Tagged with "14th"
November 6th, 2011 Tags: 214th entry

November 6th.

                I wish I could find more ambition to sit down with this frigging computer and write down bad news.  I don’t mind it as much when I have good things to share, but I’ve put off writing for a couple days now mostly because I just don’t want to relive the events of the past few days.

                I’m not sure how Adrian has stayed sane so long doing this.  I understand that getting things off your chest does help you, but experiencing horrible things, then taking the time to remember them and write them down seems like it’d do more harm than good.  Dad, I’m scared that if I keep writing these scary things down, I’ll go crazy.  Or at least get angry.  I don’t want to be angry again.  I spent so many years angry at kids at school, kids in the neighborhood, you and mom for being good parents, and Randy for being my brother.  So much useless anger that I feel is past me is coming back because I have so little good to experience and write about.  I’m far too young to be this angry.  I’m old enough to appreciate that though.

                Oh man.  I hate this.  I have to do this though don’t I?  Adrian wants me to carry his torch until he’s back at this, and I can’t NOT do this.  I hate being reliable.

                The day after I last sat down here to write dad, we had a huge argument in the morning.  Ollie was beside himself talking about how he was scared for his dad back in Westfield.  Poor Lenny was back there at the farm, with just Rachael, Kylie, William and Wendy to keep him safe.  I know this sounds stupid coming from me dad, but Will, Wendy, and Kylie are all my age, and they’re not like me, if you get my drift.  They’re good people, likeable and stuff, but if it gets dangerous, they didn’t have the benefit of months of working with Adrian to get their skills up to par.  Lenny was a veteran, and a lifelong hunter too, so he clearly could take care of things, but…

                Ollie, rightfully so I sort of imagine, said that if we didn’t send some kind of group to go at least check on his dad, he’d stop working.  We can’t afford Ollie not working, nor could we deal with an Ollie forced to work and angry at us all, so we mounted up like cowboys in the cars, and we headed out to Westfield.  I kinda knew it would suck, but what has to be done, has to be done.

                Ever do something and immediately regret it?  Like say something and as you’re closing your mouth you realize what you said was bad, and you immediately realize you should NOT have said that?  Leaving on this trip felt like that.  It took us the better part of an hour to shoot or stab the collected undead at the gate and then clear their bodies out of the way, so that sucked right off the bat.

                The roads on the way to Westfield though were really pretty clear, all things considered.  I mean we had to hit or drive around a little more than usual, but I gotta say, it wasn’t that bad.  Compare it to how downtown was the past week or so, it was like a stroll on the beach. 

                When we arrived near Lenny’s farm though, it didn’t take long for us to realize something horrible had happened there.  Lenny’s farm is long.  The land runs along a road on the outskirts of town dad.  We’ve driven by it at least ten times over the years.  On the right side of the property is the long chicken building, and a field, and in the middle is the barn and farmhouse, and on the left are the hay fields, and gardens.  In the back is the pasture for the cows that are now all at school.

                The farm buildings are all set back from the road about… I dunno, the length of our property was wide at the house.  Maybe the length of like, two school buses or so.  A good distance off the road.  When we turned down the road the farm was on, and drove down past all that fence running along the road to the gate Lenny had at the road’s edge, all we could see was the slow, shambling mass of undead milling about in his yard, and banging on the doors and windows. 

                I was in the passenger seat of the ambulance with Ollie driving, and he just came to a stop.  Everyone behind us stopped as well, and we just sat there.  Ollie’s hands were tight enough on the steering wheel that they went white, and you know I’m awful at the whole emotional thing dad, so I kind of awkwardly leaned over and patted his hand.  He smiled at me like his dog had just died and a little girl handed him a lollipop expecting that to be enough to undo the pain.  I guess that’s a pretty apt summation of it.

                Mike came over the radio right after that, and we made a plan.  Make loud noises with guns from where we were, and draw them away from the house.  Oh and Lenny never responded to our radio calls, so we had no better idea.

