Not that nationality matters for us at the moment. There doesn’t appear to be an American government really, so it doesn’t seem to have any bearing anymore. I guess what matters most is our values, morals, and how we conduct ourselves on a day to day basis. We aren’t defined by nationality so much as we are defined by the people we are individually, and the small community cultures we’re creating. One day, people might claim to be an ALPAN, which would be kinda neat.
Although… that sounds dumb when I say it out loud. ALPAN. Alpan. Alpanite. Alpanese. Alpish. Alpanlander.
Gonna need to work on that.
Blake and Kim are back! Westfield didn’t get overrun or blown up. Yay! They were simply dealing with a mess of domestic issues, and in the meantime they simply collected the rainwater we’ve been inundated with. Because there was no real danger involved, they didn’t send a message. Plus, there was no sense leaving to return until Kim gave birth… and she did!
Baby boy. Apparently the 'lil bastard weighed 10 pounds 8 ounces, which means Kim’s vagina is probably permanently the size of a fucking hallway now. I’m excited Blake and Kim have a son, but I’m also concerned that Kim’s junk might never recover from pushing out a spud that size. I’m told that the vagina is a miraculous thing when it comes to recovery from giving birth… but there’s got to be a limit. That child’s head is a fully formed pumpkin. She’ll need a miracle to tighten that thing back up.
Poor Blake.
So Mike, Blake, Kim, and LaFrenz came today to get water, drop off the parents and child, and to do some basic trading for some basic stuff. Nothing of note really. Mike said that the problems they were having had to do with the generator at the school. I guess something fairly important broke, and they had to mount a serious parts scouring mission to find enough stuff to fix it. Of course no one over there is a mechanical genius when it comes to fixing large backup industrial style generators, so just figuring out what was broken took a day or two.
It took them a few days of hitting businesses and homes that they thought would have parts until they found whatever it was that they needed. Mike said they did manage to collect a shitload of parts for repairing lots of random shit, which will be good in the long run I suppose. I guess while they were out hitting previously abandoned areas of town they managed to draw the attention of quite a few undead. He said they dropped somewhere around three hundred of them over the course of a few days, which strikes me as a goddamn huge number. When you think about how many they’ve already killed over there during the past year or so, it seems like a conspicuously large number to randomly just… be around. Especially considering we here at ALPA are on the side of the city. Any undead from the city wandering to Westfield would have to march right past us to get there. He apologized for not getting a message to us to explain the delay, but honestly, everyone was so fixated on the baby, it was an instantly forgiven oversight.
I guess the labor and delivery was a bitch, which makes sense with a nearly eleven pound baby. I keep getting the mental image of trying to squeeze a watermelon out of a hole the size of a nostril. Or that shitty sfx scene in the old Total Recall movie where Arnie yanks that sphere out of his nose. Just… painful looking. Kim will probably get PTSD before post partum depression.
Anyway, Lisa and Kim worked it like a fucking champ, and despite not getting an epidural, she plopped the kid out, and after a few days of rest and relaxation, they’re all good to go. Blake’s freaking out over being a dad, but from just watching him fawn over Kim and the baby today, it’s clear he’ll be a good dad. He and Kim are both survivors, and they care tremendously about each other and that kid. It really puts the pain that Blake was in the whole time in perspective.
During all the bullshit with The Farm, he’s felt this way about her and that baby. Makes me wish I’d listened to him more right when we met him. I mean shit, everything he said bore true. Hindsight sucks balls sometimes. I’m just glad he’s happy now, with her, and their bouncing baby elephant.
Speaking of the little turd… They hadn’t named it until they returned this evening. I guess they were thinking about it since he was born on the 23rd (ironic, eh?). He was born just after midnight too, which coincides almost exactly with when Abby did Gilbert in. Very odd. One life leaves this world, one life enters it. In order for us to survive this we need to start bringing two into the world when one leaves. I shall double my efforts.
