Day by Day Armageddon (25 page)

  It didn't take much for me to have a decent guess at why this weapon was here. Although my Russian is rusty, and never was any good anyway, I still recognized "polkovnik" as Colonel. I knew also that "Voyna" meant war, and the cold war was considered officially over in 1989. This meant that "Khalodny" was probably Russian for cold. This Russian AK-47 was more than likely a gift of good will from one fallen superpower military man, to Colonel Butler. Of course, I had no idea who Butler was, but it was probably a safe bet that he commanded this post sometime during the cold war and had encountered his Russian adversary prior to the fall of the USSR.

  This made me wonder what Mr. Butler had sent comrade Nikolaevich in return. I guess I will never know the answer. This weapon looked in excellent shape. I decided to take it to my compartment as sort of a souvenir, a souvenir much more useful than a shot glass.

  We are now well armed with at least one military grade weapon available per person. Unfortunately, the females have no idea how to operate any of these weapons, and this was something that needed to be fixed soon. John and I went out again to better hide the aircraft.

  Now, you would have to be pretty much on top of it to find it. John is still busy figuring out all the various systems of this complex. There is still the intermittent mechanical sound coming from somewhere in the facility, and John and I are trying to isolate the source. After examining literally dozens of photos, we were unable to find any sign of our attacker(s) from the other night.

  I half wondered if
he/she/they
would be good enough to locate us just by the general direction the aircraft was headed. I knew we would have been shot down that night if I had left the strobes and take off lights on. A well-lighted target would have been easy to hit. The gunman was just aiming at the sound of the engine.

  We are all taking turns monitoring the cameras at regular intervals, and John seems to think there may be a motion sensing function that the cameras are able to utilize with the right commands. For the time being, we have some weapons to clean.

  Took some time, but finally cleaned all the weapons that needed it. I wouldn't mind getting some ammunition for the AK-47, as it requires a different calibre than its domestic comrade, the M-16. I spent the day yesterday teaching Tara and Jan how to load, aim, and adjust for wind with the rifles. I feel that those skills are in high demand these days.

  In a fit of boredom, John and I took some satellite photographs of Houston. We were unable to locate any survivors. At one point, we thought we had a decent lead, as on the roof of one of the taller buildings we saw a hastily made banner that read simply, "HELP." It wasn't until John increased the magnification that we discovered that "HELP" had already arrived in the form of the un-dead. There were four of them on the roof, milling about, probably the same ones that constructed the makeshift banner.

  We have also been studying the diesel generator manuals for this complex. There are large batteries that we had not noticed before in the back of the generator room, out of plain sight. Upon closer inspection, the battery gauges were in the red, not the green.

  John and I researched the meaning of the gauge being in the red, and found out that it meant the batteries had lost charge from neglect. We practiced the start up sequence, and then performed the real thing. It wasn't until the noise was so loud that John and I had to shout at each other before we realized the implications of our actions. We rushed to the control room and John immediately switched to the camera at the main access doors.

  They were still there, and they didn't seem to react to the noise. John and I were a small distance from the generator room here in the control room. It wasn't loud, but you could definitely hear the steady hum of an engine. Satisfied that we did not unleash hell upon ourselves, we hauled back to the generator room to monitor the battery gauges. They were steadily moving toward the green. It was only two hours before they were at full charge, and we shut down the generators. Main power is still holding, miraculously.

  In the back of my mind, I keep feeling the ripple effect of what that muzzle flash meant. Why would someone shoot at another human survivor, unless said survivor was trying to hurt them? I don't see what joy another human being would get out of killing a living person in a world like this. Since January, I had definitely done my share of "re-killing," however; I haven’t had the choice of levelling my weapon on a living human. In light of recent events, this may certainly change.

  It has been a very uneventful few days. I have been checking the security cameras at regular intervals for any sign of irregular un-dead movement. I feel that the ones at the front access door are not totally useless. They will tell me if anything living gets near them. I consider them sort of my back up front door alarm. Considering the threat of possible living human aggressors, we spent some time over the past couple of days checking our physical security. We made sure to lock the hatch to the silo so that no one can climb down like we did, and get in. Still no joy on closing the silo doors. John seems to think that some sort of failsafe was in place to ensure that no one aborted a launch by simply shutting the doors.

  Bits and pieces of the old world keep flooding my mind. I am not sure the fate of the friends I once knew. Their names are all but forgotten. I do miss them. One friend owned his own company, and was a successful businessman. He had a wife and kids. We were close. Part of my mind wants Craig to still be alive surviving with his family, however, the other part of me just wishes his death were swift, as I feel those that died quickly, were the lucky ones. My friend Mike was leaving for New York to attend a culinary arts school there.

  Ironically, the bullet that killed him was released from Hotel 23. This facility was the backup for the rogue bombers. I suppose I would rather go in a hot Hash, than be torn apart by the hands of over twelve million un-dead. Duncan was a professional lounger that didn't believe in working full time. I suppose he was the one that had it right. Instead of being a hamster on a wheel for his last days, he continued his mantra of just being Duncan.

  Heard a loud "thud" coming from somewhere in the complex about an hour ago. After checking the inside of the complex, we could not find the source of the sound.

  Hearing strange thumping noises from inside the complex. John and I are headed to check the security cameras now.