                I climbed up on the roof of the ambulance with that .270 I was talking about after Ollie backed us up to the end of the road.  We were still plenty close to the zeds for me to hit them consistently, especially with that nice scope.  I started shooting, and everyone else started after I did.  It was a huge bloodbath.  Dead bodies everywhere.  Well, fully dead bodies everywhere.  The ones that stay still.

                Ollie and I were far enough out that we never had to move the ambulance but the others in the humvees had to back up several times to give them room so as not to get overwhelmed by the dead folks.  Like we’ve done over and over and over once the dead had been trimmed down good, we switched over to blunt objects, and finished the remainders off to try and save ammo.  I can’t say I am liking the amount of bullets we are using lately.  It seems like we’re walking into situations over and over and over where we just pull our triggers until we’re blue in the face.  Or purple in the shoulder.  As it turns out dad shooting a .270 for the better part of an hour leaves one HECK of a bruise.  No heavy lifting for me for a few days.  Better now obviously, but still crap.

                After the undead outside the farm were put down, we slowly moved onto the property, and began to yell into the house.  Let’s put it this way before I forget:  the fences that managed to keep the cows in, couldn’t keep all the zeds out.  Many of the wooden beams and wires were broken or knocked over, and the metal swinging gate was busted free too.  There were so many zeds dad.  It was such a bad scene.

                We heard some frantic yelling from inside the home, and William and Wendy came running out of the back entrance off the porch that faced the woods and the small pasture.  I remember hearing the story of how Gilbert and Adrian met Lenny and Mike for the first time on that porch.  Seemed strange to watch our people come running out of it like madmen so long after that.  I dunno, weird dad, just weird.

                They had been overrun since the day before around dinner time.  I guess the zeds just showed up like a tidal wave right after dark, and they couldn’t deal with the numbers.  Lenny and the others used their guns as best they could, but there were just too many.  They wound up falling back into the house, and barricading themselves in the basement, which was pretty fortified.  Lenny kept his guns down there, and the door was sturdy. 

                Speaking of Lenny…  Lenny was bitten in the rush to get downstairs.  A few of the zeds had busted windows and gotten inside, and as they were trying to get into the basement, Lenny was bitten on the arm.  It wasn’t a bad bite, but as we know, any bite from a zed is a death sentence.  You remember how weird the bites were though?  Some people lived for just minutes, others hours, and some days before the bite became infected, or lethal, or whatever you want to call it.

                Rachel and Kylie were bitten at the same time, with the same kind of superficial wounds, and both of them went down for the count within a few hours.  Lenny was still kicking when we got there, and even managed to keep this wits about him enough to plug the two of them when it needed to be done, then ask Will and Wendy to tie him up so he couldn’t bite them if he turned.

                He was still very much alive, and very much tied up when we got there.  Only Ollie and Mike went down to see him.  From what Mike said yesterday, all shaken up, Lenny looked really bad.  He was grey, and sweating, and his eyes were turning that creepy white color, but he held on until he could say goodbye to his son, and wish his nearly arrived grandchild well wishes.  I guess he and Ollie sat there talking for maybe ten minutes while the rest of us either pulled security, or searched the house and barns for danger.  I was in the kitchen when Ollie came back up, his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face.  Ollie made it to the kitchen table and collapsed into the heavy chair, sobbing.

                I went to him.  I didn’t know what to say, or what to do, but I stood with him, my hand on his shoulders, and we were quiet until the gunshot came up the stairs from the basement.  Mike did what needed to be done.  Ollie stopped crying immediately, wiped his eyes clear, took a deep breath, and walked out the door.  Mike came back up and just looked at me with red, tear filled eyes and walked out after Ollie.  Mike’s eyes were so filled with pain dad.  I can’t even explain it.

