Gavin suggested we save our own poop as fertilizer, and not only is that gross, but it’s kinda dangerous. Bacteria, parasites, etc. Ollie looked like he was gonna smack the stupid off Gavin’s face just for suggesting it. I know in third world countries they use human waste as a fertilizer, but oddly enough in third world countries, they have a real problem with intestinal worms, parasite, diseases, sickness, blah blah blah. Not risking it.
So tomorrow we’re helping Ollie get the tractor. Either Gilbert or I will do it, depending on how the OG feels in the morning. The rest of us are peeling off to head back down into town to clear more houses.
No rest for the wicked right?
Speaking of being wicked. When I left Mike, I asked him if he could do me another solid, and check in with the three girls I spoke with and ask if they were into me, and make a good call and maybe bring one back here on the 25th so I could maybe institute Phase 2 of Operation Snatch. Is it funny to you too Mr. Journal that all this shit is going down at a pair of high schools? Seems like we’ve stepped back in time a little.
I’m excited for the 25th. One step closer to… sex.
Speaking of sex. Gonna go have some with my hand.
-Adrian
April 18th
I found a letter in a house today. It was written on a piece of yellow legal paper sitting on the floor in front of a man who had tied himself to a radiator. He was dead. Undead actually. He fought at the ropes he’d managed to bind himself with as we walked inside the house. I killed him, saw the note, and took it.
I thought it was worth copying here. I did the best I could, but there were bloody smudges all over it, and the handwriting was… difficult in places.
Amanda,
I tried to last it out. I’m sorry I failed. Your mother and father wouldn’t leave the house here before we g[illegible]rrounded, and I told them we’d die if we stayed. I was right.
Your dad ran out of insulin, and you know him, he just was[illegible]lling to watch what he ate. I hate to say this about your dad, but he was a fat asshole, right up to the end. He had one of his insulin reactions right after you left when we ran out of that shitty boxed macaroni and cheese he ate all the time. I swear your mo[illegible] was trying to kill him with that crap all these years. Ironic that a lack of it did him in.
He went down in a heap in the kitchen, smashing that ancient department store piece of shit table to bits and pieces.
Your mother screamed in hysterics until I tackled her and held her to the ground. I had to stuff a dish towel in her mouth to keep her qu[illegible] It didn’t work. She kept cry[illegible]nd making these sad noises, and within just a few minutes, those damn things were outside again, banging on the windows.
She finally calmed down, and I apologized and let her up. [There’s a few sentences here where I couldn’t make anything out. Smears of blood covered too much of the writing for me to make sense of it.]
She sat there next to your dad’s beached whale carcass for an hour. I snuck off to the basement to get some time away and fire up a smoke. I ran back upstairs when I heard her scream.
I hate to be the bearer of more and more bad news, but your dad killed your mother. When I got upstairs and back to the kitchen, he was pinning her to the floor with his massive girth just I had earlier. Except I was trying to keep her quiet, and he was eating one of her breasts.
I wish I could say something wise, and comforting. I’m sure when you read this, if you make it back here at all, you’ll be crying yourself hysterical, just like your mom.
I beat your father off of her with the busted leg of the table. He kicked and scratched at me while I crushed his skull in. He was a tough man Amanda, and I guess there’s something to be said in him not going down without a fight.
That’s when your mom bit my leg. I guess I was so focused on making sure your dad couldn’t hurt her anymore, I completely forgot to make sure she wasn’t dead.
I killed her with the table leg too.
I knew I’d die from the bite. I didn’t know your dad would come back from dying, even though he wasn’t bitten. I guess those movies didn’t have it all right.
[There’s another entire paragraph here that’s nonsensical. I mean it was entirely gibberish. He might’ve been drunk, or on something.]
I don’t have the guts to kill myself. Your dad’s gun is too cold and impersonal in my hands, and it’s the only thing here that I can kill myself with that will destroy my brain. I’m so scared of that last, loud bang if I pull the trigger.
Instead of blowing my own head off, and collapsing to the floor for you to find, I’ve decided to make my last task one that will ensure I can’t hurt anyone else, least of all you. After all, you might return from your sister’s house eventually, and I hate to think that I might bite you, and do to you what your mother did to me.
As soon as I finish writing this I’m sticking a ping pong ball in my mouth, and sealing it shut with some duct tape under the kitchen counter. I’ve also found some nylon rope, and I’m planning on tying my arms to the radiator in the living [illegible]
If you return, please kill me. Your father’s gun is on the recliner a few feet from where I’m sitting. I don’t think I can reach that far, so you should be safe. It would mean a lot to me if it were you who put me down. There’s no one else in the world I’d rather have end my life, such as it is.
I want to tell you that I love you immensely. Even though we’ve had hard times lately, you need to know that I’ve always loved you. I may have been a shitty husband at times, and we’re treated each other poorly too, and I can never say I’m sorry enough about my part in that.
Through everything, you were an amazing mother to our children, and I hope they are safe at your sister’s.
Give them my love until you can’t give it anymore.
I love you.
