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September 2nd Tags: 187th entry

September 2nd.

                If I didn’t want to murder someone before… I sure as shit do now.

                Motherfuckers are pissing me off.  I don’t need this right now, and I don’t want to do this, but guess what asshats, you mess with the bull, you get fucked by me.

                I realize that is NOT how that saying goes Mr. Journal.  Don’t bother fucking correcting me.  I’ll kick your ass too.  I’m spoiling for a fight now.

                We encountered the Outsiders today, and as you might expect, it ended like every other encounter has with them.  Gunfire.  We did see several more of them than we ever had though, which means they probably aren’t really intentionally doing guerilla ops on us.  I think that sniper attack the other day was them just leaving a trigger happy rearguard behind to see what we might do.

                Oh man I’m angry.  We took two wounded earlier today.  Thankfully the wounds are more or less superficial, but the fact that we are taking fire from these assholes yet fucking again infuriates me.  Chad was out on our gasoline run earlier today with me when we were attacked.  Chad took a small caliber round to the forearm, through and through, and Amanda got a ricochet off the pavement into the shin.  I’m really worried about her wound the more I think about it.  The pancaked bullet hit the bone, and cracked it, and that’s a huge risk for infection.  Doc Lindsey is really worried that she might be in deep shit in a day or two.  So I take back the superficial comment.  Maybe that wound is more serious.  It seems like it could get more serious.

                Mike gave us a clear report from MGR saying everything was fine as far as he and the crew could see.  The storm miraculously didn’t destroy our comms tower on the top, which is awesome.  What a motherfucker that would’ve been had that fallen off the damn roof.  Mike and I are now seriously thinking of new ways to shore that thing down.  When winter hits, it might get blown off for real.

                Different problem for a different day.

                We rolled out earlier today to hit the same gas station we’ve been slowly draining for the past few months.  We’ve got a good system there, we know how to block the perimeter there fairly well, and it’s the one we feel is best to empty first.  We rolled out in a very large group, almost the size of the warehouse team, in the event we ran into the Outsiders.  We had two humvees, the HRT, the deuce and a half, and the plow.  Ten warm armed bodies in the vehicles, spread evenly.

                The gas station is in the open, and the tanks are on the side, far away from our approach.  I was in the lead with the HRT when I pulled into the parking lot, and saw the new vehicles parked around the rear of the building.  I saw folks walking about carrying weapons, and I knew instantly we’d interrupted them doing what we wanted to do.  They were taking our fuel.  I was only in their vision perhaps two seconds before they opened fire on me.  I saw at least three people shoulder weapons in our direction.

                I radioed out contact ahead, leaned down to avoid the fire coming at the windshield, told Amanda to hold onto her ovaries, and I drove straight into their biggest truck, which was a straight body panel truck that looked like the kind that was used to transport propane canisters back in the day.  It had barrels of fuel in the back, and my hope was I’d puncture a barrel, and scare the fuck out them.

                The impact felt surprisingly weak, and with the power of the HRT and the ram blade on the front I rolled their fucking truck completely on its side.  Barrels went fucking everywhere in the parking lot.  At the time I didn’t see it, but I’d managed to crush and kill two of the Outsiders with that maneuver. 

Go me.

                Then they lit me up.  Martin’s up-armor job on the HRT held strong though, and despite the deafening pings and thuds of incoming rounds against it, we were safe.  It sounds like folks throwing gravel on the side of your car, if you’re curious.  Just a lot louder.  Amanda was shitting a brick, screaming bloody fucking murder, but we were safe.  I threw the HRT into reverse, looked through the mirror, and backed away again to clear avenues of fire for the people in the vehicles behind us.

                The remainder of the team got out of their vehicles and started to engage with extreme prejudice.  Withering, punishing fire Mr. Journal.  The noise was god awful, and so welcome.  Like an orchestra filled with row after row of kick ass.  Amanda and I got out of the vehicle, and immediately she went down with her wound.  I don’t think she got a single round off before getting hit.  She crawled behind one of the tires of the HRT, went prone, and started to fire slowly with her bolt action.  I think she hit one person before they ran.  Talk about a tough bitch.  I always thought Angela was the sister with the penis in that family, but frankly, I think both of them are packing heat.  I actually think both of them have bigger dicks than I do.  Shameful realization.

