Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 5): Wrath

by Chris Philbrook

  -Adrian

  June 8th

  What a pair of days Mr. Journal. I feel certain renaissance coming on. Almost like we’re headed back into the good old days. Well, back when more stuff was going right for us than wrong for us. I shouldn’t say that. I know better than to say that crap now. That asshole Jinx Fairy hangs out near me far too fucking often for me to be running my yap like that. She brings down the sparkly pwnage wand and just like that, I’m bent.

  Fucking Jinx Fairy.

  So yesterday was a great day on many levels. Legitimately pretty frigging awesome. I already mentioned that in order for Blake to finish up his upgrades on the HRT as well as get that backhoe in 100% good shape, we needed to hit the auto parts store as well as Mike’s Auto. We did that yesterday. Because I am alive and typing this, and I’m not being a melancholy bitch about life, you know we made it back okay, and I didn’t die. Yay for the little things.

  As I suspected, town was largely wide open. The amount of undead kicking around the joint has dropped to pre summer levels. I would almost go so far as to say that it’s safe to walk about on foot now. They’re few and far between, and as long as you kept moving, I think it’s safe enough in most neighborhoods to be on foot if you know what you’re doing. Doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous still mind you, just means it’s much better now than it has been. I fear as usual, it’s just the calm before the storm. Fucking storms. I bet they hang out with that asshole Jinx Fairy.

  Alright so we actually went out fairly light today in terms of a force. We wanted to give some of the new people a spin in front of some danger to see how they reacted, and we also wanted Gilbert to continue to work on reloading 5.56 and resting his eye. I’d hate for him to completely lose the eye, and with the extra living, breathing bodies we’ve got here now, there’s little incentive to stress the old guy. He’s certainly earned a frigging rest after everything he’s been through, and that’s not even counting everything since last June.

  It was Blake, myself, Abigail, Amanda, and Angela in the HRT, and the Deuce. I think I will continue to rave about the deuce for some time because it’s such a huge ass beast of a truck, and we can shoot accurately and safely on the move from the rear of it. It’s high enough off the ground that there’s plenty of clearance from being grabbed, and it’s a military vehicle, so it’s tough as nails. The suspension is like some kind of medieval torture device, but beggars can't be choosers. I’ve thanked the two sisters a hundred times each for having brought it, and I’ll thank them a hundred times more before the thing shits the bed on us. Blake says as long as we can get spare parts for it, he can maintain it until he drops dead of old age, which does seem like an unlikely way to go given our current world, but hey, I have to appreciate the thought.

  Our first stop was Mike’s auto. Town was largely clear as I said, and we were able to drive straight up to the garage. Blake moved the few cars he’d been using as a wall/gate, and we backed the Deuce right to the damn garage door, and we emptied the bitch. Blake took everything he could, and vowed that at some point we had to return to pull the lift. The garage doesn’t have an in-floor one, which is nice. It’s the kind that’s standing on both side of the car and it slides some swing arms under the vehicles, then raises it. If the clunkers we’re using need serious undercarriage repair at any point, we’ll be needing that to make it easier on us. For the moment though, it’s a pretty big project we don’t need to accomplish anytime soon. It can wait.

  Once we had the good shit taken out of the garage we drove our asses out. I should mention that we only had to kill a single zombie while we were there. Amanda dealt with it while we loaded shit. She’s got this golf club she brings with her everywhere. I think it’s a nine iron, and I tell you what, that is a mean broad with that fucking short iron. Once I saw her yell 'FORE!' before clunking a dead guy in the head. Crushed the side of his skull above the ear like it was a fucking eggshell. Note to self: get some golf clubs. Club head speed seems directly linked to, and pretty effective at destroying brains.

  From Mike’s Auto we made our way the couple of miles across town to the auto parts store we hit up on Blake’s behest some time ago. There were a couple of zombies milling about nearby down at the pile of trash outside the base of that large apartment building down the street. They were shuffling their feet looking upwards at the building for a bit before heading down our way, which makes me think there are people still up there. I’m wondering if we should attempt to make contact with them soon. They might need our assistance, or at least have some kind of information to offer.

  Shrug. People kind of scare me. Most of them try to kill me and my friends.

