Cassie (Adrian's Undead Diary Book 8) (6 page)

Anyway, it got to the point where there were so many undead moving about that it was actually a relief when they started to trip and fall. It cut down on all the heads wandering about and let me focus on the task at hand.
 

We reached a point where Ethan had caught on to how I was shooting at the furthest away and slowest moving undead, and he started to spot for me. He’d call out something like, “Tall blonde three o’clock,” and I’d zone in on them and lo and behold, they’d be the exact kind of target I was looking for.

I think I’d put down about thirty of the dead we’d seen, and we had another ten or twelve wander in from the other sides of the building when we realized that we had to leave the balcony. The indent where the welded steel door was gave us a really shitty line of fire, and we essentially HAD to go down to street level to get the last of them put down.

Ethan and I wandered to the steel gate and assessed the situation. We sat and watched quietly in the freezing cold morning air as the rows of zombies reached through the bent metal bars at us ineffectively. Ethan pointed out how strange it was that they didn’t breathe. I knew they didn’t breathe, but watching their jaws reflexively close and open over and over again without seeing their breath come out was definitely strange. No one chews at the air like that. Ever. It's an entirely unnatural gesture. I guess one upside to the cold weather is that it deadens the smell somewhat. Now they just smell like cold, stale dead bodies.

I drew the Kimber and flicked it to 'danger mode,' and Ethan drew his M9 and did the same. We took a few steps back up the steps, and started shooting the undead at the rear of the group, one by one. I really like firing the Kimber. The 10mm recoil is powerful and satisfying, but not overwhelming. The weapon is smooth too. Super well made weapons firing powerful calibers are a wondrous thing. I will say that my eardrums did not appreciate going from the sweet, soft whisper of the M4 with suppressor to the 'bang on a giant steel drum with an explosion' cough of the 10mm. Loud as FUCK in that hallway.

I just wish the magazines held more rounds. No worries. I rarely fire the pistol in the first place, and if I have to, I will rarely need more than what the weapon holds. If I do, I’m probably fucked no matter what I'm carrying for a backup weapon anyway. I suspect the Jinx Fairy has reared her ugly head at that point, and shat on my cornflakes.

Anyhoo! We plowed through the skulls of the undead pressing against the metal doors Martin made, and just as we were finishing up, we got the radio call that the crew was inbound, and they were pulling up. They wanted to know what all the gunfire was about…

I simply replied to them and told them that we’d taken care of the work that they came to do, and that all was well, and thanks for all the fish. We needed more help clearing the bodies out of the way than anything. In some ways, they were pleased, but in other ways, they were pissed. No matter how much we say we hate violence, there’s something satisfying about getting into a good fight. Especially a hugely one sided one. I am really glad I can say that. A few weeks ago, my tone about a fight would've been different.

Fortunately for all involved, two passes with the HRT pushing bodies out of the way and the entire street was cleared out. I will say that all the noise had to have been heard by the survivors living at those fires we saw the other night though. When the group arrived I touched base with them and made sure we were pulling extra special guard if only for them. I wasn’t too worried about the undead presence, I was definitely more concerned with the living. Yet again the living are my concern.

Once we felt everything was stable, we moved on to the tasks at hand. The primary task at MGR before I left was the installation of that stove Ethan and I brought. Martin and Blake, handy motherfuckers that they are, got the stove placed in an apartment lickety split, and got the hole put in the wall for the stovepipe within about two hours. Like we’d been doing, we built a backstop and floor in made out of bricks to catch and reflect the heat as well as prevent the walls from overheating from the stove itself. They were also kind enough to bring multiple stove loads of wood, which will hopefully get them through a week of slow burn. They’ve also got a pretty substantial amount of furniture from unused apartments they can burn, which is all spare really. We aren't going to need a hundred coffee tables for a very fucking long time.

Mallory was the first person to toss a match onto the paper in the stove, starting a fire that hopefully will stay burning for some time. It felt like the lighting of the Olympic torch, or the returning of civilization to a savage land. Once they were up and running, we left, and returned back here to Bastion.