Me
[There’s a bloody thumbprint right next to where he wrote “me”]
His wallet was on the floor just beyond his legs, propped open to a picture of his family. He and his wife Amanda had two kids.
Heavy shit.
-Adrian
April 19th
Am I the law?
Are we the authority here now?
I suppose we are a jury, but are we the judge and executioner as well?
This is a question that we discussed today. We don’t have an answer yet. The only thing that we did agree on was that campus was ours, and we had every right to make sure that we were safe here, and that anyone here was either a guest or a trespasser. Guests get greeted, trespassers get warned, and if that fails, they get shot. Twice if necessary.
But what about when we’re out clearing houses in town? Or if we’re patrolling to thin the herds of the undead? Should the morals and rules we’ve established for ourselves be the law and order for the whole town now? Who will challenge us?
Why did these questions come up today? Well, we met Blake again earlier, and he had some intriguing news that did more to disturb us than encourage us.
I’ll cut to the short of it. Blake said some cars came into town yesterday and this morning. Not many. He said he saw two yesterday, and two more today. He recognized a couple of the cars from last summer, when everyone left for the north. He said they were locals. Based on what he said, that means people are coming home.
Fuuuuuuuuuuck.
I’m not gonna lie, and I’m not gonna act like this doesn’t completely fucking horrify me. This is so bad for us on every level. In fact, I can’t think of a single realistic scenario where this is good for us. The only one that comes to mind that could be good for me is if an entire busload of busty, whorish models pulls into town with a convoy of tractor trailers filled with food and sex lube.
Seems like a stretch for that. I’m holding out hope, but I’m not holding my breath.
Fuck me. This blows big time. More living movers in town mean more competition for the remaining resources. More vehicles mean more drain on gas supplies, as well as home h
eating oil, and remaining diesel. More people means more loose guns in town, and I’d bet dollars to donuts whoever these people are, they don’t have adequate heads on their shoulders to be wandering in my town armed. At the same time, it’s fucking insanity to expect people to survive now without being armed. I can’t even imagine going across campus without a handgun at the very least on me. It’s silly to expect someone else to not do the same. The right to bear arms and all.
This changes everything. Everything. We need to move through town so much more carefully now. I’m glad we got a spare vest at Walt’s place, because we desperately need it. We had one good vest from the original Westfield assault, one bad one from then as well, and two more from Mike, plus Gavin had his own. Gavin’s also the other person here with a ballistics rated helmet. I’m wondering where the ballistics helmets went from the police station. I bet they were incinerated when STIG ate shit. Motherfucker.
So that’s a grand total of four and a half vests for Gilbert, Abby, Patty, Gavin, and me. I’m operating under the assumption that Melissa isn’t moving anywhere off campus unless entirely fucking necessary, and there’s no sense in leaving behind alone, so that means Ollie is here with her 24/7. Do the math on that Mr. Journal. We’re a vest short. That means I’m headed to Westfield to twist Mike’s arm to try and get another IOTV off him so we’re all vested up.
Of course I go into this talk about vests, but the simple fact of the matter, is a high powered hunting rifle WILL penetrate a vest. Luckily we have ballistics plates for the IOTVs, but the simple fact is, we got shit all to protect us against head shots, or high powered rifles shot at close proximity.
Goddamn.
I am as nervous as an epileptic in a disco. Fixing to have a seizure here.
We talked about this for hours tonight. It dominated the discussion while we were making dinner, eating dinner, digesting dinner, and figuring out what the fuck we’re doing tomorrow. I am shocked by the fact that after all our discussion regarding it, and all our different personalities, we pretty much came to the same conclusions.
Town is not ours. Sadly, might makes right, and we are not strong enough to enforce our will, whether or not it is needed, or appropriate and justified. If someone attacks us, or presents a clear and present danger to us, then we should do the thing that is best for us. That means if necessary, we will kill other people to protect our people. Gotta take care of our own.
As for resources… That’s a whole different can of worms. Do we simply assume that if we get to it first, it’s ours to keep? Seems fair right? But morally should we share the things we find with any survivors we come across? I mean, survival of humanity as a species needs to be some kind of priority, right? Or do we sit back, make ourselves as safe and comfortable as possible, and then worry about rescuing others in a year, two years or what? Furthermore, WHERE THE FUCK IS THE GOVERNMENT?
You’d think by now things would’ve started to get rebuilt. National Guard troops moving through communities, planes and helicopters flying overhead looking for survivors, or maybe the fucking radio stations would be working again. Something should be happening, and it isn’t.
None of that has happened. I don’t know why. I suspect it has a lot to do with the lack of power and food. Never mind the fuel issue. If the military shared any of its fuel stores, then they’ll be running on E soon enough. Probably already are. How long could their planes fly before they ran out of fuel? I highly doubt the refineries are still running.
Maybe this is much worse than I realize. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is all I’ve got to work with for the rest of my life. Maybe this isn’t a “survive until it passes over” situation, and more of a “survive as long as you can, because this is it Adrian.”
This is a giant bag of douche. Enormous, and vinegary.