                Chad was in the rear, and he took his wound fairly early too.  I mean I say early, but in reality from the time we got out of the vehicles, and started firing to the time they got in theirs, and got the fuck out it was maybe ten seconds.  Maybe twenty tops start to finish.  They left in two small vans, both of which looked to be diesels.  I don’t know where these pricks keep finding working diesels, but they can kiss my ass.  I wish I had all the diesels they had.  I wish I had half the diesels they had.

                We dealt with our wounded as Martin and Blake checked their fuel barrels.  Two had cracked open when the truck tipped over, and we elected to put some space between us, and the hundred gallons of spilled gas.  They hadn’t taken any diesel, which tells me they’re using gas like we are.  Generators, etc.  Of the 14 barrels in the back of their straight body truck, four were full, we lost two of those, and the other ten were empty.  The good news is that we now have ten more barrels to store fuel in.

                The bad news, is within fifteen minutes of the Outsiders leaving, we were dealing with encroaching undead from all sides.  Fortunately the head count of the dead was reasonable, but it was constant for the two hours we were on site at the gas station.  I guess fairly prolonged deafening gunfire draws a crowd.

                Whodathunkit?

                Fucking zombies.  At least none were on fire.  Despite  a few of them getting close to the spilled barrels of gas and nearly walking through it.  Dickheads.

                Okay so after setting up a perimeter, shooting all the asshole dead folks that came through, and filling all the fucking barrels and vehicles with fuel, we had spent two solid hours there.  I was so worried we were going to be attacked, but that didn’t happen thankfully.  I guess if we were attacked it wouldn’t have mattered much.  We were already engaging hostiles, had they come close, we would’ve just lit them up.

                I was really worried about potshots from snipers.  Everyone moved with their head low the entire time, and paranoid as balls that someone’s brainpan was just gonna pop like a melon at any moment.  It could happen.  Easy as pie, or cake, or whatever delectable dessert you’re craving.

                It’s kind of scary stuff moving around in an environment where you’re afraid of being shot at any moment.  Seriously.  It’s been a long time since we were under fire like this.  Since I was.  Iraq.  Scary.

                The dead don’t shoot at us, so simply being vigilant, and covering your bases with simple defenses is enough of a defense to stay safe.  Here, today, it wasn’t.  Body armor can only protect you so much, and if whoever has their eye behind that scope is a good enough shot, you’re losing your face to a high caliber round.  And you know the shit part?  

                There is nothing you can do about it.  Either you die, or you don’t.  The real worry is the person standing next to you.  I know if some asshole with a .308 puts one through my skull I won’t know the difference.  That’ll be it.  Signed, sealed and delivered, I’m in the afterlife, giving some asshole bad dreams in a White Room.

                I am much more worried about Chad, Angela, Amanda, Blake, Abby, Hector, Martin, and the slew of people who put their lives on the line for me, and our group, day after die.  I don’t want them to die, and I certainly don’t want to watch it happen like that.

                And the Outsiders I’m sure feel the same way, which is why I am taking the fight to them in a day or two.  I haven’t worked out the details just yet, but Mike and I, and maybe another person are going to start recon’ing the far side of town where they’re coming from.  Lots of foot movement on our parts, fire and displace action.  I want to take one shot, blow a fucking skull apart, and then disappear.  Mike and I are both excellent shots, and McGreevy’s rifle is BEGGING to be put to work.  I still haven’t given it to Danny as it is his father’s rifle, and I think this will be a fine farewell for me.

                Mike is ready to eat lead and shit bullets on these motherfuckers too.  Shit we all are.  Blood for blood, and this will teach them a lesson.  I realize that sounds bloodthirsty on my part, but we can’t keep doing this.  They are endangering my people, and the safety and longevity of the folks that live here on campus.  Here at ALPA, or Bastion, or whatever the fuck you want to call this place.

                Home.

                That’ll work.