What’s new here Mr. Journal? Well for starters, no undead shambling horde at the gates, which is a change of pace from the last couple of days at MGR. Speaking of which, it definitely feels to me like MGR is our FOB. You leave the rear here at Bastion and head out there, outside the wall for the action. Maybe I’m silly, but it certainly feels that way. 'Injun country,' was the old expression. Yes I know that's racially insensitive. Not MY expression Mr. Journal.

Anyway, the largest accomplishment while I was gone was the road/path to the last tower construction site near the water being cleared out. All of the trees are down now, and all that remains for that is to have the last few stumps pulled with the backhoe. The ground is pretty well frozen hard by now though, and I guess they aren’t giving up the ghost all that easily. They should have the stumps up and out by the end of the day tomorrow, and the tower footings in process by the same time. We'll see how it goes.

I touched base over lunch in Hall B with Michelle. She said school is going well, but Syl had a bit of a relapse with her violence. I guess at one point while she was being brought dinner, she kind of snapped on Harold, and charged at him. She slapped the plate of food away, straight out of his hand, and made a pretty decent effort at clawing his eyes out. I guess Abby was there helping him, and she punched Syl up side the head and sent her sprawling on the floor. They grabbed her hands and feet and held her until she calmed down. I guess she’s been on edge since then. This won't make me sound any more sensitive after the injun country remark, but how about my Abby? Punching kids like it ain't no thang.

She hasn’t really talked at all, nor has she drawn any pictures that illuminate her mental state. We were hoping that she’d maybe drawn something about her Mom and Dad by now, but nothing yet. Michelle says she’s been very calm and almost affectionate towards her later in the afternoons after school closes down, and if she can stay safe for a few more days, she is thinking about letting her out of the dorm. So far, her entire life amounts to being kept inside a barred dorm room, and the four or five trips a day to the bathroom down the hall, complete with armed adult escort. Not much to be excited about I suppose, but at least she’s safe, warm, and fed. And we care. Dammit, we do care.

Kevin came to the Hall to join us late into the lunch, and as soon as he sat down, I knew something was on his mind. He was kind enough to let Michelle and I finish our conversation before starting in though. Michelle must’ve picked up on his intentions, because once she and I were done, she turned to him and said, “You have the floor Kevin.”

Kevin snickered and said something I’ve been waiting to hear for a very long time from either him or Michelle, “We need to figure out what this whole Trinity thing means.” He went on to talk about how we’d been together for some time, and if we really are meant to be something special, to do something special, then we need to get our acts together, and get cracking. "What are we doing? Where are we going? What's the big picture?" He asked.

Michelle and I simply nodded. He was right. We hadn’t talked about it hardly at all, and with me being hurt for so long, it kind of got pushed under the carpet (but not down the drain). So many other things that were important in the moment took over the stage, and have dominated it ever since. Now that things seem fairly sedate here at Bastion, and he’s 100% right, now is the time to start having the “what the hell are we doing” dialogue.

We made a plan to sit down and really, seriously talk about it on the 10
^th
. All three of our schedules seemed clear, or could be made clear for that day, and it made sense to give all of us a day or two to really think about it before sitting down and discussing the whole “saving the world” thing. Seems like the thing we should invest some thought in.

In the meantime, after the three of us had that short but important talk, I asked Kevin if he thought we could get a small team together for an outside the wall run to a house about ten miles away to get a woodstove and a few hunting rifles. One of the houses I saw on the other side was likely still untouched, and I really want to get another wood stove for MGR. Despite the one stove there already, and thermally sealing off most of the building, it’s just a large space that’s tough to heat, and having two stoves running at lower temps in different areas will be better than one stove cooking hot all the time. Not to mention it gives them additional ways to cook, which will cut down on their electricity consumption, which will cut down on their gas consumption, which will fix the hole in the ozone layer, and yada yada.

He said he could easily have a team of six shooters with three vehicles ready to hit the house I told him about by two in the afternoon, and that’s our plan for tomorrow. Most of the school is staying back to work on the path and the farm and all that shit, but we’re taking six bodies, myself and Kevin included, and we’re getting some rifles, some ammo, and a wood stove from a house.

