Blog Entries
January 23rd Tags: 64th entry

January 23rd.

                Lots to report Mr. Journal.  I don’t have a lot of time to explain all the boring shit, so I’ll cut right to the chase on the good stuff. No I won’t.  First I’ll share the fact that I haven’t slept for shit the past few days.  I’ve been half awake all night listening to the damn radio, and when I finally do fall asleep I keep having nasty dreams with my parents in them, or the bad fights here on campus when I was clearing it out. My recent dreams have been about Amy, the chick from admissions.  I think I’m dreaming of her because I talked to her boyfriend Chambers on the radio the other day.  It’s terrible.  I don’t even want to sleep anymore.  Sigh.  Anyway.

                Yesterday I sat down and counted up all the guns and ammo we got off the roof of the grocery store.  Sadly, it wasn’t a lot of ammunition, but what we did get was good.  The guns we got were also quality finds.  The big deal was a new Beretta 9mm with 3 magazines.  One of the long guns was a .223 bolt action rifle, and there were 40 more rounds of ammo for it.

                There were two Ruger M77 bolt action rifles (which gives us three total now) and a fairly large amount of .270 Win ammo.  Big find there.  That’s a lot of spare bullets for trade bait, and spare parts if they break down.  There was also a Colt M1911 clone and 2 magazines for that. 

                There was more .30-30 ammo, .223 ammo, 9mm, .357, .45ACP, .270 Win, .300 Magnum, and 12 gauge buckshot.  As I said the numbers weren’t astronomical, but there were good totals of good, usable calibers.  It was definitely worth the trip for us, especially seeing as how no one got hurt.

                I made a trip on foot out and about today to check out that fuel barrel near Gilbert’s house.  To be honest…  I really did not want to be alone and outside, but I had to go.  Ever since that zombie with the watch incident on the bridge I’ve been kind of skittish.  I can’t get the vision of him just… staring at me out of my head.  That and every time I hear tapping my blood runs cold.

                Shiver.

                I walked through the snow yesterday morning to the house next to Gilbert’s place.  He was in his place and I don’t think he saw me poking around in his neighbor’s yard.  The fuel in the barrel seemed low to me.  I can’t say for certain he’s using a lot of it, but it definitely seemed about five gallons light.  I have no idea what kind of mileage the snow machines get.  That might be a single gas tank, which wouldn’t be unusual at all really. 

                So that proves nothing.  Gilbert may be using a radio, or he may be using the snowmobile to get in touch with Brian and his people.  There’s no way of knowing at this point.  All I can do at this point is keep the radio close, and try to build a relationship with Moore’s people.  Nothing undoes a devious plan like communication.  I hoofed it back to campus and summarily locked myself in Hall E.  Still not kosher about being outside.

                No word from Brian last night.  In fact, no word from anyone really.  The Williams clan never even came out to see me yesterday at all.  I think Abby and Randy were on wood collecting duty all day.  I spent the evening watching the boxed set of Trigun and cleaning the weapons we’d gotten.  Vash ftw.  I really like maintaining weapons.  It’s detail work.  I understand them.  It gives me satisfaction, and lets me think while still being productive.  It’s like knitting for people with penises.  I did a lot of thinking about what I was going to talk to Brian about.

                Slept like ass again last night.  Had a dream about Cassie for awhile that turned sour.  More undead eventually rampaging all over the place.  That shit is irritating.

                Today I chilled out inside.  Abby came to hang out after lunch and we wound up throwing down a heads up Hold ‘em game.  We used Ritz crackers as chips.  Wasn’t quite the same as using money, but in reality, food is more important than cash.  So I guess it was like using money.  It was fun.  She wound up getting all weird and quiet when we were eating our crackers at the end.  (turns out she’s pretty good at poker, won and ate an entire sleeve of crackers off me)  I asked her what was up, and she danced around it for a bit, but finally asked me if it would be okay if she stayed here on campus with me if her family left to go to the STIG building.

                How do I answer that question Mr. Journal?  She’s frigging 17 years old.  Once she asked I started to dance around an answer.  I mean fuck.  Does age matter anymore?  She’s obviously mature, capable, intelligent, and useful.  I asked her when her birthday was and she said it was in May.  So if I wanted to use the age of 18 as a negotiating tool, I guess that was an option.  Mostly against her case though.  Charles and Patty I’m sure would not want her all by herself, even if it was with me here.

                I wound up with this as an answer for her; she was more than welcome to stay here on campus with me if her parents were okay with it.  End of story.  At first she didn’t like that answer, but then thought about it, and decided that it was pretty good.  After all, what else was I going to say?  Yeah sure and I’ll tell your parents to go fuck themselves?  Wouldn’t be smart really.  Plus if I get all excited about fighting to let Abby stay here I start looking like a creepy pedophile.  At least I start feeling like a creepy pedophile.

