We’ll convince her and the others of the error of their ways when we have time. Right now we’ve so little. We have the NVC radio codes for the Factory until the end of June, so we’re good there. Still not sure what to do about the codes for Bastion though, they run out on the 31st.
I meant to write about capabilities before we left to hit the Factory, but ran out of time. Long story short, there are two massive variables we have to solve for before we can even think about direct action against Calendar Mountain.
We have appropriated a humvee and one Bradley from what was left at Bastion. At the Factory, we confiscated one more humvee, and two diesel pickups they used for transport. Last I knew the NVC had stationed two humvees, one up-armored HEMTT, and one more Bradley at Spring Meadow.
Now, we KNOW that when they ‘visited’ us at the Factory, they showed us 4 up-armored humvees, 2 up-armored HEMTTs, 3 M113 Bradleys, a Deuce and a Half, and the helicopter.
Now, none of the humvees we have are up-armored, which means they still have four unaccounted for. The HEMTT at Spring Meadow was up-armored, which is likely one of the two we’ve seen, and I just can’t fucking imagine that these assholes have more than three Bradleys still in operation. We have one, and there’s one at Spring Meadow, leaving one unaccounted for. My money is on that last one being Mizaki’s personal limo. We also don’t know where the Deuce and a Half is. I wish I had been more cognizant the day we met them at the Factory. I could’ve memorized or at least told someone to mark down what the vehicle plates or markings were so we’d have a better idea what’s going on with them. Give me a second while I wipe these tears away over all that spilled milk. We do know that the other humvees that have come to visit us (same ones they stole food from us with) were up-armored.
We have 5 AT4 antitank weapons left. If you do the math, we’re totally fucked. Well I guess we’re like, 40% remaining fucked. But I suck at math, so you do the math for me, Mr. Journal. I guess looking at the bright side, we’ve picked up a Mk19 automatic grenade launcher, a M2 .50cal and a brand new SAW. Tons of ammo for each weapon, relatively speaking.
Finding the vehicles and destroying them are the first variable.
Second variable is that motherfucking helicopter. But we might have a solution on it. Do you remember when Kevin said he was planning on going to the airport? Back in March I think?
Well, when the NVC wagged their dick above us the other day, flying overhead so low to intimidate us, or whatever, Ethan was able to grab the tail number off the chopper. I suppose he could’ve grabbed it when the thing landed here to show off too. If we can make it to the airport Ethan thinks we can find the FAA records of registered aircraft in the area. That should tell us who the owner of the helicopter was before that day. That might lead us to the name of the pilot and perhaps their address, or the owner’s address, or where it was/might still be parked. (Hangared? Landed? Docked? Stored?) I don’t know what exactly we’ll get, but we hope to find something that’ll lead us to where they park the fucker at night, or where the shades-wearing jizz stain of a pilot might live. If we can take the pilot out, then we theoretically take the bird out of the sky too. Assuming they don’t have multiple pilots.
Now maybe we can get our hands on the chopper ourselves, and get our own flight crew up in the sky.
If they lose air superiority… that’ll be a big blow against them. If only for morale purposes. Sometimes all you gotta do to beat the champ is ring his bell hard enough in the first round.
So then we have to retake Spring Meadow from the asshats they have stored there for security, which is a much larger project than the Factory. We’re talking about a massive gated luxury home community filled with houses, plus several businesses a block or two away. Blah. That’s a large-scale attack we wouldn’t have attempted without air support and at least two dozen humvees and an Abrams or two in Iraq.
We’re gonna do it with a few pickup trucks, and some slingshots, all while hoping we don’t plug one of the refugees so they turn into fucking zombies and make it a whole lot more complicated for us.
Actually, we’ll probably bring their Bradley and… holy shit. That’s it. We’ll Trojan Horse ass rape them with their own tank. They’ll never know what hit them if we work it right. I gotta talk to Kevin before we leave for the airport.
Peace, Mr. Journal. It’s what’s NOT for dinner.
-Adrian
May 30th
Still no sign of Picarillo.