                Details will become available on that operation as I develop them.  I can tell you this though:  I’m not coming home without making my presence known to those pricks.  I will show them what it means to be fucking deterred.  I can be awfully damn persuasive behind the scope a rifle.  Diplomacy Adrian Ring style.

                Having said all that.

                Campus is in much better shape today than it was the other day.  We were able to use the backhoe a lot more than I thought we were going to be able to once the ground water came down.  The earth was really soft, and the dirt was spread out quite a ways due to the length of the washouts, so I was convinced it was a shovel only mission.  However, both Blake and Martin are pretty damn talented with the backhoe, and they were able to scrape up and repack at least… I dunno, 60% of the dirt from the washouts.  That easily cut us from two weeks of work to maybe just a day or two more after the past few days of work.

                We have started to replant some shrubs and grass seed we scrounged for on the berm to cut down on the chance of washouts in the future.  If we get heavy rain, or even snowmelt in a future spring season, we’ll be right back where we are now.  We need drainage otherwise, which is certainly a fucking project that we can get on.  A few rock filled channels every ten feet or so I’d bet would alleviate a lot of our moisture problems.

                I had a buddy in the Air Force who worked in engineering.  Specifically he worked in a unit that did runway construction.  He said they only needed three things to build a runway, anywhere in the world: drainage, drainage, and drainage.

                This is no runway, but I’m going with his theory.  It seems really applicable given our recent issues with water.  A few shovels, a handful of kids, and an enormous supply of small stones, and I’d bet we can get those culverts and channels put in.  Kids love playing in dirt, and there are rocks everywhere on campus.

                Clearing the roads to get down here took a good part of yesterday as well as this morning.  Lots of downed trees and tree branches.  The washout situation was pretty impressive as well.  The shoulders of most of the downhill areas are fucking gone, and if we don’t put some time and effort into packing something into those areas, we will most definitely start losing the edges of the pavement on Auburn Lake Road.  Sadly, we are now the DOT, and DPW for the surrounding countryside.

                Oh yeah, Ollie went to Westfield today with Melissa, Alex and George to check on his dad.  I guess the farmhouse took a good asswhipping from the rain and wind, but they’re all good.  The crops were damaged some, and according to Ollie, Lenny said we lost around 10% of the entire yield.  That’s definitely shitty, but it could clearly be much worse.

                Oh ha, humorous note of the day: because we still have no barn to speak of, during the storm we wound up moving the cows and the chickens into the cafeteria.  The floor in there is a goddamn wreck now.  Ollie was losing his mind when the bad weather really came in, and we HAD to put the cows in there before he straight up had an aneurysm.  I think that vein in his forehead was throbbing like a pornstar’s dick.  It was impressive.

                None of the cows were hurt or lost as a result, nor were any of the chickens.  We can reliably get eggs, chicken meat, beef, and milk for the foreseeable future.  Thank you Ollie for your farm boy genius.  Highly appreciated.

                They got back a couple hours ago, and I’m happy to report all is well with Lenny and crew. 

                MGR is good.  Few busted windows from the wind and debris, but all in all, no worries.  Mike said they are good to go, and to not worry about them.  I’m a little concerned when I steal Mike for my recon and sniper action, but hey, we’ll manage.

                Caleb is much better.  I’m half debating taking him out, but he’s got some serious healing of the emotional variety to do.  I need to give him three or four more days before he’s in a good space mentally.  He needs to spend time with Sophie and Adam, and be a good dad, and a good husband.  I don’t need him as a good Marine just yet.  I have other resources, and frankly, I’m kinda hesitant anyway.  If he died, I’d feel horrible for Sophie and Adam. 

                I’m tired, and my anger has been spent.  Mallory went to bed angry a half hour ago.  I don’t think she was horny, but I think she’s starting to get irritated with my writing time.  I tend to do it just as I am going to bed, and that definitely interferes with foreplay, as well as pillow talk.  I try to explain to her that the writing keeps my head in line, and helps me stay organized and sane, and I think she’s either pissed at me because I’m not talking to her like I write, or she’s just pissed because I ignore her for an hour or two here and there, right at the time she wants to kiss my neck, and get my motor running.

                I dunno Mr. Journal.  I’m still figuring this whole life thing out.

 

                -Adrian

              

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