Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 6): In the Arms of Family

by Philbrook, Chris

  ADRIAN’S UNDEAD DIARY

  Chris Philbrook

  Book Six

  IN THE ARMS

  OF FAMILY

  Adrian’s Undead Diary: In the Arms of Family

  Copyright © 2012 Christopher Philbrook

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America

  First Publishing Date June, 2011

  All characters in this compilation are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design and interior layout by Alan MacRaffen

  Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful people with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.

  The slogan "press on" has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race.

  -Calvin Coolidge

  Also by Chris Philbrook:

  Elmoryn - The Kinless Trilogy

  Book One: Wrath of the Orphans

  Book Two: The Motive for Massacre

  Coming Soon:

  Book Three: The Echoes of Sin

  Reemergence

  Tesser: A Dragon Among Us

  Adrian’s Undead Diary

  Book One: Dark Recollections

  Book Two: Alone No More

  Book Three: Midnight

  Book Four: The Failed Coward

  Book Five: Wrath

  Coming Soon:

  Book Six: In the Arms of Family

  Book Seven: The Trinity

  Book Eight: Cassie

  Don’t miss Chris Philbrook’s free e-Book:

  At Least He’s Not On Fire:

  A Tour of the Things That Escape My Head

  TABLE OF CONTENTS:

  Auburn Lake Preparatory Academy map

  JUNE 2011, Continued

  June 23rd (2nd & 3rd entries)

  June 25th

  June 27th

  June 29th

  JULY 2011

  July 1st

  July 3rd

  Under the Moroccan Sun

  July 5th

  July 7th

  July 9th

  July 11th

  July 13th

  The Great Fire

  July 15th

  July 16th

  July 18th

  July 20th

  July 22nd

  July 24th

  July 25th

  July 26th

  July 28th

  July 30th

  AUGUST 2011

  August 1st

  August 3rd

  August 5th

  August 7th

  Becca

  August 9th

  August 11th

  August 13th

  August 14th

  August 15th

  August 16th

  August 19th

  August 21st

  August 23rd

  August 26th

  August 28th

  August 30th

  Paranoia Island

  About the Author

  Additional Online Content

  AUD Merchandise

  Free Short Fiction by Chris Philbrook

  June 2011

  Continued

  June 23rd (2nd entry)

  I feel compelled to write something. I know it won’t help me sleep. Bad news always keeps me up late.

  Horrible news… Horrible news might ruin me.

  Gilbert is dead.

  I need a minute.

  -Adrian

  June 23rd (3rd entry)

  That took more than a minute. I suspect it’ll take much longer than that to digest this.

  Abby told me Gilbert asked her to shoot him last night, and she’s spent all day today getting his things in order, and building up the nuts to tell me. She was afraid I’d kill her.

  Legitimate concern, frankly.

  Gilbert had been dreaming of The Lacuna, according to the story she told me, and from the notes he left behind in his oddly perfect handwriting. I always got a kick out of that. His perfect handwriting. How does a guy that old who has spent so many years in the thickest, deepest shit have great handwriting?

  Attention to detail.

  Gilbert had been manipulated. The dark voice in The Lacuna had taken his wife, and held her soul to blackmail him. The Voice had tried to get him to fuck me over.

  Me.

  Not us, not the school, not humanity, not anyone else but me. Me, and me alone.

  The Devil has me marked for elimination. And he’s using those I love and care about to get at me. I should be scared. Old Scratch is after Adrian.

  I’m not scared of dying. I got over that awhile ago. Can't get anything done anymore if I'm scared of dying. I’m not scared of failing. Not anymore. I feel oddly motivated by this. Validated. I MUST be a good person if evil is gunning for me, right?

  Of course, I’ve heard the Devil punishes sinners, and if he’s this hot for me, then maybe I am the King of all sinners. Hell’s most wanted.

  I’m very much afraid for the people around me. I am afraid they will be killed strictly due to their proximity to me, and that's not fair to them.

  Collateral damage, so to speak. Gilbert, Gavin, Maddison, Charles, Randy, Larry, Candace, Jeff Daniels, Cassie, Steve, and a hundred other people that have come near me. All dead.

  No matter how hard I try to keep people safe they keep dying. Now with the revelation in the wake of Gilbert’s self sacrifice, I am wondering if they would still be alive if I wasn’t part of the picture.

  Maybe instead of trying to bring people to me to keep them safe, I should be leaving here, and dragging the despair and death that seem to be following in my wake? Maybe that’s the best thing I can do to save people now?

  Remove myself from the equation.

  Maybe just like Gilbert did.

  -Adrian

  June 25th

  I just woke up.

  I had a dream in The White Room. It’s been a very long time since I saw the inside of that place, and it was very refreshing to see it again. I've been very off for days, and I think you know why.

