Lindsey said as far as the eye could see, in every direction heading into the city, were masses of undead. Door to door, streetlight to streetlight, from crushed and exploded car to smashed apart mailbox, were the walking dead. A moving, undulating sea of rotting flesh.
That’s maybe 40 miles away. There is nothing stopping them from turning this way, and making the trip here.
I don’t know how much sleep I am going to get tonight. I’m suddenly filled with doubts, and the fear that at any minute, the entire population of the city will arrive here on my doorstep.
Tomorrow is Abby’s birthday.
-Adrian
May 15th
God I’m tired. Feeling like shit yesterday really took it out of me. I feel better today, but really drained. I’m good, and Lindsey’s two kids are good, which tells us that it was probably something we ate. Maybe there was something funny on the vegetables? Who knows.
Blake reported seeing nothing at The Farm yesterday, and with me still feeling a little queasy today, he went once more by himself. His report today when he returned home was mundane. He did say he saw two vehicles moving through town on the way back here, and that’s a little sketchy. One minivan, and one sedan. No word on passenger count. He thought they didn’t see him, but there’s no way of knowing.
Today was Abby’s birthday, and we’ve been planning a little shindig for her. We don’t have much to work with anymore obviously, but it’s the thought that counts. To make our plan work, we sent Abby and her more or less healed finger out with the house cleaning crew. Gilbert feigned illness so he could stay behind to help.
He and I worked in the kitchen all day and managed to bake a chocolate cake. We had a few cans of cocoa powder, and lots of flour, and eggs and etc, so he did the magic work, and I made some poor man’s frosting out of confectioner’s sugar and more cocoa. Abby I guess likes fish, so once we had the cake baked up, we went to the shore of the lake, and cast our lines out for a few hours.
Gilbert seems weird lately. He’s definitely been short of temper, evidenced by the whole sticking a gun in Blake’s chin incident. I dunno, maybe the stress of it all is getting to him. We chilled out at the water in some lawn chairs with a few beers and waited for something to bite.
By the end of the afternoon we’d brought up four lake trout and a bass which was far more than I thought we’d get. We should fish more. It’s a pretty big lake, and as long as we ration out our fishing days, we should be able to keep ourselves in fish through the warmer months with little effort. It was nice to spend some time with the old man where we weren’t on 100% vigilance. He and I don’t ever get to be civil to one another.
I was definitely put into moment of bad mood though when we were coming back to the campus. I noticed two zombies coming across the bridge right past the single van we have. I haven’t seen a zombie up here in a very long time. I put the lawn chair down, dropped into a firing crouch, and punched one’s ticket. Like a douchebag I forgot to bring my melee weapon with me, so I dropped the other one with the M4 too.
Not sure what led them here. Especially in the middle of the day. Ollie hollered out on the radio asking what was up, and I told him we had a small breach. He called back that he’d get right on finishing the fence and gate. Once that gate and fence are up, our worries diminish dramatically.
Gilbert got the fish ready, and I transported the damn zombie corpses back to the body pile, which was fucking ripe. There isn’t much there at the moment, but the combination of spring warmth and decomposition and maggots make it just nasty. Smells fucking rotten. I gagged hard trying to get those bodies taken care of back there.
We got everything else prepared for dinner. The cake was ready, the fish were ready to be cooked, we had fresh vegetables from the pots, some canned stuff, we made some of the infinite Jello we have, as well as a smattering of other shit. It was a good spread.
The weather was really nice, and we had everything set up outside for when they all returned. Needless to say, Abby was pissed at Gavin because it was clearly his fault that he didn’t tell her we had set this all up for her. She was honestly surprised. Very happy, but also a little embarrassed.
There are no gifts really we can give. Another gun from the stockpile? More ammunition from the crates? Some clothes we got from a dead person’s house? It all seems meaningless now. I think Abby was happy that we were all here, all safe, and celebrating. Patty was a bit of an emotional wreck at one point. Her kid’s first birthday without Charles was tough on her. The Williams girls had some special time to work it out, and they returned to the fresh fish, and a half assed cake made by two Army men.