  So we dispatched those assholes once we got parked and situated, and we spent nearly four hours cleaning the place out. One of the joys of small town auto parts stores is the diversity of the inventory. Because they frequently had to fill orders for parts for things other than cars, they maintained a large inventory of more commercial style parts. Tractors, diesels, hydraulic repair gear, blah blah. I guess the point of this giant bullshit rant is that they had a lot of really useful parts, and not just for fixing cars. Blake was like a kid in a candy store, especially when we realized that we had a lot of time to really clean the place out. We were concerned at first that we’d have to do a quick in and out if there were too many undead about, but that wasn’t the reality.

  The Deuce was loaded up big time, and we were off. The trip home was about as clean as could be. I was in the lead in the HRT, and Blake was behind me in the Deuce, and all was well until we got to Auburn Lake Road. We were maybe a half mile up the road, and it was just about at that point where the sun is at the horizon, and it’s just past that golden hour of sunlight. Sort of that dawn-esque into dusk time.

  I was plugging along, and just like that BAM! A fucking deer leaps over one of the rock walls in the front of someone’s yard. I slammed on the brakes, just barely missing the damn thing. Now, I had like... one second to make a decision on the deer, and I nearly blew it. I reached down and tried to get the M4 up and out the window, but the barrel caught on something, and I dropped it and got the Glock out. The driver’s side window was already open, and I leaned out, and just as the deer started to bolt away off the road, I let fly about four rounds at the thing.

  Three of the rounds I clearly saw impact in the rib area of the deer, but the fourth walked off of it. I was firing more or less gangsta style sideways out the window, so I was bound to miss at least one. I should talk more shit about having used a handgun after avoiding an accident in such a badass way. I feel very 80’s action hero-ish. Have I mentioned how fucking loud it is to shoot a gun inside a car? Geezum. As if I wasn’t deaf enough already.

  The deer, like they always fucking do, still made it off the road and into the brush, so I threw the truck in park, and jumped out to chase it down. I didn’t have to go far. Three .45 slugs to the chest cavity at maybe 25 feet do some serious damage. I think the deer made it maybe 30 feet off the road before going down in a heap. Right when I got to the body Gilbert came over the radio asking if the shooting was us, and Abby let him know it indeed was us, and we were okay.

  I put one more round into the deer, and gave it a quick gutting to get back. In retrospect, I should’ve waited until I got back, because despite not liking it that much, the organ meats probably would have been good eating, at least for some of us. Ollie might've been able to compost them or something. Oh well. Spilled milk.

  I dragged the carcass back to the truck, roped it to the grille as best I could for the drive up the hill, and after getting a “fucking A!” knuckle bump from Blake, we were home in short order. After we pulled in we had a brief powwow talking about the deer, and what exactly to do with it. With all the mouths to feed we decided it was best to not go to the trouble of smoking the meat. We dressed it up into edible portion sizes, and put the rest into the assorted fridges across campus. We figure it’ll keep until it’s all eaten. With all the folks here, that should be just abou
t right for timing.

  While that was going on, we unloaded all the parts and gear into the maintenance garage down the hill, which Blake has now completely taken over as his own. That’s fine. He needs the space to work on our vehicles, it’s largely unused, and will work out well. We do need to address his ongoing power issues though. It’s too far to run cables, and for the moment he’s doing the work up here near Hall B, which is scaring the living shit out of the chickens. It’s bad enough that the zombies tried to eat them when we were under siege the other day. Poor fucking poultry. Ooh. I think we’re about to get some new chickens. What’re they called? Baby chickens? Chicklings? Hatchlings? Chicklits? Drawing a frigging blank. Oh well. Senility strikes again. I think I misplaced my false teeth too.

  Heh.

  So that was yesterday. Today was back to the grind (sort of) as Blake took the backhoe out of duty to get the repairs needed on it done. Luckily we’d dug the trench way out in advance yesterday, so in all reality, the only part of the job we skimped on today was the part where we push the earth up behind the wall to form the reinforcing berm. Once the earth is packed back into the trench to firm up the logs, they stand fine on their own. The back wall is for projectiles, and making sure someone can’t drive a truck through the thing. Good fucking luck with that. Where it’s largely finished, it’s tough as hell and solid as a five foot thick brick wall.