  The round table was bare, no sword, no book, and no weird religious symbol this time. I came to in the dream sitting at one of the small, simple chairs at the table, and seated with me were two other people. I recognized them.

  Across the table and to my right side was Gavin, and he was all smiles. I can’t know for sure, but he looked really… pleased.

  Across the table and to my left was Gilbert, and his smile was twice as mischievous, and three times as wide. I had my breath caught in my throat, like I was about to cry.

  The two men, one old, one young sat there looking at me for some time, waiting for me to say something. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything, but I just sat there with them, sort of in awe of what was going on. My two guys, back and in The White Room.

  I woke up after Gilbert said a single sentence to me. It was all I had to hear to be honest. I could't have kept sleeping even if I wanted to, my heart was going so fast.

  He reached across the table and rested one of his hands on mine, and gave it a squeeze with his liver spotted hands. It felt good. Familiar, affectionate, and strong.

  He smiled at me once more, and then l
ooked to Gavin and back. He gave me a wink, and then he spoke.

  “Adrian, we’re behind enemy lines now.”

  I woke up almost immediately in my bedroom with Mallory next to me. I smiled, and said this loud enough to wake her up.

  “Fuck yeah.”

  It’s on like Donkey Kong.

  -Adrian

  June 27th

  Sense of purpose.

  I am beginning to understand things more and more. I’m not exactly happy with the details, but I think that’s the point. Part of the point, to be more specific.

  I am sad.

  I cannot explain to you how hollow, empty and alone I feel with Gilbert dead. It’s like the wound of Cassie’s death was ripped open fresh once more and left bare to get infected all over again. I was just getting over the loss of her, and now Gilbert dies. Not just dies, but goes out in a ball of flame with the assistance of Abby.

  And the icing. Well, that’s just a big fat layer of, “It turns out the lone man you invested trust in was working for evil the whole time.”

  Delicious shit that stuff.

  But it’s not that simple. It’s never simple anymore. Gilbert had been blackmailed, manipulated, and forced to try and fuck me over. But he balked. He didn’t always do what the evil voice said, and he paid a price for it. His conscience was destroyed, his integrity damaged, and his love for us was sullied by the deeds he was forced to do.

  As one of his final acts, he asked Abby to kill him. He removed himself from the equation so evil couldn’t use him against me. Against us. Against humanity.

  Gilbert left a set of notes with Abby with specific instructions as to how they were to be handed out, or presented to us. Patty got one, I got one, and Abby got several. Gilbert had a very specific plan for the people left in his wake, and as far as I have been able to put it together, he had a plan to fuck the Devil all along.

  I am not going to copy Gilbert’s letter into the journal. For some reason, I feel like that would be violating the last bit of trust he and I shared. I can’t do that. I just... I just can’t.

  What I can share is his feelings on what was happening here at ALPA. Gilbert said that one way or the other, if we succeeded here, then humanity could survive. We as a species would make it through this apocalypse, and we would, and could start again. A new beginning.

  Gilbert said that my quest to be a better person, and to help others was too important to fail, and was the main reason why I was being targeted by evil. As long as someone was leading us to a better way of life, evil couldn’t win. Remove me from the world, or turn me into a shit bag, and evil wins.

  Guess what?

  Fuck you.

  Kiss my pasty, sweaty ass.

  You think I’m quitting because you’re out to get me? You think I’m fucking scared now? You think for one minute I’m not going to do what is necessary because I might die?

  Step the fuck up.

  If you think for one fucking minute I’m going to give up now, you’ve got another thing coming. I have never been more certain that what I am doing is the right thing to do. I KNOW I need to protect these people. I KNOW I need to feed them, clothe them, and try to give them a better life as best I can.

  And now... I KNOW trying matters. Even if I fail, I know it matters that I tried. Gilbert fought the Devil for as long as he could, and when he’d had enough, he told the Devil to kiss his fucking ass, and he checked out on his own terms. The role of the pawn no more. Gilbert is now on the other side, where the dead live, and when he reached out to me the other night with Gavin in The White Room, I was never more certain his choice to sacrifice himself was the right thing to do.

  What scares me is he died to protect me, and to open my eyes. The only thing serious enough to make me consider the reality was him checking out.

  He climbed up on that pile of wood and set it on fire, just to make sure he couldn’t harm me, and to make his point. I have started a dangerous trend. Two people have willingly died to save my life, and I don’t even know how to react to that idea. That reality. I know when I was active duty and deployed I’d step in front of a fucking tank for the men in my unit, but that seems different than this. This is… too much man.

  God I’m rambling.