                I can watch a movie with sadness, death, destruction, and I feel zilch.  I get the emotion they are conveying, I am just never moved by it.  I can watch my girlfriends cry and cry, and I don’t crack.  I just stay strong, and be the person who listens.  But seeing him cry like that, right after Ollie had lost it, sent me into a tailspin.  Watching such strong men, such strong friends of mine deal with such amazingly close and powerful loss hit me like a train.  It probably didn’t help that I liked Lenny too.  I sat down in Ollie’s chair and had myself a real good cry.  Biggest cry since Gavin died and Adrian walked in on me in his room.

                When I got my shit back together, I went out and helped everyone get everything ready.  Ollie and Mike said the farm was to be abandoned.  Everything had been relocated to school, and with the snow spitting at night already, there was little the land could offer us that required us to be there for.  We all cleaned the place out of things that were usable, and things that Ollie wanted, and within 8 hours, we were gone.  I left with Ollie in the ambulance and after we left the rest of the folks took the bodies out and burnt them in one of the small sheds.  It served as a… what’d Adrian call them?  Oh yeah.  It served as a good pyre.

                Sad stuff.  We got back late that night, the… 4th I think.  Yesterday we spent here on campus patrolling the walls a LOT more diligently, and posting two guards on the gate because if we don’t, the incoming zeds stack up too fast.  We’ve had the fires burning out at staff housing for days now, keeping the bodies off the bridge, and this is getting silly.  We are opening the gate every three or four hours during daylight to remove the bodies so we have a clear means of escape, and the zeds keep coming.  We’re now thinking about posting advanced shooting people down the road so we can thin them out away from school.

                We’re also all worried about the living people who attacked the tower the other day.  Hector and Angela said there were no signs of anyone moving anywhere near them since that day, but who knows when and if they’ll be back.  Mike says he hopes they got their noses bloodied enough to stay the hell away, and I hope that’s the case.  I’m really hoping that is the case.  It’d be nice if they took their shot, failed, and then disappeared into oblivion.

                If there’s a wish fairy out there, now would be the OPTIMUM TIME to pay attention to us. 

                Speaking of wishes.. Adrian is still down and out, though stable.  One thing I am worried about is Mallory.  She’s not spending nearly as much time near him as she was before, and I am wondering why.  I get that it is boring, but you’d think with the man in her life on his “deathbed” she’d be wanting to be near him all the time.  I guess it might be that she’s out doing stuff to keep busy and keep her mind off things, but I dunno.  I got a weird feeling about it.  I might talk to her in a day or two to see what’s up.

                Speaking of our intrepid first author here, Adrian is a big fan of video games that aren’t violent.  He loves stuff like Mario Brothers, and Tetris, and Prince of Persia.  He claims it is because he has so much violence in his day to day life, but if you saw his face when he played Tetris, it’s clearly because he is a simpleton.

I have more I can write about yesterday, but I volunteered to take the early morning shift on the gate, and there’s always a huge pile of bodies they’ve bludgeoned to death overnight now, and I’ve been at this for two hours already.  I need to crash.  Love you dad.

 

Abby

 

 

NEXT ENTRY

 

April 19th Tags: 114th entry

April 19th.

                Am I the law?

                Are we the authority here now?

                I suppose we are a jury, but are we the judge and executioner as well?

                This is a question that we discussed today.  We don’t have an answer yet.  The only thing that we did agree on was that campus was ours, and we had every right to make sure that we were safe here, and that anyone here was either a guest or a trespasser.  Guests get greeted, trespassers get warned, and if that fails, they get shot.  Twice if necessary.

                But what about when we’re out clearing houses in town?  Or if we’re patrolling to thin the herds of the undead?  Should the morals and rules we’ve established for ourselves be the law and order for the whole town now?  Who will challenge us?

                Why did these questions come up today?  Well, we met Blake again earlier, and he had some intriguing news that did more to disturb us than encourage us.

