Blog Entries
February 24th, 2012 Tags: 266th entry


February 24th.

                I’m glad I’ve got a big toe.  Big feet.  Large size, large toes.  Large piles of shit require large toes to stomp them down the drain when necessary.

                How large a pile of shit?  Allow me to go into some detail.

                Our team left Bastion fairly early yesterday, in force.  We left with pretty much every gun we could muster and headed straight to the Factory.  The roads between here and the Factory were largely clear of undead.  I think we might’ve had to steer to and fro ten times at most to hit and kill a zombie.  It was a pleasant change of pace, and very much unlike some other driving moments later in the day.

                At the Factory we encountered a rather large amount of the dead.  They weren’t ranked up per se, but everywhere you looked in the surrounding streets the bodies were probably three deep.  I’d guess and say no more than ten to fifteen feet of space was between any given undead and another.  To clear us some space to work Caleb punched the HRT and literally plowed us a straight line into the area right in front of the old nightclub.  Once we were close to the building, Abby and myself got onto the roof of the ambulance and we started plinking away with .22 rifles.  At the same time, our two humvee crews dismounted and began to lay down heavy clearing fire, emptying the space of threats at a fast pace.  After perhaps ten minutes of steady fire, we were able to move on with the plan, and pick up three more Factory shooters.

                Two younger men, both around 18, and then Barry.  You remember Barry?  The poor kid from the car dealership way back when?  Good kid.

                We checked on them for about thirty minutes, getting a face to face update with them, and then we headed out to the apartment building parking garage.  On approach we knew we were in for a tough trip.  Tough enough that we almost cancelled it.  The undead were packed in fairly tight around the garage, and just driving into the garage was going to be a challenge.  However once we talked over the radio we decided it was worth a shot, and at worse, we could drive to the top, drop the wood we brought for the lure fires, and then take off before things got worse.

                Caleb behind the wheel of the HRT yet again meant we were making zombie pate.  He loves hitting those things as they walk along.   The entrance to the parking garage barely fit the HRT.  And by barely, I mean we lost the horn off the roof as we drove up the concrete slope into the first level.  I nearly shit a brick when it ripped free, but Kevin in the humvee two vehicles behind us called out what had happened.  I elected to move forward, and Caleb drove on.

                Inside the parking garage there were perhaps a third of the vehicles it could hold on a busy day.  Many of the vehicles still had their doors open, and the floors right below them covered in dark stains of old blood.  These stains are nearly two years old now.  I’m sure many folks running from their places of employment met their demise fumbling with keys, or trying to start their car back in June.  Imagine building the nerve to run out of your office building alone, run through the crowd of undead, into the garage, and reach your car, only to butter finger your keys onto the floor mat long enough to have a zombie yank you out forcibly and eat you?  What a shit way to go.

                To help buy us some time the third and fourth vehicle in the group started ramming parked cars across the entrance to the garage.  The fourth vehicle was a humvee, and with the powerful motor it was able to push a few small cars into the way, forming an impromptu roadblock for us.  Security on the first floor was obviously our greatest priority.

                 The HRT and the Deuce went all the way to the top floor, stopping as needed to take down any and all undead we saw.  Frankly Mr. Journal, I’m surprised at how many there were just wandering around the damn garage.  I’m not sure if they were lost, or that they hadn’t been lured out by any other noises the entire time.  I mean shit, who knows at this point? 

                Anyhoo, I found the overall amount of targets to be higher than I would’ve liked.  We had no difficulty on the upper levels clearing as we went up.  Staying in constant radio contact with Kevin and the first floor crew meant we were only a minute away from supporting them, and vice versa.  We were worried that at any point more of the assholes who shot at us the other day would return, opening fire, but in reality the only threat we had was undead.  Lots of them too.

                On the top floor we emptied the entire back end of the Deuce onto and underneath a pair of parked cars.  The two cars were in adjacent spaces, and we arranged the wood to burn on top, inside, and on the bottom.  As three of us did that, two more went vehicle to vehicle with hoses and gas cans, draining gas tanks.