  I just don’t know. Abby said she’d die for me too, and I mean… fuck. Is the point of this bullshit to save all these folks, then let them die protecting me? That doesn’t seem right at all. There has to be more than this.

  I believe now that there is more to this life. When we die, that is not the end. My dreams are proof of that. The walking dead are proof of that. The fact that the people around me have hope again is proof of that. They are smiling, laughing, eating, fucking and raising their children again. Yes, they’re scared, yes they still might die, but really, how is that any different than it was before?

  It isn’t. What we’re scared of now is a little different, and what might kill us is a little different, but the bottom line is we’re living.

  We are living.

  And as long as we’re living, and trying to be better people, and trying to help others, then we’re winning this. Fuck you evil.

  One of Gilbert’s last gestures was to tell me in his letter that he and his wife still owned a business. Not only did they own that string of restaurants, but they still owned a distribution company that supplied other local restaurants. A wholesale food warehouse. Gilbert said the building was about 20,000 square feet, and if that’s the case, we’re looking at 3 or 4 truckloads of food.

  Gilbert said if it was still intact, we’d be fed for a year or two. Clearly, this needs to be a priority for us. The warehouse is about five miles east heading towards the city past where STIG was. It’s in a strip of businesses slightly out of the way in a suburb of the city.

  During winter he checked on it, made sure it was locked up, and said it was intact. He used the snowmobile. Ballsy old fuck doing it alone. The fact that it is so close to the city scares me. After the stories of the city I’ve heard, I’m fairly certain that by now the place will be overrun by the dead, or possibly raided and looted clean already.

  The other major factor is the plumbing supply place in the same mall. In Gilbert’s note, he said that there was a very high likelihood that place would have the equipment needed to start a full on hydroponics set up for us. We need to get in there, and get that shit. Zach and Ryan can feed us for months on end with little work if we can get that damn setup running.

  It’ll be dangerous. But in order for Gilbert’s last grand gesture to make our survival happen to matter, we need to do this. I need to do this. I have to do this on faith. I have to do this knowing that Gilbert is not lying about it. I need to restore my belief that Gilbert was a good man. I need to do this. I need to show that I know.

  I haven’t worked a plan out yet, but when I do, we’ll make this happen. In the meantime, we still need to return to MGR, get the hydro gear and everyone’s shit, and return to finish the wall here at campus.

  Another troublesome note, Blake and Kim haven’t returned, and Mike hasn’t come back for water yet. It’s been some time, and that has me worried.

  Gilbert, wherever you are, thank you. You taught me so much, and no matter what you may think about your failings, wherever you are, even the smallest bit of you that made it through to me made me a better person. I love you, man.

  Your fight isn’t over, is it old soldier?

  De Oppresso Liber Post Mortum.

  -Adrian

  June 29th

  I visited the grave that Gilbert dug for himself yesterday. It’s unmarked.

  I don’t think that’s right.

  He dug it about four feet deep from what Abby said, and it sits right against the tree line in the backyard of the house he and his wife bought with the money they made off their restaurant business. That house was meant to be the crowning jewel of their retirement, and instead it was a symbol of desperation, and finality.

  Sad really. I’m going to do something about
marking Gilbert’s grave. I might make something in our woodshop. Maybe I’ll ask Martin to weld something as a grave marker. I don’t know yet.

  We emptied out Gilbert’s place yesterday as well. Abby and I. I was surprised to find that the old bastard was indeed sandbagging me, but not quite to the extent that I’d hoped. He had more food than we’d realized. Lots of large tins of restaurant stuff from his warehouse I’d guess. He also had a few cases of MREs, jugs and jugs of water, and probably thirty flats of canned goods.

  Weaponry wise, he was also surprisingly well stocked. Asshole had a thousand rounds of .45 cal, and a thousand rounds of 7.62mm. He also had two more Russian AKs packed in grease, and ten spare magazines. In a gun case he had a couple bolt action hunting rifles in .270 and .30-06, as well a couple hundred rounds of ammo for those as well. He had a .38 snub, a Walther ppk, and a Marlin M60 .22, which I got a laugh out of. Would’ve been a good plinker to use during our big sieges.

  Gilbert had dozens of bottles of vitamins, advil, water purification tablets, iodine, alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, bacitracin tubes, you name it. He had a mess of shit. Just a mess of it. His fucking basement was stacked to the ceiling.

  I wonder if he held back on this stuff to save his own bacon, or to do the work of evil?

  I might never know. I’m not sure it matters really.

  He also had that wood shop in the basement, which was decent, but nothing better than what we had. He had some good skill with the tools he had, as evidenced by the fortifications he built on the house, but really, he was making great stuff with just meh tools. Shouldn’t be surprised I suppose, he had a long history of making the most out of nothing.