’t crying and falling apart. “Do what you have to do. I’m not scared. There’s nothing left for me to be afraid of.”
“Fletcher move right now, or I’ll move you. We will take care of Annie in a minute. Together. You and me. I give you my word,” I said, firmer this time.
He looked up with the same eyes I’ve seen too many times. The thick, watery ones that won’t focus right, and only come from a broken heart. I don’t know if it was my words, or the look in my eye, but he laid his wife’s head down on the couch after kissing her forehead and he walked out. I heard him break down outside the front door. I would’ve thought differently of him if he hadn’t broken down.
I let him get what I guessed was a few yards away before I holstered my pistol and walked over to the fireplace. Peter kept his Beretta on the poor bastar
d in the process of reanimating as I grabbed a poker. I lined it up, and drove it down into the eye socket of the guy before he fully came back. I heard and felt his skull crunch and give way enough to stop his erratic spasms. I bent the rod of the poker in the process. I left it in his skull.
Peter, the two Spring Meadow people and I stood in the living room, watching Annie’s body for almost fifteen minutes, waiting for it to show signs of coming back, but it didn’t. After some time Peter covered me, and I used the ash shovel to move her head. She’d taken a round to the throat, and I think it severed her spine, preventing her from coming back.
I think.
She went quick. I can’t say it was painless, but any suffering she experienced didn’t last long.
You can imagine the chaos this has sown since that night. All of our old fears have returned, and all of those fears have brought out the little monsters inside us. The scared, angry people who had gone away are back, and that scares me just as much as the two zombies I killed.
The three people Gerald bit died and turned within the half hour. One of them turned in less than a couple minutes. Faster than before.
Everything must change, and we need to figure out what to do next, and do it fast. We had meetings all day yesterday about it with all the people in high places, but right now I need to rest. I’ll talk about what the plan is as soon as I wrap my head around all of what’s happened.
As I write this, all of the British/European immigrants are under armed guard. If they die, it appears they can come back… And we can’t risk one of them dying and setting this all off again.
This world is getting ugly again, and I hate it.
-Adrian
May 10th
Hal is British. Becky and her daughter Shelby are British. And, by line of blood, little Gavin and Chloe are too.
I’m… I’m just done. I’m hurt and scared and floored by everything. I don’t know where to start, and I need to. I just don’t want to write about anything this ugly, this bad.
Okay. Clear the decks, I’m going in.
I returned from Spring Meadow yesterday. I wish I’d come back sooner. I’ll keep it short though, because… ah fuck I’m rambling already.
Short sentences, short bus. Stay focused.
Three more people died at Spring Meadow. That brings the total loss of life to seven there. Four on the night of the fifth, and three since. The three that died after the first night of violence passed away from flu complications or sickness. All three were European, and all three came back to ‘life’ after a very short incubation period. (I know that’s not the right word, but fuck you, Mr. Journal.) It used to be when someone died we’d have an hour, sometimes three or four before they reanimated, but these guys are all on short fuses. Five minutes, tops, and in reality, it appears to be more like one. We had armed guards at the ready, and we were able to nip that in the bud before any of the three did any damage.
If a European or British person dies, they will reanimate quickly, and be very dangerous, as they also seem to move around faster than our dead ever did. Not runners, per se, but still far too agile and coordinated for my tastes.
We confirmed the night of the fifth that if a British or European person bites or kills an American, that American will reanimate as well. They will reanimate quickly as well.
We also confirmed that if an American dies from normal means, they stay dead.
Let me copy/paste this for you once more; Hal, Becky and Shelby are British. And, by line of blood, little Gavin and Chloe too.
Hal is in self-imposed isolation. He’s moved into one of the classrooms in the main school building. The reasoning is that the school has good fire doors, and he won’t be in a building with others that are sleeping. We have no idea what will happen if he dies. He could reanimate… or not. He was here when it ended, and he might’ve gotten… I guess purified by that moment, or maybe not. Maybe all this time he’s carried the taint that his fellow countrymen do.
I don’t know. None of us do.
All this time he might’ve still been a risk to restart the whole thing. Hal’s never alone, by his request. Another armed person is with him at all times in case something happens, as unlikely as that is. He has forbidden Abby from this, as he can’t stand that idea, so right now it’s a rotation of Patty, Mike, Kevin, and Ethan. All of his best friends, and in-laws.
Hal is the least of our problems. He’s not going to suddenly drop dead on us. The real issue is that Michelle and I have been, for lack of a better term, railroaded by the NVC since the return of the undead. They’ve come in heavy, and there’s little I can fucking do about it. I should’ve… ungh.