So obviously, this new information changes plans slightly. It pushes some things forward, and pushes some things back. I suck balls at organizing life. I want to point that out. I don’t want you to get this false impression that I am good leader or anything. Fuck that noise. I figure this shit out as I go, the best I can.
Whew, my head hurts. Runny nose or headaches, is pretty much the norm right now. Abby was nice enough to point out to me all these now grey hairs I have earlier.
Cute kid.
She points them out again I might put icy hot in her underwear.
Lol. That actually cheered me up considerably. Just the thought of the expression on her face as she ran around the Hall here holding onto her crotch trying to figure out if Gavin gave her the Clap or not would be worth the inevitable beating I’d suffer. Definitely need to source a helmet, and a cup before I pull that stunt.
Alright, so, a fucking agenda. We desperately need to figure out how and when we are going to get this shit all done, and done in a fast enough manner. Safety is important mind you. Too fast and we get hurt, too slow, and we get hurt. Sweet deal eh? The whole rock and a hard place.
Ollie needs more supplies for a fence for the crops and the campus security. We have no local lumber yards or Home Depot or Lowes, so we need to look specifically for supplies of lumber that might be at construction sites, or contracting businesses, or things of the like. Pressure treated or gtfo too. Ollie suggested we shamble our dumb asses to any building with a chain link fence around it, and straight up rip the fucking stuff right out of the ground. He assures us it might be easier to do that than find enough homogenous lumber to build a fence.
Ollie’s got the tractor here now due to Gilbert’s assistance, and he’s working the field into a plant-able surface, but he says there’s little sense in planting anything significant until we can fence it off to protect against skunks, raccoons etc. He says they are around, he’s seen them. They’ll dig the shit up and eat it. I guess it’s cool that he is seeing them though. I haven’t seen those kinds of animals anywhere since… June, and I was worried they were all dead.
We NEED to establish a safe house in the area near downtown that we’ve cleared. Preferably one right near the road so it’s visible to folks in vehicles. That might be a fast, easy fix. I think we can get it set up in maybe half a day. Less if we have our shit together.
We NEED to clear houses, and gather food and supplies. I’ve got a bad, bad feeling that this summer is going to fly by, and the last thing I need (read: we need) is to have us not make it through this coming winter because we didn’t gather up the food that’s frigging sitting all over the place, ripe for the taking.
I’ve got to get in touch with Mike and get some IOTVs off him pronto. I’m betting he’s got a few spare stashed away in the basement of that school over there, and I hope he won’t bend me over and do me dry for them. I guess I could pull an asshole move and tell him NO WATER! But that seems prickish. I guess we’ll see how he reacts. I am seriously debating trading him something for labor. Any labor will work. I just need more hands to put to work to get what needs to be done, done.
I need to insert my penis into a woman. Any orifice will suffice. Any woman will suffice. (God my standards have plummeted. My brothers would string me up, even the gay one.)
We MUST fortify campus. The sooner the better. At the very least, we desperately need to make it hard for someone to drive up to campus. In some respects, being at the end of a dead end country road is good. It’s heavily forested, very hilly, and we’ve got the water more or less cutting off avenues of ground (foot) approach, so the road is an excellent choke point. I think our current plan is to take a page from Romero’s book, and jack a semi to park across the road at the Jones Road turn. We can back the truck up Jones Road when we come and go easily. Prospect Circle (where Gilbert’s home is) is on this side of Jones Road as well, so his house will fall inside that “gate.”
We need to keep Blake’s eyes on that farm. His report today on the farm was that he saw more adults working outside there, but none of the kids he mentioned before. He says they’re prepping the farmland inside their fence for planting. Judging by the description, they�
�ve got an area maybe 6-8 acres in size inside the fence, and then maybe as much as 50 or 60 acres outside. Not sure how much food that’ll make, but it sounds like a lot.
Speaking of Blake, we need to hit that fucking auto parts store to get him geared up so he can reopen Mike’s Automotive. If we can manage that, then we can get him up to snuff on diesel work, and before you know it, we might actually be able to fix a fucking vehicle when one breaks. We told him we’d meet him at Mike’s auto on the 23rd for our next update. If that meeting goes well, I think we’re going to get him a walkie so he can contact us in an emergency. Of course now I’m scared that the people at that fucking farm might have walkies too… and they’ll hear everything. Maybe we need to start rotating frequencies for communication security. SOP.
Tactically we need to up our game when we’re out. I guess shame on us for not being as attentive all along, but frankly, we can only pay so much attention for so long before our brains either go on autopilot, or we need a break. From now on, we are making more noise as we move, periodically honking our horns so folks know we’re moving, and we’re not dangerous. I’d hate to roll up on some paranoid guy new to the neighborhood, and have him open up on us. Sigh.
Fuck clearing houses. Gilbert says he’ll go without a vest for the meantime. That does make some sense, because most of the time he’s prone on the roof of the HRT, and in the event we do take hostile fire, he’ll draw a lot less fire than the rest of us moving around. (insert jinx joke here)
The Failed Coward Page 26
