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

by Philbrook, Chris

  “Freeze!” I screamed. “DOWN ON THE FUCKING FLOOR!” I’d had enough bloodshed. I had hoped they would comply. She did. Talbot kept running down the elevated area above the living room towards a door that was probably a bedroom. Might’ve been a gun in there. Maybe, maybe not.

  I shouldered my rifle again and squeezed off maybe half a dozen shots up at his legs. A couple of the rounds hit home, and he went down on his face, screaming in pain. She matched his volume, and I ran up to her where she stood at the top of the stairs. She got zip tied and sat on the stairs, and I went to Shades.

  He begged for his life, and I told him to shut the fuck up. I grabbed my blowout bag, and spiked him with morphine. His leg wounds weren’t bad. I mean they were bad, I put holes in the fucker’s limbs, but he wouldn’t die from it. Unless it got infected. I tossed him a bandage and took a few steps back.

  “Holy shit. You’re the guy from Bastion. W-what do you want from me?” the older guy asked. He half slurred his words from the morphine, and half stuttered them out through god-awful pain. “Please don’t kill me. I’ll give you w-whatever you w-want.”

  “Calm down, asshole,” I said. “You’re alive because I want you to be alive. You’d be dead if I wanted that. Use your fucking head, I just wasted a pain killer and bandages on you. Sit still or you’ll be worse off.”

  “Did you kill them?” he asked me as he tried to hold the bandages on the two holes in both of his legs. I watched as his eyes grew glossy from the opioid. “My guards?”

  “Yeah. Sorry not sorry. Look, I need to destroy your helicopter. No hard feelings.”

  “What?! You can’t do that. There are too few left. It’s priceless,” he pleaded, looked over his shoulder at the window that probably overlooked the bird.

  “Yeah don’t care. I need to remove it from the equation.”

  “I’ll fly it for you. I swear. I’ll do it. I don’t care about them. They just protect me. If you protect me, I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

  “I already have a pilot. Two, actually. And I trust the two of them a whole lot more than some rich dickface that’s willing to switch sides to save his skin. Here’s the deal; I don’t want to kill you, but if you so much as move an inch, or if you contact the NVC within the five days after tonight, a man hiding in the woods will shoot you with a very big rifle. Morphine won’t matter if he does that. You don’t have enough bandages to plug the hole he’ll put in you. Then, he’ll set this house on fire and cook a hot dog. No warning shots, just fade to black, and roll credits. Do you understand?”

  He looked to the windows again and swallowed hard. “I understand.”

  “He will kill you. The same goes for her.” I put a thumb over my shoulder at the woman. “Either of you so much as reach for a radio, or a phone, or if we hear anything over the air, you both get plugged. Nothing personal.” She cried when I said that. He did too.

  “We understand,” he finally said.

  “Good. I’m sorry, really,” I said. “This is how we all get along,” I added, then left. Part of me wanted to look for more booze.

  I went to the back of the house where the helicopter sat, and used the halligan to pry open the engine covers. I smashed the shit inside to pieces with the fireman’s tool, yanking out hoses, and destroying anything I could pry out with the hook. I went to the tail rotor and beat the fucking thing like it owed me money, smashing apart two of the blades. That done, I pried the cockpit door open, and went to town smashing everything inside as Kevin told me from cover I was safe, and that the radio was silent. I did that for ten minutes, busting the canopy, and every single gauge and dial. When I was finished, the chopper was unable to lift off and at best would need week’s worth of work to back to flying condition.

  Then Kevin’s rifle went off. Loud as fuck. It echoed through the valley below us. I froze, and it went off again. One of the massive windows on the side of the house behind me smashed apart, and I knew what happened.

  “They went for the radio,” Kevin said. I told him I figured, and I got the fuck out after pilfering the dead guard’s gear and ammo. I also grabbed the SAW off the helicopter, plus all four cases of belted ammo. In his garage I stole a four-wheeler to help me carry all the shit, and I drove right out the gate of his place after I opened it. I met up with Kevin on the road, and we got out. He rode bitch on the ATV all the way back to our ride.