Calm down, big guy. It’s time to write, not get angry. Think of the safety of the walls you want to punch. They didn’t do anything to you.
After hearing the reports of the return, they locked down Calendar Mountain and then sent a doubling of their soldiers down to help us ‘secure’ our new arrivals. Team AAA in Spring Meadow wanted maybe two or three extra guns for security, but they got another full squad of ten dudes, and those dudes came with orders to lock shit down. Everyone over there is moving on the NVC say-so, and it’s not looking good. Morale was already shit, and now it’s like a concentration camp, or well on its way to feeling like one. We’re getting all this information via innuendo laced radio transmissions. They can’t say much live on the air, so it’s all in lame code.
When I was there helping for a day to settle things, they sent another dozen men and women here too. They tried to enforce what amounts to martial law here at Bastion, but Michelle somehow got them to back off that idea. I wasn’t there for the conversation between her and Lt. Dana, but I’m told he put up a fight against her, but she held her ground and got them to stand down. I’m glad they backed off.
I don’t think I need to tell you just how badly I want to hurt someone, Mr. Journal. They’ve posted guards at almost every building, 24 hours a day, and they are trying to control how we move outside the wire too. Kevin’s almost gotten into fistfights three or four times now, and someone has been there to break it up before it’s gotten out of hand. Luckily, the person breaking it up hasn’t been me, because I’d jump in like Jimmy SupaFly Snooka and beat some fucking ass from the top rope.
I’m pissed, and I’m ready for a fight.
I’ve got old man Peter White and his family on call through a civvie channel from MGR should we need some shooters they don’t know about. It’ll take them time to get here, but if something does go south, we’ve got four more shooters to bring to a fight. That’ll tip the scales, a little.
Michelle says she’s getting heat from Calendar Mountain to ‘relocate’ Hal and Gavin to a safer place. Likely up north where they can be observed.
Over my dead body.
Michelle has cried herself to sleep in my arms more than once in the past three nights. It’s the first time I’ve seen her like this, and it shakes me. She’s suffering because she sees our people scared, and hungry, and angry. She’s in complete doubt over the NVC alliance now, and feels like she’s made an enormous mistake. She’s unsure of herself. She’s scared she’s doing and/or done the wrong thing. She’s afraid she’ll get people killed. She’s worried about the people from Europe, and what their presence here in the States means.
In short, she’s feeling what it’s like when things go really fucking wrong when you’re in charge.
She’s strong. Stronger than most, and I get to make her stronger by standing beside her the same way she makes me stronger. We’re a team in this. She loves me, and I love her, and no matter what happens, we will do the best we can to make it better for those around us. We are trying to build a better world.
We will make mistakes, but we will fix them, and we will be honest about it.
And sometimes… that fucking sucks, and it makes you cry yourself to sleep at night.
She doesn’t know that I cry too after she falls asleep.
-Adrian
May 15th
It’s an uneasy place to be, here. Further, it ain’t easy being me right now. I’ve got a target on my back, and wherever I go, one of the NVC guys is mean-mugging me, waiting for me to do something like I’m a villain.
I SO want to prove them right.
They’re still here in doubled numbers. They’re still at Spring Meadow in doubled numbers too, and from what little they can say over the radio, I think Team AAA over there is unhappy as fuck about it, just like us. The NVC people are being polite, but every day or so, one of their people takes another little step towards trying to be in charge. It might be stepping in front of someone in the cafeteria to get their food first, or it might be telling someone they need to put out their cigarette and go inside after dark, but I’m telling you, they’re pushing.
And we can’t push back. There’s just too much at stake to start a fight. Nearly thirty of them are inside the walls here now, and that’s a huge chunk of bodies to take out in the event of a confrontation. I’m waiting for them to tell us they have to collect our guns. For our safety, of course. Wouldn’t want something bad to happen by accident…
I don’t think trying to take our guns would be safe for them.
We’ve had a massive upsurge in arguments and fistfights the past few days. Everyone on our side is at each other’s throats from tension and anger, and God forbid one of the NVC guys gets lippy. We’ve had two near brawls that almost pulled into aimed guns between our people and theirs. We’re a sarcastic remark away from a gunfight.
Michelle has been confronted daily by a rotation of pissed off Bastion citizens about it. Kevin’s the first one at her in the morning, politely suggesting that she start planning on an ouster by force of them. Not long after that it’s Abby wanting her to do something about Hal, then it’s the new kid Jason and his sister Sharon (who already hate the NVC for what they think they did to their parents), then it’s five other people. Every day. Oh, and then people are still begging for food.
Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 10): The Last Resort [Adrian's March, Part 2] Page 17