  The loud thump that was heard last night kept playing back in my mind. The sound appeared to come from inside the complex, however, after a good inside inspection we found nothing. This morning, that changed. We started hearing intermittent tapping, bumping sounds, again coming from inside of the complex. We again checked the cameras just to make sure. We checked the perimeter. John sat there for a minute, and suggested, "Why not check all of them just in case?" I agreed and we began flipping through the cameras inside the complex.

  They all showed clear, until we reached the missile silo camera. The launch must have clouded up the lens, because it wasn't very clear at all. John tried to switch to night vision mode, but apparently this camera was not designed for that function.

  We continued to watch. A large dark figure moved in front of the camera, blocking the view momentarily. Then more sounds coming from inside the complex. Whatever or whoever, was tapping, pounding on the silo walls. I decided to go topside and look down into the silo from above, avoiding as much danger as possible.

  I grabbed my carbine, and started climbing the steps of the alternate exit leading to the helicopter pad, and the large silo chasm. The cool May air rushed in as I opened the sealed door. I stepped out into the sunshine, allowing my eyes to adjust. The first thing that caught my eye was the gate. It wasn't closed. I walked up to the gate, and checked it for forced entry. Nothing seemed wrong, except that there was some dirt on the buttons themselves. For all I knew, any of us could have pushed the buttons with dirty hands, so I dismissed this and walked over to the gaping hole in the ground.

  Fearing that the gusty wind could push me into the hole, I crouched down into a prone position and eased my head over the side. Looking down into the hole, I found the source of all the strange noise from the night before and this morning. At the bottom of the silo, stood a mangled Air Force officer with his arm showing numerous compound fractures sticking from his rotted skin. The hideous creature took notice of the shadow I cast below and attempted to climb the ladder up to his meal.

  I almost laughed at the creature as it attempted its ascent. I suppose the fall from up here broke its arm, and dislocated its shoulder. It would put its foot up on the first rung, and then fall backwards from lack of coordination.

  This un-dead former officer was dressed in exactly the same uniform as the two that were here when we showed up. Coupled with this, and the fact that something had to open the cipher lock, I assumed the worst. This could suggest that these creatures may retain more than primitive residual memories. This officer must have been stationed here, and succumbed to his death months earlier, only to stumble here last night, and somehow remember how to punch the five digit code to get in.

  Now came the task of disposal. I couldn't afford the full on noise of my weapon being fired from up here. So I decided to climb down into the silo half way to shoot it. This wasn't something I was wild about, but I would rather do it this way, than draw the attention of the legions at the front of the complex.

  I swung my legs over the edge and began my decent, weapon slung over my shoulder. At half way down, I held on with my left hand, and readied my weapon. The creature was rabid, and wanted nothing more than me to fall down and break my legs. I would be helpless as it devoured me. Thinking of this creature's spite towards me, I took aim and destroyed it.

  I told John the news, and he definitely showed concern about the gate, and how the creature was probably the thing that opened it. I wanted to check its pockets, but I was in no mood to do it now. We would leave it there until tomorrow before we took it topside for disposal.

  My mother would have turned fifty today. All hope is lost at the prospect of my family's survival. John and I changed the code on the exterior gate in the event we had another visitor. The day after our encounter with the "whole jumper," John and I decided to check his pockets. Absolutely nothing. He did however have something that caught my eye. On his left arm was a nice new looking Omega wristwatch. No use letting it go to waste.

  The hour hand of the watch was one hour behind mine, due to this thing being unable to set daylight savings time. Other than that, it was still running accurately. It was an automatic, and the movement of the corpse kept it alive. It was a nice find.

  I am going out to check the aircraft in the cover of darkness tonight. Played with Lara today. Took Annabelle for a walk also. I let them roam free while I repaired the weak barrier surrounding the launch doors. There was an open spot where the corpse tripped over it and fell.

  The wind shifted and Annabelle could smell them. The hair on her back stood up like a hedgehog, and she started barking. I pointed at the dog, and signalled for Laura to pick her up. It was pretty funny seeing little Laura trying to hold Annabelle while she wiggled. Enough of their world for one day, I suppose. Back inside we went.

  Although the sound of the evening rain cannot be heard from inside the complex, I know it is there, just like the moans of the dead outside. Thunder and lightning have dominated the sky for hours now. The CCT picture is crackling as the lightening bursts hit near the complex. I suppose no storm could be of harm to us under the ground, however, I bet a tornado could take down our perimeter fence.

  In between interference, I can make out the un-dead horde outside. Many of them are being blown off their feet by the wind, or being knocked down by one of their brethren. Digging through the lounge area yesterday, I found a book titled "Oryx and Crake," by Margaret Atwood. I spent most of the night last night, and most of the day today reading it. I suppose it sort of parallels my situation, in a weird sort of way. No need to go into it, I doubt anyone else will be reading it anyway. Sort of depressing I suppose. John and I have been hearing chatter on the HF radios. It is definitely not garbled, however it seems that the people/persons speaking are using some sort of brevity code. How optimistic of them to assume anyone gives a shit.

  Tara and I worked out together this morning. Push-ups, sit-ups, side straddle hops
…
''
We won't stop 'till our freaking' heart stops."
That little line brings back memories of my Marine Corps drill instructor from officer candidate school. What a fucking hard ass. I bet the son of a bitch is still alive somewhere, making someone miserable at this very moment.