                I’ll cut to the short of it.  Blake said some cars came into town yesterday and this morning.  Not many.  He said he saw two yesterday, and two more today.  He recognized a couple of the cars from last summer, when everyone left for the north.  He said they were locals.  Based on what he said, that means people are coming home.

                Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

                I’m not gonna lie, and I’m not gonna act like this doesn’t completely fucking horrify me.  This is so bad for us on every level.  In fact, I can’t think of a single realistic scenario where this is good for us.  The only one that comes to mind that could be good for me is if an entire busload of busty, whorish models pulls into town with a convoy of tractor trailers filled with food.

                Seems like a stretch for that.  I’m holding out hope, but I’m not holding my breath.

                Fuck me.  This blows big time.  More living movers in town mean more competition for the remaining resources.  More vehicles mean more drain on gas supplies, as well as home heating oil, and remaining diesel.  More people means more loose guns in town, and I’d bet dollars to donuts whoever these people are, they don’t have adequate heads on their shoulders to be wandering in my town armed.  At the same time, it’s fucking insanity to expect people to survive now without being armed.  I can’t even imagine going across campus without a handgun at the very least on me.  It’s silly to expect someone else to not do the same.  The right to bear arms and all.

                This changes everything.  Everything.  We need to move through town so much more carefully now.  I’m glad we got a spare vest at Walt’s place, because we desperately need it.  We had one good vest from the original Westfield assault, one bad one from then as well, and two more from Mike, plus Gavin had his own.  Gavin’s also the other person here with a ballistics rated helmet.  I’m wondering where the ballistics helmets went from the police station.  I bet they were incinerated when STIG ate shit.  Motherfucker.

                So that’s a grand total of four and a half vests for Gilbert, Abby, Patty, Gavin, and me.  I’m operating under the assumption that Melissa isn’t moving anywhere off campus unless entirely fucking necessary, and there’s no sense in leaving behind alone, so that means Ollie is here with her 24/7.  Do the math on that Mr. Journal.  We’re a vest short.  That means I’m headed to Westfield to twist Mike’s arm to try and get another IOTV off him so we’re all vested up.

                Of course I go into this talk about vests, but the simple fact of the matter, is a high powered hunting rifle WILL penetrate a vest.  Luckily we have ballistics plates for the IOTVs, but the simple fact is, we got shit all to protect us against head shots, or high powered rifles shot at close proximity.

                Goddamn.

                I am as nervous as an epileptic in a disco.  Fixing to have a seizure here.

                We talked about this for hours tonight.  It dominated the discussion while we were making dinner, eating dinner, digesting dinner, and figuring out what the fuck we’re doing tomorrow.  I am shocked by the fact that after all our discussion regarding it, and all our different personalities, we pretty much came to the same conclusions.

                Town is not ours.  Sadly, might makes right, and we are not strong enough to enforce our will, whether or not it is needed, or appropriate and justified.  If someone attacks us, or presents a clear and present danger to us, then we should do the thing that is best for us.  That means if necessary, we will kill other people to protect our people.  Gotta take care of our own.

                As for resources…  That’s a whole different can of worms.  Do we simply assume that if we get to it first, it’s ours to keep?  Seems fair right?  But morally should we share the things we find with any survivors we come across?  I mean, survival of humanity as a species needs to be some kind of priority, right?  Or do we sit back, make ourselves as safe and comfortable as possible, and then worry about rescuing others in a year, two years or what?  Furthermore, WHERE THE FUCK IS THE GOVERNMENT?

                You’d think by now things would’ve started to get rebuilt.  National Guard troops moving through communities, planes and helicopters flying overhead looking for survivors, or maybe the fucking radio stations would be working again.  Something should be happening, and it isn’t.

                None of that has happened.  I don’t know why.  I suspect it has a lot to do with the lack of power and food.  Never mind the fuel issue.  If the military shared any of its fuel stores, then they’ll be running on E soon enough.  Probably already are.  How long could their planes fly before they ran out of fuel?  I highly doubt the refineries are still running.