                Amazingly enough, most of the gas tanks on that level still had fuel. So much fuel in fact, we started prying trunks open to find more fuel tanks to get the fuel.  I forget the exact amount of gas we pulled out of there, but we brought every single one of our fuel cans, including the fat ass tanks in the humvees, and we filled every single one.  I’d comfortable say we left with 200 gallons.  Now if we had brought our 55 gallon drums…

                Makes me want to postpone this trip into the city just to get the damn fuel.  By now though we’re pot committed.  We made far too much noise shooting, drilling, yelling, screaming, and farting yesterday.  By now the garage is crawling with undead, and we need that population to get smooshed by the decks when they collapse.

                There will be more vehicles with gas tanks.  Plus Blake has little to no time to filter the fuel right now.  He’s far too busy working with Martin and Quan, learning explosives.

                Speaking of which, while my crew was upstairs on the top level, those three plus a handful more were downstairs using the concrete drills to make holes to sink the plastic explosive into.  Quan was paranoid as balls about the Semtex due to its age.  I guess it was old, and old explosives are… fickle.  He insisted no one touch them but him, and he simply linked all the charges and hooked them up as needed.  Martin and Blake simply drilled holes where he marked them while the rest of the team provided security.

                I guess they had multiple very close encounters with zombies underneath vehicles.  On the second occasion of one of them dragging themselves out from under a fucking parked car, Kevin radioed up to us , shat brick in hand, yelling for us to watch out for it.  We got really lucky up top, not gonna lie.  Several of us spent many a minute on bended knee at a gas cap getting fuel.  We easily could’ve lost someone.

                I listened carefully the entire morning and into the afternoon until we’d finished with our fire piles.  We didn’t light them yet…  we just got them ready.  Lighting them will be for when we’re about to go, which will be another couple of days.  Four maybe, not positive just yet.

                We relocated to the third deck and called for Blake to join us.  He grabbed one of the humvees, drove up to us on the third level, and one of my crew switched out with him so they had full staffing and vehicles on the bottom floor.  Fortunately while we were doing the swap, we had a brief lull, and no one was in extra danger.

                Blake grabbed the spare car battery we brought along and popped the hood on a car that we knew had a car alarm.  It took us two or three tries to find a car that didn’t simply have a starter kill feature, and an actual car alarm.  In case you were wondering Mr. Journal, car alarms are useless.  I can’t even tell you how many times I heard a car alarm going off in the distance and did nothing about it.  Now starter kill on the other hand was far more effective.  Anyway, Blake got the battery into the car, jury rigged it, and after playing around with a few wires, the car alarm went off, right on cue.

                Noise maker now effective, we packed up and went downstairs to back up Kevin’s team as Quan and Martin finished working on the explosives.  Quan was wrapping up the final wiring on the radio controlled detonator when we arrived.  We were pushing the two cars blocking the garage out of the way less than twenty minutes later, and after smashing through a few dozen undead milling about beyond the cars, we were back on the road, all in one piece.

                I know I drew the lucky straw upstairs with my group setting up the fires.  I also know that was entirely intentional on Kevin’s part.  He’s trying desperately to keep my safe, yet also putting me near enough the action so that if something really bad DOES happen, I can be there to help.  It’s a fine balance.  On two fronts really.  He’s trying to keep me safe while still using me, as well as keep me in the  loop, but not offend me.

                I am also sure a huge portion of this is Michelle’s handiwork.

                We ditched the Factory guys back at their base of operations, and took the long drive home in shitty weather.  While we were inside the garage the weather turned south on us.  Sleet and freezing rain were the order of the day, and the roads were treacherous.  We had one gut buster moment just as the sun was done being useful for the day.  A zombie was coming down a side road right near Gilbert’s old warehouse.  It must’ve heard us coming from a bit away, and just as we were crossing the road it was on, the damn thing slipped in some freezing rain and went down hard on its back.  I think it cracked its skull too, because it was still very still when the fourth vehicle passed it.

                I guess it’s good to be lucky every now and then.

                Things here at Bastion are quiet.  We’re prepping for our next trip to the other parking garage near the hospital.  Not sure exactly what day that’ll be, but I’ll let you know as soon as we iron it out.

                Getting nervous Mr. Journal.  That went fairly well yesterday, and I’m sure that despite how crappy it actually was, that was still just the calm before the storm.

                I may or may not think about Michelle when I turn out the lights.  Otis wants some company, so I’m gonna turn this laptop off, and give my homeboy what he’s jonesing for. 

                A scratched tummy.





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