When I told them about Gilbert dying, it turned the previously happy moment into one of profound sadness. Blake didn’t cry, but he looked really fucking distraught. Despite Gilbert putting the barrel of the .45 he died by under his chin at one point, Blake loved that old man nearly as much as I did. They bonded quickly, and it pained him to learn that Gilbert was gone.
On the bright side, after asking me my opinion on what I thought about what they should call him, they gave their boy his name.
Adrian Gilbert Miller.
I’m not sure how I feel about having a kid named after me. Blake and Kim said it was only appropriate because I was largely the one responsible for their being together again, and without Gilbert and I there would’ve been little chance their family could be what it is today. I know he’s right, but knowing that a child out there will bear my name for his whole life is just a strange thought. Flattering? Sure. Weird? You bet.
I just hope he lives his life a little better than I’ve lived mine.
I hope we can give him a life he deserves. The dilemma of a good parent I suppose.
Abby and Patty thought the name couldn’t be more appropriate. They were all smiles about it. I guess their judgment should be listened to. I can’t change Blake and Kim’s mind, and I guess as long as Gilbert’s name is in the kid’s name, I’m satisfied. Gilbert was a good man, and any kid bearing his name is bound to be a good shit. Really happy about that.
Happily, I can say that little guy has cheered us up dramatically. Gilbert’s death was casting a huge shadow over the lives of those of us that knew him well, and seeing that little meatball of a baby sleeping in Kim’s arms has really helped. He’s a handsome little fella. Really a gift.
What else is going on?
Sadly, Hector and Mallory went back to Westfield with Mike and LaFrenz today. I think that’s good. She seemed to be at her wit’s end with being cooped up with me, and to be honest, my energy has been a little taxed with having her here all the time. I like her and all, but I have a lot to do on a daily basis, and I feel like a dirt bag when I skimp on my duties to spend time with her. However… shit it is fun. I’m sure I’ll see her in a week or so when they come back for more H20.
I already kind of miss her.
Work workity work-work Mr. Journal. We busted ass on two projects yesterday and earlier today before the Westfield folks showed. I did wall stuff, and the other folks that split off managed to figure out how to get the hydro gear hooked up to that generator we found the other day. We lucked out when it started right up without fucking with it too, which was sweet. I think it was Hector who hooked it up for us, which was pretty nice of him. Useful fella.
We didn’t quite make fifty feet of wall yesterday or today, but between the two days, we did about fifty feet in total. We’ve still got an assload of wall and berm to build, but we’re making great progress. It should also be noted that we are clearing a gigantic amount of area in front of campus along Auburn Lake Road. It looks really weird now. Just a huge gathering of stumps. I am happy to report that there is fuck all for cover on the opposite side of the river, so if anyone approaches us from that direction, that’s good for us. I like my enemies in the open, and exposed.
Also how I like my vaginas, if you're curious.
I’m thinking we’re maybe 40% done with wall construction? If we can focus on it heavily and God forbid get a few more people to help from say, Westfield, I think we can really hammer it out. Now my original estimate of late summer can be seriously moved up with the additional labor in the form of the MGR people. Now I think we’re lookin
g at maybe two more weeks of work until it’s done solid. Keeping my fingers crossed on that.
That’ll be a huge relief, that’s for damn sure. Not only will it be welcome rest, but it means us focusing on clearing houses, finding other people, and getting things done other than chopping down trees, digging holes, and putting said trees in said holes.
It’s after midnight. Officially it’s July 4th. Happy Independence Day America. Neat. Wish I had fireworks.
And a country to celebrate.
Spilled milk.
-Adrian
Under the Moroccan Sun
“The good news is we’re over southern Morocco,” Kate said into her headset in the cockpit of the giant MC-130 aircraft as she looked out the dark glass of the windows. She was speaking to Kevin, the unspoken leader of the plane’s passengers. He stood behind her.
Kevin adjusted his headset, “What’s the bad news?”
“There’s no response from the FOB I wanted to land at. Soooo… it looks like we’re either going to land there blind, and hope to hell it’s safe, or we find a different place to land, and hope to hell it’s safe.”