It wasn’t dinner at the Ritz, but it was nice.
Happy 18th birthday Abigail. May you have many more.
Tomorrow I’m headed to The Farm for another recon. Mike and the guys and gals are returning on the 17th for a trade and meet. With any luck they’ll have something good to trade, or at least have good news about something. We’ve got lukewarm news to give them about all this Farm business.
Otis has decreed it is time to sleep. He’s bonking his forehead into my elbow, which is his way of saying “get settled, so I can crawl up your ass for warmth.”
I don’t get it, it’s nice and warm tonight. I’ve got the windows open too, and there’s no need to role play being a dingleberry on my taint to stay warm.
Weird ass cat.
-Adrian
May 17th
What’s the expression Mr. Journal? When it rains, it pours?
Yeah that’s the one. I think just to keep things fresh I’m going to invent my own one. When Adrian gets fucked, he gets royally fucked.
Things are messy. Like, really messy. I don’t know how else to describe it. I’ll guess I’ll jot it all down in the order the mess came in, that way it makes some sense. Structured bullshit.
Yesterday Abby and I went out on a recon of The Farm together. Her finger is much improved, and it was a good way for her to get out and get some action without really stressing the digit. If something did happen, she was well enough to put lead downrange accurately, and honestly, if anything happened we’d be retreating and not engaging. Plus it was nice to spend time with her. She got some good basic observation experience yesterday, and anything I can teach anyone is good. That’s not me tooting my own horn, I think the more we can teach each other in general, the better off we all are.
This Farm place is starting to irritate me. We haven’t seen shit. Sitting in the fucking dirt for ten solid hours or more is really boring, and the black flies are murderous right now. We actually found some old mosquito netting, and we’re covering ourselves in it while we’re out there to avoid the damn things. I hate those flies. They are God’s favorite way of irritating the living. That and the zombies. Fucking things.
Anyway, the only thing that happened yesterday was sweat and bug bites. We saw shit-all that was useful, and it was a total waste of time, yet again. I’m dangerously close to either moving on the place with force, or throwing in the towel and saying fuck it. Blake can deal with it however he chooses. We have too much to do to sit here all day doing nothing. It’s nearly time to shit or get off the pot.
Yes I realize I’m being an impatient shithead, but I’ve only got so much patience. Like our gasoline, it’s a resource I am running out of. I want desperately to do the right thing, but I am not perfect, and I am sick of watching nothing happen all day while other things (important things) sit idle. I’m pissy.
While Abby and I had our collective thumbs lodged securely in our assholes yesterday Gavin, Patty, Blake, and Ollie worked together to set up a special filtration system so we can clean our gasoline and diesel. I’m not sure what the hell they tried to build, but it required several trips around town, and apparently that was a little dicey. I guess the undead presence was inflamed by something, and they had to stop the trucks at one point to lay down fire to clean the road out. It hasn’t been that densely populated since STIG was around. That can’t be
a good sign. Is something dragging that legion of dead in the city this way? I’m feeling guilt now over not being around on these off campus trips. Thoughts like these will keep me up at night.
No one was hurt, and apparently they figured out a way to get it done. Gilbert was adamant the system be set up here on campus and not at the garage. Blake was sort of pissy about it, but when Gilbert pointed out how silly it was to set up a complicated system not where our fuel was stored, it made sense to him. I mean shit, why drive multiple 55 gallon barrels miles away, only to process them, then drive them back? I refer back to my comment about pissing with a condom on. Doesn’t make sense. We set up the filtration dealio here, and we move the fuel by hand, not wasting time, gas, or risking attacks by the living, or the dead. Durrr.
The rest of last night was meh.