  We drove the Prius to Spring Meadow as fast as we could on side roads, back seat covered in Scotch, ammunition, a light machine gun and rifles, and prayed to God that everyone who hit Spring Meadow earlier was safe. I felt like garbage. Still do. I killed four people. I have no idea if they were good people, or bad people.

  Just people in the way of me keeping my people safe.

  I’m sorry.

  Our Trojan Horse attack has turned into a bit of a siege. The trick worked well enough for our people to get the jump on them, taking out their entire gate crew, and seize their vehicles, negating their heavy weapon advantage. It should also be noted that taking the vehicles removes two of their radios as well. The initial minutes of violence were heavy, and losses stacked up on both sides quickly. Fortunately, our losses weren’t nearly as heavy as theirs. Of course that’s like talking shit that you only lost four toes while they lost five.

  Three of their guys made it inside one of the houses with four hostages. The entire Cartwright family was taken captive in their house. You might remember Adaline Cartwright, the woman whose stray shot the night the undead returned fucked things up? Hey, she tried. Her family.

  When Kevin and I got to Spring Meadow our people were licking our wounds, and taking cover while keeping the three NVC guys pinned inside the house they were in. We couldn’t breach safely, and they weren’t giving us anything to shoot at, so it was a standoff. Jinx Fairy be damned, we had them pinned with no radio.

  If they didn’t have the Cartwrights, I would’ve said to let them starve, or to burn the house down around them (fire in this instance being a very effective means of victory), but they did have the family, and there was no way I was going to let a mom, dad, and two young kids die if I could stop it. Hell, being held captive has to suck balls.

  As of right now, almost dawn on the 31st, I’m home, and the three NVC guys are still there. Kevin and I passed control of the situation back to them. We’re communicating with them via a bullhorn, and given a few more hours, we’ll get them out. Adam (guy from Texas) and Agnes are working them. The NVC guys don’t want to die, and they know if they hurt the Cartwrights they’re dead meat. We’re optimistic about it.

  I’m shocked Agnes is doing it. She lost Anders in the firefight. Her husband. Man. Tough. I am very numb to our losses right now. I’m focused heavily on trying to keep Michelle positive and held together. She’s taking our losses far heavier than I am. It’s all on her, in her eyes. I’ve been there. I’m there right now. It’s hell.

  Before Mizaki calls, I need to make a plan on what to do next, and try to catch some shut eye, but before I do that, I will list off our dead and injured. I’ll mourn them more fully when my soul lets me.

  Dead: Texas Rich, Hector, Sarah Reynolds, Anders, Marigold Danvers, Dave Ward (new guy, the selfish one I didn’t like. Turns out… he wasn’t all that selfish), Nell Turner (new woman), Joe Fleischman (another new kid, 19 years old. Mom worked at Old Navy. He was going to go to college before all this…), Bliss Adams, Texas Colton, and three of our British refuges. All three of the Brits died, and returned as zombies, but they were handled by the people around them. Thank God for that. There might be more dead than that. Probably is. That’s my headcount for the moment.

  Injured: Quan, James, Ethan, Ollie, Eddie Smith (took a round to the thigh taking Spring Meadow. I chalk that up as karma for taking part of the execution before all this), Ray Bridge (caught a round in the knee and might never walk again, assuming he keeps the leg at all), Alex (George would kill me if he knew Alex got shot), Blake, Celeste, Jimmy Wierczorek (new kid that came with Tim the
magician), and three more Brits/Europeans who were caught in the crossfire.

  That’s 13 dead, and 13 wounded.

  A general would look at those numbers, and think; we’re doing really well on casualties.

  I am not a general, and those numbers horrify me. I know those people. Maybe not well... But I know them. I at least know Ethan and Joel and the few other nurses we have, and I see what they’re doing to fix these people up. They’re saving lives, and I’m out there taking them. Doesn’t make sense. I guess killing other humans shouldn’t. Shouldn’t ever.

  Rack time. Then... Mizaki calls, and we see what’s next. We have to make a plan to hit them fast before they realize the Factory, Spring Meadow, and their helicopter has all shit the bed on them. Won’t be long before they’re on to us.

  Still no sign of Picarillo.

  -Adrian

  June 2014

  June 2nd

  Just as we played them, they played us.