I never thought I’d write that we had a safe journey into the city. Like, for years every time I talked about the city it was in fear laden terms and half measures. The place scared me, and for good reason. Empty of zombies now, it’s a helluva lot less scary.
Granted the survivors trying to scratch out a living on their own out that way can be real assholes from time to time (see; orphaned Danny McGreevy Jr.) but really… the city isn’t that scary anymore.
We took a route that skirted far out of the vicinity of both the Factory and Spring Meadow should the NVC be traveling to or from either of those areas. Kevin and I went with Joel, Hal (I made him go. He needed to get out and be useful, regardless of whether or not he might turn if he died), my brother Caleb and Kate. It made sense to bring one of our pilots to the airport plus Kate’s a good shooter. Everyone else… well no explanation is needed.
We opted for a quieter, faster set of vehicles for this. We took two fairly beat up SUVs and drove like bats out of hell to the airport, heading towards the FAA building on site. We encountered no one on the way, and the airport was empty too. Gutted, really.
The FAA building was a small two story brick affair built in the 60s. Large square windows and blocky architecture growing out of massively overgrown grass made it look like an old middle school that desperately needed updating. The glass front doors were smashed open, and we entered expecting resistance. Other than spooking a few squirrels, rats and birds, we didn’t have to deal with anything.
Well, searching. It took us several hours of going through file cabinet after file cabinet looking for the paperwork we needed. All of the planes in the registration area had paperwork filled out for them. We just had to find the file cabinet that held them. We had to smash apart multiple locked drawers for nothing, but eventually we hit pay dirt.
Kate found it, and we danced for joy. The bird in question is registered to a company with its headquarters just a few miles from Calendar Mountain. The company was a biotech company called Talbot Labs. Now once I heard the name, it assembled itself for me.
The guy who owned the company was an eccentric billionaire named Rick Talbot who flew back and forth to work over the mountains in his… brand new helicopter. He was on the news more than once for announcing some crazy fucking invention sure to change the world or for saying something weird. I remember what he looked like, and I’ll be damned if it wasn’t Shades the pilot. Clear as day.
So… a rich prick like that joins up with the NVC right? Makes sense. They’ve got power, he’s got a chopper and they can scratch each other’s backs until kingdom come if they shack up with each other. Now, a rich prick like that isn’t going to relocate from his multi-million dollar mountain home to the ski resort. He just isn’t. I would also argue that he’s got mad security at his home, up to and including fences/walls and armed guards. This guy had more money than brains, and he was one of those super-geniuses.
We just need to figure out where Ricky’s home is. But I’d bet my left nut (that’s the big one, so you know I’m serious) that if we broke into his old business, and raided the HR department, we’d find his personnel file, and then we’d get his address.
That’s tonight.
Kevin and I already decided he and I were doing it alone in a black Prius. Decapitation strike style with a low profile.
And while that’s happening, a second major force is heading to Spring Meadow to take it back. We’re heading out with the entire NVC vehicle complement we have. Two humvees and a Bradley, and the group is heading in
to the front gate as if they are there to visit legitimately. A mile away, we’ll have another four or five vehicles filled with shooters who’ll zip in to reinforce. As soon as they’re inside, all hell will break loose. It’s far more complicated than that, but the general idea is that they’ll hit all the locations in the gated community simultaneously. We are sending twenty eight shooters.
I am so fucking nervous for them. We should be there, Kevin and I, but we have to hit the helicopter first, and in the event something goes wrong with us, they need to take out Spring Meadow’s occupying force.
A lot of people are going to be dead come sun up.
I gotta try and spend a few hours with Michelle. She and I have lost our connection the past few days, and I love her too much to let this awkward silence keep up. She and I both deserve better than that. Then I need to get some sleep to be fresh.
Not looking forward to any dreams I might have.
-Adrian
May 30th (2nd entry)
Kevin and I just got back from up north. We have officially reached the point of no return. I feel terrible. You’ll see why in a bit Mr. Journal.