                Maybe this is much worse than I realize.  Maybe this is it.  Maybe this is all I’ve got to work with for the rest of my life.  Maybe this isn’t a “survive until it passes over” situation, and more of a “survive as long as you can, because this is it Adrian.”

                This is a giant bag of douche.  Enormous, and vinegary.

                So obviously, this new information changes plans slightly.  It pushes some things forward, and pushes some things back.  I suck balls at organizing life.  I want to point that out.  I don’t want you to get this false impression that I am good leader or anything.  Fuck that noise. I figure this shit out as I go, the best I can.

                Whew, my head hurts.  Runny nose or headaches, is pretty much the norm right now.  Abby was nice enough to point out to me all these now grey hairs I have earlier. 

Cute kid. 

She points them out again I might put icy hot in her underwear. 

                Lol.  That actually cheered me up considerably.  Just the thought of the expression on her face as she ran around the Hall here holding onto her crotch trying to figure out if Gavin gave her the Clap or not would be worth the inevitable beating I’d suffer.  Definitely need to source a helmet, and a cup before I pull that stunt.

                Alright, so, a fucking agenda.  We desperately need to figure out how and when we are going to get this shit all done, and done in a fast enough manner.  Safety is important mind you.  Too fast and we get hurt, too slow, and we get hurt.  Sweet deal eh?  The whole rock and a hard place. 

                Ollie needs more supplies for a fence for the crops and the campus security.  We have no local lumber yards or Home Depot or Lowes, so we need to look specifically for supplies of lumber that might be at construction sites, or contracting businesses, or things of the like.  Pressure treated or gtfo too.  Ollie suggested we shamble our dumb asses to any building with a chain link fence around it, and straight up rip the fucking stuff right out of the ground.  He assures us it might be easier to do that than find enough homogenous lumber to build a fence. 

                Ollie’s got the tractor here now due to Gilbert’s assistance, and he’s working the field into a plant-able surface, but he says there’s little sense in planting anything significant until we can fence it off to protect against skunks, raccoons etc.  He says they are around, he’s seen them.  They’ll dig the shit up and eat it.   I guess it’s cool that he is seeing them though.  I haven’t seen those kinds of animals anywhere since… June, and I was worried they were all dead.

                We NEED to establish a safe house in the area near downtown that we’ve cleared.  Preferably one right near the road so it’s visible to folks in vehicles.  That might be a fast, easy fix.  I think we can get it set up in maybe half a day.  Less if we have our shit together.

                We NEED to clear houses, and gather food and supplies.  I’ve got a bad, bad feeling that this summer is going to fly by, and the last thing I need (read: we need) is to have us not make it through this coming winter because we didn’t gather up the food that’s frigging sitting all over the place, ripe for the taking.

                I’ve got to get in touch with Mike and get some IOTVs off him pronto.  I’m betting he’s got a few spare stashed away in the basement of that school over there, and I hope he won’t bend me over and do me dry for them.  I guess I could pull an asshole move and tell him NO WATER!  But that seems prickish.  I guess we’ll see how he reacts.  I am seriously debating trading him something for labor.  Any labor will work.  I just need more hands to put to work to get what needs to be done, done.

                I need to insert my penis into a woman.  Any orifice will suffice.  Any woman will suffice. (God my standards have plummeted.  My brothers would string me up.)

                We MUST fortify campus.  The sooner the better.  At the very least, we desperately need to make it hard for someone to drive up to campus.  In some respects, being at the end of a dead end country road is good.  It’s heavily forested, very hilly, and we’ve got the water more or less cutting off avenues of ground (foot) approach, so the road is an excellent choke point.  I think our current plan is take a page from Romero’s book, and jack a semi to park across the road at the Jones Road turn.  We can back the truck up Jones Road when we come and go easily.  Prospect Circle (where Gilbert’s home is) is on this side of Jones Road as well, so his house will fall inside that “gate.”