  Fucking cunt.

  Kevin and I are rolling out of here as soon as I finish this. He’s saying goodbye to Becky, Shelby and Chloe, and I’m here writing in this fucking journal, and scared as hell to say goodbye to my cat, and to Michelle. I will.

  I don’t have all the details, but here’s the short version; Mizaki knew it wasn’t Quan on the radio, and took the time to prepare a full scale assault on Bastion while we thought we had time to prepare to do it to him. While we were sitting at the radio waiting for him to call, making a plan to continue tearing them apart in small chunks, they hit us. Mid-morning.

  Fucker.

  We saw them coming on the security camera near the old burnt-out gas station. Two Bradleys, an up-armored HEMTT, the deuce and a half filled with troops, and four up-armored humvees. If they drove like a bat out of hell up Auburn Lake Road, we had two minutes. Five at the most to get ready.

  Thank God Hal was on the monitors and paying attention. He came over the radios and started screaming that they were hitting us, and we jumped. I wish we’d done something to lay traps in the road or something. Made some of those IEDs I talked about a long time ago. Might’ve helped.

  I don’t remember much of the details. Our cameras filmed a lot of it, and if I live through the end of this, I’ll go back and watch as much as I can stomach. It won’t be much.

  We had a plan to defend our family and our home, and we put it to work without discussion or thought. It’s all just reaction. Muscle memory.

  Kevin and I went to the AT4s and took up positions apart from one another. He’s the more experienced user of the weapon system, and he took the harder shot. Basic idea is to cut the lead vehicle off, then take down the furthest vehicle possible to jam the middle ones in. Pin them on the X. I took the first shot at the closest Bradley as it smashed through the outer gate and crossed the bridge, barreling towards us, .50cal on the top firing as fast as it could. The gun made mincemeat of the gate doors and shredded the gun towers we built. Took five seconds to undo five weeks of work. Luckily we had no one in the towers when they hit us.

  I lifted up enough off the top of the berm, taking a knee, despite hearing their Mk19 grenade launchers firing at us. They shoot slower than the .50, with a much louder impact as the grenades go off. So fucking loud. Luckily, their early moments of fire were aimed at the gate and the two guard towers we built flanking the bridge, and we emptied all of those, save for a few wooden cutouts of SAWs and/or .50cals we placed as bait.

  Decoys for the win.

  Anyway, as 40mm grenades soared overhead as thick as a swarm of bees into the depths of home, I fired my weapon straight into the front left quadrant of the Bradley’s tracks. There’s no FWOOSH! And rocket flying through the air with an AT4. Just a loud fucking bang in your ear followed by the impact of the warhead on target almost instantaneously. My shot was like a foot low, hitting the ground and track at the same time.

  Had I hit flush, I might’ve killed the crew, but instead all I did was disable the rig, right in the middle of the bridge. The vehicles behind it came to a stop as the tank collided with our inner gate, blocking it shut. Two seconds later Kevin launched his AT4 at their last vehicle, one of the slow rollin, up-armored HEMTTs. His shot hit dead nuts, and the middle of the truck exploded from the warhead. Something caught fire at the back, and armed troops started jumping out of it and the deuce and a half right in front of it.

  Kevin and I’s heavy weapons shots froze them. Startled them. Bought us a second. I screamed to open fire.

  Everyone we had on the wall opened fire, right about the same moment everyone they had in the trees across the river did the same. Next few minutes are messy for me. I had my M4A1 and put rounds into the crowd of NVC on the bridge and beyond. I kept the gunner in the lead Bradley off his M2, eventually taking him out when he reached up to fire his weapon. I traversed the length of the bridge and shot anyone I saw moving. I hit most of the time, I think. I shot people who were shooting at us, and I shot more than a few people who were trying to get away, or get to cover.

  Merciless. I had to be merciless. Just because you’re running away doesn’t mean you’re not going to turn around and try to shoot me in a few seconds.

  You came here to kill. You knew the risk you took. Fuck you. Fuck all of you. For that, I am not sorry.