I need more sleep, it’s almost dawn, and Mizaki is guaranteed to call within a few hours and today is the last code we have to keep them out of here. We’re almost out of time… and we don’t need much to really make a run at them.
Kevin and I rode out just after lunch north to Talbot Labs. Finding it wasn’t hard. Signs everywhere once we got close. We made sure to time our arrival up north after sunset during evening so anyone would have a harder time seeing and identifying us. Makes me wish I hadn’t gotten the Mohawk cut, but oh well.
The building was a massive facility set at the back end of an equally massive parking lot. It sat at the base of a very steep mountain less than a twenty minute drive from the exit that would take you to Calendar Mountain. We scoped it out driving under 20 to stay on electric, and with the headlamps extinguished. No lights on at the plant, no smoke rising. It looked empty.
Kevin drove us around the back of the building to the warehouse docks, and after checking the perimeter on foot, and scaring away a black bear that came within 50 yards, I used my trusty halligan to pry open one of the rear emergency exits. God I love that tool. I’m so glad I bring one with me wherever I go.
Once inside, we moved through the pitch black interior using our NVGs. We wanted the advantage if anyone was inside, and moving around in the dark seemed like a good idea. Inside the warehouse we found almost nothing. I mean the place had been cleared out leaving empty pallets stacked up on the floors. Wall signs explained what industrial chemicals belonged where, and as we moved from bay to bay, we saw the massive haul Calendar Mountain made here. Mizaki and Thorpe had years of chemistry in stock, and they were putting it to good use.
Pissed we didn’t get to raid it, we left the manufacturing and warehouse area, and made our way upstairs in the offices to the HR department. We had to pry open numerous doors on the way. Tons of security everywhere, but with no power, it was all inert, and no more than locked doors. Kevin covered me while I muscled them open one after another with the halligan. No dead bodies, and the place seemed sterile, like no one was in the building on the 23rd of June when it went to shit. That or maybe someone cleaned it out after the fact. It was weird. Most of the places we clear are either already raided, or have dead bodies and garbage in it.
Human resources provided us no threats, but it did waste our time, just the same as the cabinets at the FAA office. After an hour or two of searching, we did find the personnel files, and we were able to get an address on Mr. Shades. Then of course… I had to see his office.
Locked, I busted it in the same as every other door. He had a corner to himself the size of Cassie and I’s condo. Widescreen television on one wall, a desk big enough to have an orgy on, and expensive modern art paintings all over. He had an empty mini fridge and a fully stocked bar. We took his top shelf stuff. I felt like we had to steal something if they happened to look at the place. Mostly because it was hella good booze. Guy had some 30 and 40 year old Scotches that would’ve set you back the big bucks back in the day.
Sitting in his office, Kevin and I looked at an old road map book we brought (thank you Rand McNally) and made the call to scout Rick Talbot’s place. It was five miles over the mountain heading away from Calendar Mountain, and we could make it there easily with the Prius. We drove in the dark with severely puckered assholes two thirds of the distance, and then parked the Prius hidden away. We found an old rest stop in the mountains at a ‘scenic overlook’ and drove the car around the back side of a toilet where it couldn’t be seen from the road. After fluffing the overgrown grass back to standing, and covering the car with branches and debirs, we grabbed all our gear, and hiked the rest of the distance through the woods.
Talbot’s home was a guarded joke. Just like I guessed, the entire place was surrounded by an eight foot wall topped with ornate wrought iron decorations that were probably sharp as a motherfucker. Of course, we approached from elevation and with our night vision and rifle scopes (plus the lights they had on, so we knew he had electricity) we could see the whole compound from a quarter mile away, negating any cover the wall would offer.
The house was contemporary; square walls, lots of windows, and sharp angles on the roof. Through the sides of the house made mostly of glass you could see a three story tall fireplace with a fire going. May, and warm, but I guess when you’re rich you keep wasting shit straight through the apocalypse. Roaming the grounds Kevin and I observed four armed, uniformed NVC guards, and we saw Rick, plus a woman that was either his wife or girlfriend. No kids, no dogs, no strays other than that.