                We need to keep Blake’s eyes on that farm.  His report today on the farm was that he saw more adults working outside there, but none of the kids he mentioned before.  He says they’re prepping the farmland inside their fence for planting.  Judging by the description, they’ve got an area maybe 6-8 acres in size inside the fence, and then maybe as much as 50 or 60 acres outside.  Not sure how much food that’ll make, but it sounds like a lot.

                Speaking of Blake, we need to hit that fucking auto parts store to get him geared up so he can reopen Mike’s Automotive.  If we can manage that, then we can get him up to snuff on diesel work, and before you know it, we might actually be able to fix a fucking vehicle when one breaks.  We told him we’d meet him at Mike’s auto on the 23rd for our next update.  If that meeting goes well, I think we’re going to get him a walkie so he can contact us in an emergency.  Of course now I’m scared that the people at that fucking farm might have walkies too… and they’ll hear everything.  Maybe we need to start rotating frequencies for communication security.    SOP.

                Tactically we need to up our game when we’re out.  I guess shame on us for not being as attentive all along, but frankly, we can only pay so much attention for so long before our brains either go on autopilot, or we need a break.  From now on, we are making more noise as we move, periodically honking our horns so folks know we’re moving, and we’re not dangerous.  I’d hate to roll up on some paranoid guy new to the neighborhood, and have him open up on us. Sigh.

                Fuck clearing houses.  Gilbert says he’ll go without a vest for the meantime.  That does make some sense, because most of the time he’s prone on the roof of the HRT, and in the event we do take hostile fire, he’ll draw a lot less fire than the rest of us moving around.  (insert jinx joke here)

 Fuck me.  I’ve also got to train the girls on basic squad level tactics.  Suppressing fire, Australian peels, blah blah blah.  They’ve never had to think about what to do when someone’s shooting at them.

I’m pushing so much shit right now my toe is caught in the drain.  Fuck that, I’m up to my knee in pushed shit.

                This is the moment when something will go wrong.  I can feel it.  I’m gonna make a mistake soon, or overlook some important detail, and someone is going to pay the price.  As sure as shit, you mark my words Mr. Journal.

                Tomorrow we are driving directly to the industrial complex where STIG was, and we are finding a semi, and bringing it back here.  That’ll address the road issue and add some security to the campus.  If we have time, we’re going to try and rip up chainlink fencing where we see it so Ollie and whothefuckeverhasfreetime can get it into the ground up here so we can have some kind of overland security that doesn’t involve us just crossing our fingers and praying to the God of ironic ass rape to not corn hole us with a sneaky butthole assault in the meantime.

                After that, I’ll find a hole somewhere in the schedule to head over to STIG to get an IOTV off Mike.  I think I’ll also try and get another crate of ammo while I’m there.  And also, while I’m feeling like a hopeless schmuck, I’ll ask him if he has any spare hands he can send our way to help get all this shit done.  See how far I can stretch his goodwill.  If I get laid too, awesome.  Frankly, I’ve got bigger fish to fry right now. 

                We are now in “fortify campus” mode.  With folks moving around town that actually have functioning brains inside their skulls, we need to be cognizant that we don’t draw them back up to campus, and if we do, we need to make sure we can keep what we’ve claimed.

                Oh.  Yeah.  Yesterday we hit some houses, cleaned them out, and did okay for loot.  Main thing of note is we hit the HVAC place, and Yarn Heaven by Doris or whatever it’s called.  The HVAC place had furnace filters, cleaning supplies, maintenance instructions, tools, parts, and a bunch of ducting and related crap.  All in all, awesome stuff for the future.  Yarn Heaven was a score because we can use the stuff there to make hats, mittens, sweaters, etc.  Doesn’t sound like much, but in case you missed the memo Mr. Journal… 

                The mall is closed.