  Someone (Joel, I think, though it might’ve been Blake. No, I think Blake was in the infirmary hurt. I dunno who it was.) got a SAW going right into the crowd of troops that dismounted from the deuce. Tore them right to shreds in ten seconds. While all that was going down, they had their shooters deep in the woods across the river, and they were taking selective shots at us. I heard more than a few snaps right over my little row of hair, and I had to displace more than once to keep whoever shooting at me guessing. I called out for someone—anyone—to try and take the cunts out in the woods, and over the radio Abby said she was on it.

  I hadn’t heard it in a long time, but that .270 I gave her came to life in the distance, loud, steady and booming. She had an elevated shooting position from a window in Hall E. Maybe ten shots from her and the gunfire in the woods slowed down. Either she hit a few of them or got them to duck long enough to break their spirit for the fight. At that point I remember looking over and seeing little Danny McGreevy Junior ten feet away, the Ginger Reaper laying on his belly, shooting his dad’s rifle. I watched as the orange bangs hanging over his forehead shook with every recoil. He calmly tried to kill the people who came to hurt him, and the few people he had left. Fucking teenager. So fucked.

  At that point, the driver of the deuce threw it into reverse as they quintupled their rate of fire to suppress us. He backed out and around the burning HEMTT, and up and over the hill, past Prospect Circle where Gilbert’s house is. A dozen of their foot soldiers ran out as fast as they could to hitch a ride before he left them behind. As their humvees continued to fire grenades deep into Bastion, and along the berm wall, keeping us down, they backed out too. Kevin said later that he threw grenades over the wall at them, and I know he fired a third AT4 at them, taking out one of the humvees. I didn’t see the shot, or the hit, but I heard the explosion, and later on the ammo cooking off. I also heard the men and women inside the vehicle screaming for far too long.

  Ugh.

  When the world went quiet enough for everyone to hear me yelling cease fire, I called out for medical assistance to the wall, and gathered a half dozen able-bodied shooters to check on the wreckage. As I did that, I got on the radio and let MGR, the Factory, and Spring Meadow know that the NVC were headed back through after attacking us and that if they felt threatened, to call for help. I also told them to use the ‘antitank weapons’ liberally. We don’t have any antitank weapons anywhere but here, but the NVC didn’t know that. I did this on a frequency the people fleeing could hear me on.

  We found eleven wounded NVC soldiers on the bridge, in their vehicles, and on the road. We found eighteen dead. None of the survivors wanted a fight, and we helped them. I put tourniquets on nearly severed limbs, put c
ompression bandages on gushing gunshot wounds, and I know I saved at least three lives. Four. Definitely four. That felt good. Didn’t make the reality of me having killed their people easier, but it was something.

  With the bridge secured, I took Kevin up and into the woods to scour for their shooters. After twenty minutes of looking around, we found piles of 7.62 and .30-30 brass, and smears of blood at multiple spots but no bodies. I didn’t want to pursue, so we headed back to help the wounded and figure out where to go from there.

  About then Peter White came over the radio with gunfire in the background.

  “Mike and Patty are plinking at them as they ride by. They’re not engaging back—oh wait they are,” he said, and I heard a booming response in the distance. Just as he went dark, I heard him make that tongue-clucking noise, and I laughed. I shouldn’t have laughed.

  Then, no joke, Kevin stops walking and asks, “Is that the old fucker Pete White? The one you stationed at MGR? From Virginia?” I said yeah. His face was crazy. He knew something about White. “I need to get face time with him. He reminds me of… no… He’s someone I know.”

  I asked him who, and he said we’d worry about it later. It’s later, and we haven’t gotten around to worrying about it. We will later.

  Today… is the 2nd of June. The weather is beautiful, and Bastion is blown apart. All of those grenades their Mk19s hurled over my head landed somewhere, and good lord, the destruction is pervasive. Most of Hall A, administration, the medical clinic, and Hall E were hit by numerous grenades and .50cal pass-throughs. In fact, the former staff offices (now the med clinic) and Hall A are… well, they need to be torn down. They’re not salvageable. The window that Abby shot out of took at least fifty rounds during the fight. The sill is busted, the window is history, the walls are fucked. Gavin’s crib took a dozen rounds. Thank God she put him in the basement.