Kevin smirked in the darkness of cockpit. It was late and moonless, and above the clouds where they were flying the only light was that of the stars, and the dim instrumentation the pilots watched carefully. “Thoughts Kate?”
“Well, Nick here says there’s a small town about a hundred fifty miles ahead that has an airport we can land at. If you’re okay with it, we’re gonna drop down under the clouds, do a few flybys to see if the runway or runways are clear, and then put down. Small place like this likely has fuel enough for us to make the Azores,” Kate said.
Kevin thought about it carefully, and decided their judgment was solid, “That sounds good. I’ll get everyone to gear back up and get ready for a hot LZ.”
“That’s a wise decision Mr. Whitten. I’d expect there to be issues with violence anywhere we land nowadays.” Kevin saw Kate smirk as she talked.
Kevin sat his headset down and went to the rear of the plane to get everyone ready for what could be a very rough visit to Morocco. It had already been a long day filled with death and violence. He didn’t want to tell them they had to prepare for more.
Kevin walked through the red lit interior of the plane carefully keeping his balance. The first person he encountered was Jaden, the leader of the fire team of Air Force Para Jumpers he’d enlisted as friends back in England. The team of special operations PJs had been essential in making their escape. Jaden was tall, handsome, and still covered in dirt and blood from their incredibly violent exit from Mildenhall, the large airbase in the UK they’d been holed up in since June. It was late November now. Damn near December really.
“Sup Kev? What’s the good word?” Jaden’s voice was a near shout over the roar of the cargo plane’s engines. Right beside him on the horribly uncomfortable netting seats were the other three men in his team, sleeping soundly despite the noise and turbulence.
“We’re dropping down below the clouds to check out a small airport ahead. Kate’s saying that FOB she was hoping for is dead in the water and she thinks we should put down at this strip. We're in Morocco if you're curious. I’m betting we’ll have dead folks down there though, so we should gear up. We gotta secure a perimeter around the bird at the very least," Kevin yelled.
Jaden nodded. “Sounds good, what's our time to target?”
Kevin yelled over the din once more, “I think she said a hundred fifty miles or so.”
“Man, that doesn’t give us much time unless she circles a bunch. Alright. We’ll make it happen.” Jaden got to his feet and began to rouse his men.
Kevin walked past the special operators as he felt the plane dip. The descent wasn’t rapid, but it certainly was noticeable. He steadied himself as he walked towards the rear of the plane and his men. Speaking of which, there were damn few left.
Fitz; Kevin’s best friend on his team was still kicking. He was favoring the after affects of a bad cramp he’d suffered in his side earlier that night back when they were running like hell to escape England and the army of undead that had laid siege to the base they were at. Currently Fitzy was drinking one of their few remaining Bud Lights and staring off into the dark interior of the plane. Beer was Fitz’s coping skill.
Sitting next to him was Quan, the smart assed Vietnamese operator Kevin loved. The little Asian man was his team’s demolitions specialist, which wasn’t saying a whole lot. Quan was good at blowing shit up, but was a good deal fidgety, and Kevin was always expecting whatever Quan was working on to blow up in his face. So far, the tiny dark skinned man had been successful. All eight fingers and two thumbs were still connected. Quan was cleaning his rifle meticulously through the plane's motion.
Kyle was one of Kevin’s men too. He was a young man who normally drove Kevin’s lead vehicle when they were doing protective work for their company, WPG. Sadly, they didn’t really protect anyone or anything other than themselves anymore, and now Kyle was just another top notch shooter trying to stay alive in a world filled with undead.
Lastly they’d dragged along a British Royal Marine named Harold, or Hal for short. Hal had been part of a small unit of Marines attached to Kevin’s group when they had been protecting a US Senator back in England. The Senator was long gone, but Hal remained with them. Hal was a tall, powerfully built black man that had kicked more ass in the few months they’d known him than any of them could believe. He was funny, clever, strong, an excellent warrior, and each of them would step in front of a truck to keep him on their team.