  Ollie wanted to get cracking on a set of double gates. Sturdy, heavy duty bastards. One gate will be on the opposite side of the bridge, and the other on the campus side. We’ll set it up so we only open one gate at a time, creating a kill box. We can use it as a trade area if need be. Mainly we want the two gates so if someone rams the first, they’ll get caught on the bridge, where there’s no fucking cover, and we can light them up. God forbid we get the guard towers built and equipped with LMGs. Don’t know where we’d find them, but if we do, we’d be golden.

  Not much else going on. Fields are good, food is good, everyone is still healing well, spirits are slowly rising, campus has been entirely devoid of undead, and I haven’t been bitten in the crotch by any giant dogs, or shot in the chest in some time. I am starting to get the itch though. That special itch. I think I need to get Mallory back here sometime soon so I can scratch the hell out of it.

  Awwww yeah.

  Of course I haven’t seen her in some time. Maybe I need to get a haircut. I can feel the hair on the side of the ‘hawk growing in, so maybe I am due after all. Reasons to get myself to Westfield +1.

  Not much to report for things coming up. I do kind of want to head back downtown to that large apartment building to see what’s up there. There are no good reasons for those undead to be at the base near that huge ass trash pile unless something is attracting them there. There has to be people up there, and I am wondering if they are trapped, or need assistance. I guess if they were bad off, they would’ve signaled for us when we were at the auto parts store, but who the fuck knows?

  More fence building, crop growing, gate building, vehicle modificating, and the same old, same old in the upcoming days. With any luck, more construction equipment will fall from the sky. I can’t recall seeing anything big around town, even at the construction sites we’ve visited. Our luck, right? Sigh.

  Peace out Mr. Journal.

  -Adrian

  June 8th (2nd entry)

  I woke up about twenty minutes ago because Otis was trying to get under the sheets with me. He was pawing at the top of the top sheet like a dog trying to bury a bone. I tried to push him off the bed three times but he was pretty damn adamant about getting under with me. I pissed, took a late night dry crap, and for some reason I powered this bitch on. The generators are all off in the building, and it's quiet and dark. The only light is coming from this screen.

  Something that's been weighing on me heavy is the day that Gavin died. The married couple as well, the one with the kid named Tucker that was shot so badly he couldn’t walk. I haven't asked Mike how he's doing. I wonder if he can walk now? I find it's bad that I can't remember their names right now. I remember the husband's name is Larry. Was Larry.

  We were eating and drinking outside near Hall B, celebrating the first meet with Pastor Adams from The Farm, and more or less officially bringing the… fuck what was their last name? Edwards. I had to look it up.

  Larry, Candace, and Tucker Edwards.

  My memory is messed up on it, but I want to say it was late afternoon. Or mid afternoon. I can't say for sure it would appear. The kids were frolicking, music was playing, we had moose meat on the grill, fresh food had been prepared, and we had just pulled a Ford Explorer up from one of the parking lots to give to Larry and Candace. They were beyond excited. Laughing and clapping and hugging everyone. Tears were flowing, smiles were everywhere.

  We'd established a rotation for bridge security. Every fifteen minutes one of us would walk over to the bridge, cover it for anything coming across, and then we'd switch out. That way we'd miss just short bits of the party, and everyone could have fun.

  Gavin had just taken over for Abby on the bridge. She'd come back, bouncing and smiling, a little bit of naughty on her face. I bet she'd stolen a kiss as they switched out. Most of Gavin's fifteen minute shift had gone by when we heard a single shot. It was the sound of an AR or M4, which wasn't too surprising. By then we were all carrying them for security, and a single shot wasn't uncommon. I remember my weapon was sitting on a picnic table, the magazine out of it in case a kid touched it. I'd just sat it down to pick up Madison and give her a toss in the air. I stopped, sat the kid down and looked over my shoulder. Hall B's main entrance faces the back of the Cafeteria, so obviously I saw nothing. I heard three more shots in pretty rapid succession and that's when we thought something far more serious was up.