Today Mike and company arrived for their trade meeting. No Mallory. Not sure what to make of that. Also not sure what to make of the fact that I was indifferent about her not showing. I could’ve gone for sex today (shocking revelation that is, right?), and yet I’m not really broken up that she didn’t make the trip. Shrug. I’m in a shitty mood I guess. Probably best she didn’t make the trip anyway, I would’ve been an asshole, or inattentive and wound up making things worse.
Relationships. I tell ya.
Westfield is in a bad way, and officially Mike said they are potentially a few days away from asking for our help. This is not good. This is really not good. Worst case scenario not good. I probably don’t need to tell you that.
We saw the writing on the wall already about this, and the Westfield folks are apparently now about to pay the price for Sean’s pre winter bullshit. I guess the folks who have returned to town over there are now realizing there is no food, and the majority of the available water is typically bad. They have also figured out that Lenny’s farm is still operating, and there have been multiple daily “drive by” incidents where cars will creep down the length of the farm’s fence, and the occupants of the vehicles will peer out the windows with gaunt faces, and hungry eyes.
Lenny hasn’t fired on them, but he’s made a good show that he’s armed, and that if they fuck with him, he’ll blast them. However, Lenny is just one man, and he can’t watch the farm 24/7. As a result, Mike has split his forces, and now LaFrenz and that new security chick who came here before are at the farm all the time pulling security for Lenny. One is always on duty, watching to make sure things are okay.
Of course this leaves the school two people short for defensive purposes, and Mike is here today, which leaves them another person short. Doesn’t take Sun Tzu to clearly see they’re begging for trouble. It also explains why Mike came alone in the water truck by himself today. Not SOP. Hector can’t make the trip because he’s needed on the school roof to help keep watch. Mike said they’re desperately trying to get some of the able women trained with weapons, but practice ammo doesn’t grow on trees, and they’re worried any shooting will draw unwanted attention from the living as well as the dead. For the moment he’s training them in the gymnasium, but it’s work. None of them are taking to it quickly, and the overall sense of morale is dipping. I’m super thankful Abby and Patty are natural shooters by the way. Lucked out big time on that.
He said they might dial 911 here soon, and if they do, we are the people who pick up that phone. No hesitation, and no questions asked. That’s the least we can do for them after everything that’s gone down between our groups, as well as everything that we’ve done for each other since. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say our fates are largely shared at this point.
I’m scared something bad will happen.
The Farm thing has me worried, and so does this bullshit with Westfield. I’m not angry like I was over the Sean thing. This is different. I feel less justified, I don’t know how to describe it. Maybe it’s because no one I care about is dead yet. Maybe I’m only able to react, and not able to be proactive?
Fucked if I know man.
Mike and Lisa are putting signs up all across Westfield, and especially near the farm so that if folks are hungry and need food, they can contact the school peacefully, and get some. Of course that’ll add some strain to their food consumption, but it’s better to lose a little weight than get shot and killed over a fucking potato.
We all immediately agreed that if something were to happen, we go. Furthermore, Ollie asked if it would be okay if he left here to go back and stay with his dad for a bit, at least during the day. Melissa didn’t care for that one bit, but there’s a lot of sense in him doing that. If Lenny’s farm is taken by someone, then almost all of the food they have goes kaput. Then we’d need to retake it, or find another farm, or relocate the entire population of Westfield to here. If Ollie helps his dad, they get their farm up and running faster, producing more, and Ollie’s a decent shot with his rifle, and should something happen, he’s another gun immediately in the fight. It could buy them enough time to get the big guns responding, which could make a lot of difference. Fire superiority, remember? He who shoots most, usually wins the fight.
We figured it out that Ollie would go for two days, then return here for a day, and we’d reassess at that point. When Ollie returns on the 20th, we’ll know when Mike and them need to meet again. Ollie followed Mike back to Westfield earlier this evening. I only sort of saw Melissa saying good bye, and she seemed quite distraught by him going. I hope this doesn’t end badly. Ollie’s such a good guy, and the two of them really deserve some frigging happiness together. We don’t need another child growing up in this world without both of their loving parents. It’s bad enough already.