Sitting on a steel landing pad that hung on the edge of the mountain the house was built on the side of, sat the same fucking helicopter that flew over, and landed at Bastion. It looked tiny, and unthreatening sitting there on the ground. But there it was… sitting on the ground. We could see one SAW still on the mount on the helicopter, which was dumb, and bad for the weapon.
I immediately wished we’d brought Tom, the Coast Guard pilot that we inherited. Maybe six souls stood between us and taking off with the fucking thing and claiming it as our own.
They weren’t ready for an attack. They weren’t even paying attention. Just wandering around, kicking rocks, bullshitting with each other when they crossed paths, and generally passing the time as if they had nothing to worry about. As if Kevin and I weren’t watching them and planning their death. Such power in that moment. Whether you live and love, or die… is my decision.
It took us five minutes to devise a plan to take the house. With our special operations radio set we knew we’d be off their comms grid, and with our throat mics, we could communicate almost silently. Kevin could tune into their radio channel up the hill and we’d be aware of their transmissions if they made any. They’d never know what hit them if we were careful. Bold, but careful.
Kevin provided over watch while I infiltrated down the mountain to the ground. He had a .300 Win Mag rifle and I had my halligan, and my M4A1 with the suppressor affixed. I nearly shit and pissed myself from nervousness. From the high elevation we saw that there was an easy to scale spot on the wall near the cliff. I could tie myself to a rope and literally swing around the end of the wall over the space in the valley, and be inside within seconds. Kevin covered me while I did just that. I went when he called me clear. I ran across the mowed grass to the back edge of the four car garage and took a knee in the dark. Kevin told me two guards came, and when they were out in the open, no more than thirty feet away, I leaned around the edge of the garage and put my red dot on the first of them, and put two rounds into each person’s chest.
The suppressed rifle made noise. We’ve got the best suppressors Uncle Sam could buy, but they still make noise. Bangs, instead of loud cracks. Hell, the two of them and their gear hitting the ground made almost as much noise. With half of the armed guards dead, I had to move. If the others heard me shooti
ng (and the chance they heard the rifle firing, or the bodies hitting the ground was good), they’d be after me or even worse, be calling Calendar Mountain for help. Kevin called me clear, and I backed up to the front of the house where he could observe me, and I waited for the other guards to come back around.
The first one trotted around the corner, investigating the noises I’d made. The guy was oblivious to me standing there. I had tucked away inside a dark spot at the corner of the house and the garage, just behind a bush that sported a fresh trim to stay flat on the top. Mostly I wanted to catch my breath and still my hands. He coughed and scratched his ass as he walked by me, looking to see what made the noise he’d heard. As soon as he had his back to me, I pulled the trigger and put a round between his shoulder blades. He went down, grunting and wheezing in pain, and I stepped out from behind the bush. I put another round into the base of his skull as he rolled around, trying to find a way to ask someone for help. He never saw me. He died alone, and confused. Another fucking victim of someone’s idiocy.
The fourth guy also heard the gunshot, and was maybe fifty feet away around the far corner of the home. He didn’t see me (well I think he didn’t) but he certainly knew that his buddy went down, and he started shooting in my general direction, screaming at his fallen buddy. All I had to do was dive away back into the corner I’d hidden in, and I stayed out of the way of his shots. Within a few seconds, the idiot was at his fallen friend, and as he took a knee to render aid, I put my red dot on his chest, and put two into him. I later saw that it was the kid who pointed his rifle at me the first time I met Picarillo at the Factory. The one who stood at attention and looked at me with awe.
Never meet your heroes, kid.
I shot out a window that led to the living room at the base of the fireplace, and entered the house. I couldn’t give them time. I had the initiative, and I had to maintain my violence. I had to keep them scared, and panicking. The woman and Rick Talbot were both yelling and screaming as they scampered up the wide, open and central stairs to get to the second level mezzanine that overlooked the whole open house.
Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 10): The Last Resort [Adrian's March, Part 2] Page 21