  On my belt I had a walkie, and I unclipped it and sent a transmission out for Gavin. I asked him, "Gavin you need help over there?" I gave him about ten seconds to respond, and it was about two seconds longer than I should've.

  Whoever shot the next shot on their team was either gifted, or lucky. Larry caught a slug straight through center mass, right at the base of the sternum. Something heavy too, not a 5.56, but something like a.30-30, or bigger. Larry let slip a gurgle and a gasp as his smile disappeared.

  I'll never forget the look on his face as he dropped to his knees and fell face forward on the lawn. I was facing the Hall when that first shot went down, and for whatever reason I looked over at Candace first. She started screaming and ran over to Larry, but that bought her a round to the chest as well. Not center, but close enough that when she hit the ground, she didn't move again.

  My brain put two and two together real quick and saw that the front of the Hall had an impact hole where her through and through hit. Based on where she was, and where the bullet hit, I did the geometry and figured that the shooter was near the north corner of the cafeteria. My M4 was at least four feet away, and I knew I had no time at all.

  I drew my Glock and spun, shooting before I even saw a target. I wasn't trying to hit anything, I was just trying to get bullets out. They got off a few more shots, but mercifully none hit me. I saw a guy leaning out from the corner of the cafeteria, I saw the muzzle flashes from his gun. It sounded different than the first two shots. I figured it was a second shooter. I got my front post up, Glock kicking and walked my pistol over his location as I dropped to a knee, then to my stomach. He doubled over as I heard the crack of a bullet whizzing by my head. Almost bought it. Someone yelped in pain from the bullet that was meant for me. A woman. I later learned it was Melissa.

  The man on the corner doubled over as I emptied my magazine into him. I say that and it sounds badass, but the reality is only one or two of my rounds hit him at most. By the time I was prone, I was dropping my mag and fishing for the spare on my belt. Abby had dove behind the porch and when she heard me returning fire, she managed to take cover and start putting suppressing fire out. It wasn't accurate, but we already know it's about making them duck,
not killing them outright.

  I belly crawled low under the picnic table my M4 was on as a handful of rounds hit the wood and the Hall behind it. Luckily there was a low garden retaining wall in front of the lawn, and they didn't have an angle on me. I was able to reach up and grab the gun sling, and with a tug, the M4 fell onto my chest, and I was in business.

  A magazine slapped in, a round chambered, and the safety off, I was putting a heavier volume of fire out within seconds. Between Abby and I, we got their heads down enough for Patty, Blake and Gilbert to get into the fight, and that was the end of it. Sixty seconds from their first bullet to their last. When they stopped shooting, I took a better position behind a larger part of the retaining wall and hollered out for the others to check the wounded. Heavy suppressing fire was coming from the direction of the bridge. It sounded like spray and pray bullshit, not disciplined fire at a target or area. I tried to count the shots, but multiple weapons were firing at the same time. Shotguns and pistols as well as the higher pitched cracks of ARs. I heard a few branches snap from an errant round near Hall B, but nothing came close to us.

  I didn't look back once, but I knew it was bad based only on the noises people were making. The first voice I heard was Melissa, and the second Ollie. Melissa had been shot (twice, as you probably know by now) ad Ollie was losing his mind over it. Tucker was down, Larry was dead, and Candace was face down and dying. Gilbert and Abby were moving from casualty to casualty to assess them quickly. Only Gilbert really knew what he was doing, and I focused on his voice.

  "Dead. Dying. She'll be alright. Stable but fucked up. Adrian go. Find Gavin."

  I didn't even hesitate. I told Blake to stay behind and give cover, and I told Abby to be on my ass, and I started to swing wide around the south side of the cafeteria, using the corner as cover. As we walked slowly, Abby tried to walkie Gavin, but he didn't answer. She tried again as we got around the edge of the building, and that's when I saw the four wheelers pulling away from the far side of the bridge. There was a substantial amount of blood running from the corners of the cafeteria, so I knew I'd hit someone. What was worst though, was the body. Gavin was on his face in the grass near the primary classroom building, near Hall A. I could tell it was him because he'd worn a Denver Broncos jersey that day instead of his BDUs. With them riding away, we moved slowly towards him. I was afraid they'd left a few shooters behind to snap at us, but they didn't.