Kevin cleared his throat to tell them what was up, “Hey shitheads!”
They all perked up. Fitz slowly lowered his beer and glared at his friend. Kevin adjusted the white cap that was perpetually on his head. It was dirtied now, and covered in spots of blood, but in the red interior lighting of the plane’s cargo bay, it looked radiant.
“We’re putting down in Morocco at a small airport in a bit. We need to get ready for a shit storm on the ground when we land. Might be bad, but we don’t know yet. Gear up like we’re making a run.”
“Kevin, I can’t go anywhere, I think I blew out my ribs.” Fitz said with a grimace. He had wrapped his torso tightly in flesh colored bandages to help with the pain.
Kevin nodded, looking at the clear discomfort his friend was in. “Alright. That’s fine partner. We’ll leave you here with the flight crew attending to your fucking skirt and tampon. When your balls drop and you feel like being a man with the rest of us, let us know.”
Fitz gave Kevin the finger, and tilted his beer up, taking a swig. After he swallowed, he gave Kevin a sharp reply, “Sounds good boss. Soon as my balls drop I’ll plow your mom again, and get right on helping the rest of you assholes in your rush to get eaten alive by those dead fuckers.”
“It’s good to have goals Fitzy.” Kevin smiled, and turned to go back to the cockpit. He wanted to see the airport Kate wanted to land at with his own eyes.
*****
It wasn’t much of an airport from the air.
Kate had taken them in from the north once already, and she was circling wide to approach the strip from the west. From the air it looked like the strip was heading east to west, and she needed to get low enough to let the running lights on the MC-130 illuminate the runway to see if it was safe to land. It was dangerous as all hell, but even back when there were a shitload of pilots around, there were few pilots as good as her in the plane she was flying.
Kevin’s asshole was tight enough to pass for the eye of a needle nonetheless. He gripped the back of her pilot’s chair like it was the metal safety bar on a roller coaster seat. Not really that much of a stretch, he thought. The big plane bucked up and down as the different densities of air gave it a ride. Beside her sat Nick, her co-pilot. He monitored the instruments and made sure the rest of the plane operated perfectly. In tandem, the two pilots made Kevin feel reasonably safe.
But feeling safe was a relative experience.
The incredibly powerful white landing lights of the plane cast out beams that cut the darkness in half ahead of them. The plane was perhaps two hundred feet off the ground and through the thick glass of the cockpit window they could see the dull dry brown of the Moroccan desert whiz by. In the distance, Kevin caught a glimpse of an orange light on the horizon. For no apparent reason, the pit of his stomach churned.
“Kill the lights for a second. Quick,” Kevin said quietly. Nick hit the switch and the world outside fell into blackness once more. The orange light was only visible for a few seconds before it slipped underneath the fast moving plane, but Kevin clearly saw what it was.
Three small fires arranged in the shape of a triangle. The fires weren’t large, perhaps two or three feet across each. They burned weakly, but Kevin’s eyes saw them as clear as day. Despite their limited energy, Kevin saw two figures standing in the center, one a woman, and one a child. They stood facing away from the plane, looking towards the horizon. He wasn't entirely sure how much of it was a gut feeling, and how much of it was having good eyesight.
A split second later the two pilots and Kevin saw what the two figures on the ground were looking at. A swarm of undead the size of a shopping mall was slowly progressing towards the trio of flames. It looked as if Hell had opened the front doors, and let everyone out all at once.
Kevin’s mind was brought back to the dream he had not long ago with the two men from his team who had died in June. They had told him in the dream that he should look for threes. Mildenhall had been laid siege at 0333 in the morning, and now here they were flying over Morocco, in the middle of nowhere, and he sees three flames arranged conspicuously. Kevin knew it meant something.
“Something is up with those fires. I need to get to those two people immediately,” Kevin said into the headset.
Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 6): In the Arms of Family Page 3