Not sure what else to say. After they all left the mood here was sullen to say the least. Gavin kept wondering aloud about how he felt bad for having moved here. He’s developing that wonderful guilt I’m so familiar with. Abby took that personally, and the two of them were bickering upstairs about it for hours. Moral dilemmas Mr. Journal. At every turn we’re all filled with doubt, guilt, and fear. Makes life so much harder.
Too little butter. Too much toast.
I don’t know what fire needs to be put out first. My guts tells me I need to deal with The Farm immediately. We need to deal with The Farm. We’ve got a meeting with the Edwards clan tomorrow, and if that goes well, I might approach them to give us an in to meet this Pastor Adams. He sounds an awful lot like a Jesus freak to me, but I need to get someone I trust to see the look in his face, and hear the words out of his mouth. Maybe Gilbert or Patty. If we get the heebie jeebies, and things seem bad, then I’ll feel good about taking the door, and getting those women out. If not, then I guess we’ll deal with Blake’s response and see where the cards land.
After that, maybe we can send an extra body or two back to Westfield and give them a hand putting down undead, and reintegrating the returning survivors, or putting them down, whichever becomes necessary. I’d hate to think we have to kill folks over any of this shit, but the reality is life fucking blows, relationships get pwned, and people die.
All we need now is a massive influx of undead.
That’d slap that icing on the cake pretty nicely.
-Adrian
Homecoming
There would be no fireworks later. Amanda missed the fireworks. The ones that were colorful in the sky at least. There were plenty of other kinds of fireworks to watch lately, but they usually revolved around gunfire, or smashing in the thick skulls of her dead neighbors. Amanda wanted her fireworks gore free.
It had been less than two weeks since the world had gone to shit, and today was July 4th 2010. Independence Day. Amanda’s white knuckles gripped the steering wheel of her minivan in a chokehold. She sent a glance at her two small children in the rear view mirror. Seven year old Alan and ten year old Tabitha sat in the two bucket seats of the middle row. Despite the thick hot air of early July Amanda had both of them dressed in their winter coats, and snow pants. Better bite protection from the zombies. Both of them were buckled in their seats tightly, and wit
h the cardboard boxes taped inside the large van windows they kept their eyes fixed forward on her. It was better that they couldn’t see all the dead people walking around town. She smiled tightly at the loves of her life and wondered how her husband would fare with her parents.
Andrew hated her parents. To be fair, they didn’t care for him either. All of them were too matter of fact to play nice for long, and frequently their brutal honesty led to painful arguments over nothing. Family events were awkward and lasted too long, and it had hurt their marriage. They only held together because of the kids, and their mutual desire to give them a better life.
The end of the world came about on June 23rd, and it had come quickly. When the first reports of the dead coming back to life started to roll in, too many people thought it was another church stunt to draw attention, or perhaps some giant, elaborate hoax. Everyone knew better now. Amanda’s neighborhood was crawling with the walking dead. She’d left a trail of them behind the minivan just twenty minutes before. Eventually they’d catch up. Nothing stopped them.
Why risk leaving their house? What was so important that she’d risk her life as well as the lives of her two young children? She was doing it for hope. The hope that her sister and her husband were still at their house on Wilbur Street, across town. Her sister Angela was married to a town cop, and she knew they’d be at their home, all sealed up and safe. She tried calling several times, but a car accident or something knocked out the phone service right after her sister said her husband was on his way home after filing the paperwork on a fatal shooting. At the time a shooting right here in town seemed shocking, but now it seemed like too little too late.
When a large Dodge van drove down her street that morning with a man shooting a pistol out the window like a cowboy on horseback, she knew it was now or never. If she drove in his wake, her and the kids had a chance. Her husband left behind, she bundled the kids up and left. As she parked the car on the side of the street in front of her sister’s home, she saw her brother in law’s cruiser in the driveway, and breathed a powerful sigh of relief. He was there.
Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 5): Wrath Page 12