I feel like we’re going to be very successful.

Fuck you, fairy, I’ve got this one by the balls. Yeah that's right. I just taunted your ass.

-Adrian

January 10
^th

There is a lot of ground to cover here.
 

I’ll start with the mundane. Yesterday Kevin and I led a small team outside the wall to find a stove in a house. I saw the stove when I was snooping around on the other side with Gilbert, and I had a good feeling the stove would still be there. So far my expeditions with the wiley old fella have paid off several times, and it seemed worth giving it a shot again.

When we left Bastion the team was Kevin, myself, Martin, Roger, Angela and Quan. We left the rest of the folks behind in the event that anything happened either at home, or at MGR. The fires Ethan and I saw the other day on the fringes of downtown were weighing heavily in the back of our minds, and we wanted to make sure we had enough muscle to deal with whatever we might encounter while we were out. Fortunately, that still leaves us with enough shooters for a solid QRF.

We left at about 8am in two humvees and the HRT. It was kind of a sad moment when I got into the HRT. Not only was it cold as the devil’s balls out, but I managed to catch a glimpse of the Tundra sitting there in the parking lot, left alone and unused. No one has touched it in months. We’re trying to use Diesel vehicles only to conserve gas. I miss that truck. I miss its cracked windshield, broken headlights, fucked up grill, and all the success I had while driving it.

Oh well. Maybe one day I’ll bronze it. Turn it into a fountain in a courtyard somewhere.

The six of us rolled out through the gate and down Auburn Lake Road heading to the house with the stove. Auburn Lake was clear, and I think a few of us got the heebie jeebies when we drove over the bridge and saw how much ice was covering the lake. It won’t be much longer before we can walk on the ice, which means animals, undead, and the living can too. Speaking of which that reminds me that we have had to cut down on our construction time on the tower near the water. It’s been brutally cold during the day, something like 10 to 15 degrees, and we don’t want to risk frostbite. We’re rotating everyone in hour shifts right now, which has cut our production by half. It's worth it though. Building a tower isn't a worthy task to die for.

Anyway, the road leaving was clear of undead, and we turned off onto some of the side country roads heading towards Westfield. The house itself was a fairly new home built far off the road. It was a contemporary with skylights, and neat angles, and split levels. Very open concept. The dirt driveway was about a hundred yards long past a steel fence, and curved slightly to the left. I hopped out, opened the fence, had everyone drive in, then shut it behind us. Luckily there was little to no snow in the driveway for the vehicles to contend with.

The house was dark and cold, and I expected there to be at least one or two undead in it. When I saw the house on the other side I just had a weird feeling about it, and my suspicions were confirmed when we saw the bottom floor windows boarded up. Sheet plywood nailed or screwed over the glass, and the front door had several 2x4s spaced across it to prevent folks from easily getting in. It looked hasty, but it would’ve bought the people living here a day or two to let things simmer down. Of course… things didn’t go for them as they’d planned.

But what does?

Quan and I got the boards pried off the doorframe in short order and after going around looking in the windows as best we could and going over the layout of the interior again to the best of my memory, we kicked the door in and breached the house.
 

Kevin was first in the stack, I was second. Both of us were engaging immediately. Straight forward in the house was the kitchen, and on the floor crawling towards us was a dead woman, her lower limbs chewed apart and left ragged and meaty. Kevin walked slowly and professionally inside the house, called out contact, and popped one round into her head, giving her some peace. He moved into the space to the right, continue making it safe.

I went left into the living room just as he was firing and saw two more zombies scratching at the window closest to the driveway, where we parked. It was a pretty clear father and son duo. The dad might’ve been fifty, and the son fifteen, give or take. I can happily report that after calling out contact myself, I snapped off a round into the son’s ear, putting him down and staggering the father on the through and through, and then put another round into the dad’s silent, wrathful face. I think he might’ve realized I shot his son. Hard to tell what’s left of the person inside when they’re the walking dead.