                She said she’d bring her family over a little before 6 for our radio meeting with Brian.  And that she did.  They shuffled their way in around 5:30 and we all gathered at the table to shoot the shit.  Randy hung on his dad, which was nice to see.  He’s been plugging into the damn video game consoles far too much for my taste.  Gilbert zipped over on the snowmobile and knocked on the door at about quarter of.  I was checking out Chuck’s busted arm.  The redness has waned quite a bit, but it’s still swollen and very painful for him.  I think it’ll heal decent, but it might have a permanent weird dent where the bones are knitting a little off.  I think we’ll be safe in terms of having to do surgery on it. (thank God right?  Can you imagine how fucked up me doing surgery would be?  It’d be like that chef on the Muppet Show.  BORK BORK!  CHOP!  BORK BORK!)

                Brian fired up his radio precisely at 6pm again.  Starting to like the fact that he is always on time.  Once again our conversation ran long.  I think we called it quits around 9pm, which was pretty long all things considered.

                We are meeting on the 25th.  Brian decided that they knew a good route to skirt downtown with to get near us here.  He said they’d take a shipping semi for STIG and load it up with the trade goods we agreed on.  I guess the few times they’d ventured into heavy zombie territory they had good luck using the trucks.  Good ground clearance, lots of power, and with all the extra wheels, the only flat tire that really would be a problem would be a front flat.  Brian and I agreed that we would meet them at noon on the 25thwhere Route 18 meets Main Street.  That area has been pretty clean of zombies since day one, and there’s no houses or businesses right there either.  Tree line is pretty distant as well.  Seemed safe for everyone.

                I told him I’d bring myself plus no more than three others, and he agreed to do the same. 

                Now what did we agree to trade?  Excellent question Mr. Journal.  Here’s what I offered up that he had on his wish list:

                1 Ruger M77 bolt action rifle and 15 .270 Win rounds to go with it.

                500 rounds of .22lr  (we’ve got over 6,000 rounds, so that’s pretty low value to us)

                2 tins of juice, one tomato, one grape

                2 cans of peeled tomatoes.

                2 cans of mandarin orange slices.

                4 pack of Red Bull

 

                That’s all he wanted for the moment.  In return, he offered to deliver four solar panels, and 80 rounds of .223 ammo.  These are all things we have spare.  I mean shit, he’s got spare panels, and he said he raided the police station arms locker, so I’m sure he’s swimming in.223 ammo for the station’s rifles.  He also made it seem like their need for sniper/hunting calibers was greater than their need for tactical calibers like the .223 rounds. 

                Here’s the kicker; four panels isn’t enough to really do anything.  We really need eight panels run in series according to the research I’ve done.  Also, I have no fucking idea how to hook them up.  However, there are people at the STIG plant who do.  Brian also said that if we were willing to trade goods for services, he could have some of the technicians come over with the four extra panels, install them for me, hook them into a building’s system, and then wire up some batteries in series so I could store electricity from the panels and the generator. 

                Sounds… yummy. I’m a little queasy about letting strangers into my home, but I felt that way when a plumber came over to fix my hot water tank at the condo.  The other thing is this; I might know the technician that’ll come over.  They’re probably from town here, and there’s a fairly good chance I already know them.  I’m much more comfortable letting people I already know in the Hall.

                So noon on the 25thwe meet, and hopefully everything goes well.  Brian and I said our goodbyes, and everyone here felt it went well.  We were all super tired from the long day and night, and we decided that tomorrow we’d get together to figure out what our plan was.  Everyone shuffled out in short order, and now here I sit, typing this.

                I’m excited, for real. I think this is on the level.  Tomorrow I’m going to make a few runs down to the gas station and top off all the barrels.  We’re not low by any means, but I’ve got nothing else planned, and I’d rather have the fuel on hand in the event we need it. If I can build up the nerve I might take a jaunt all the way down to the intersection where we’re meeting to make sure that it’s clear of zombies.   After that we’re getting together to hatch our plan for the meeting over an early dinner.

                Tonight I think I am going to say fuck it.  I found a bottle of Ambien digging around in the pill stash, and I am taking one.  I’m so fucking tired from trying to listen to that radio all night every night plus all the shitty dreams when I finally do fall asleep...  I just want to black out, and get some fucking rest.  I hate being skittish and irritable all the time.

 

                Pillow, meet head.

                Later Mr. Journal.

 

                -Adrian

 


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