                I’m a little messed up over that letter I found yesterday too.  The face of the wife in the picture looked familiar to me, but I can’t quite place her face.  I’m sure I saw her downtown somewhere, somehow before all this shit happened.

                I felt flippant about all this “getting laid” talk lately.  Every house has a story.  Every empty home is the carcass of a life, the bloated corpse of a rancid family.  The end of someone’s entire livelihood, and we pick over it like human vultures.  I can’t forget that we are treading on the graves of neighbors and friends here.  I know I joke, and jest about how ‘awesome” the loot was here, or how we “put down ten zombies today” and whatnot.  But we, (I, at least), can’t forget that we’re stealing from the dead.  Finding that letter left me feeling sad, and not just a little filthy over what we’re doing to survive now.

                Sigh.

                This is all gonna get ugly soon.  I can feel it in my bones.

               

                -Adrian

               

              

NEXT ENTRY

November 2nd Tags: 14th entry

November 2nd.

                Mr. Journal, where were we?

                Ah, yes.  Rooftop on the admissions building.  Worst night of my fucking life.  Yeah about that…  So let’s refresh the page eh?  I had gone into the classrooms, found Dan Haggerty on the third floor trying to “communicate” with Mrs. Goodell.  Once I got him away a bit, Mrs. Goodell revealed to me that Haggerty’s son had died, had become a zombie, and was locked in a supply closet inside the classroom.

                Once we got everything calm, Goodell opened the door to clear her students out, Haggerty surprised us, and burst in trying to find his son.  He found him, got bit by him, and retaliated in a totally sensible fashion by blasting his son, Mrs. Goodell, and several of the students with a 12 gauge.  I was knocked out cold when I dove for cover.

                On returning to the land of the awake (and living dead) I discovered I was surrounded by fucking zombies.  I lost track of my shotgun, but using my Sig I had managed to shoot my way out of the classroom before the zombies killed me.  Complete shit luck that they didn’t take a nibble when I was passed out.  I got the fuck out of the classroom, and bolted back across campus to admissions where I found yet another degenerating situation.  Two of the kids wounded in the classroom incident (or perhaps bitten while I was out cold) had made it to the admissions house, promptly died, sat back up, bit their parents and a few staff members, and spread this disease even further.

                During that scramble I realized my keys were history, I had a minor mental breakdown, found a ladder, and climbed on top of the admissions building after running for my life for a few minutes.  I only made it onto the admissions roof by the slimmest of margins too, zombie kids, parents and staff all clawing at my feet as I climbed the ladder.  I’m lucky I didn’t lose a sneaker on my way up.

                So that’s where I realized that maybe, juuuuuust maybe, I had made a mistake.  Perhaps a “minor” error in judgment.  I distinctly remember flopping down, facing up at the stars on that clear June 23rd.  “that day.”  I think that’s actually the first time I’ve said the actual day all this shit went down.  It’s weird that it’s taken me this long to actually put a date to the “that day.”  That Wednesday, June 23rd.

                Anyway.  I took a minute or two to gather myself and assess my new situation.  I had enough space on the roof to lay down comfortably.  (assuming of course you find laying on asphalt shingles comfortable)  I had 15 rounds in my pistol, and my sword.   My car was locked, and my keys were incognito.  I hadn’t eaten in hours, and I had no water.  Otis, my devoted and handsome cat was still locked firmly away in his carryall in my car as well.  He hadn’t eaten in hours either, and also had no water.  I peeked over the edge and did a quick assessment of the walking dead hanging out and got really depressed.  Where I had pulled up the ladder there were at least two dozen zombies.  Couldn’t barely hear them either, creepy as shit.  The only noise you could hear was a few cars running in the parking lots nearby, the sound of the water lapping at the shore 60 feet or so away, and a faint scratching at the siding of the house.  Ever heard a bunch of people slowly scraping their nails on wood in the dark?  Ever hear the same thing only by undead just a few feet away that are aching to eat the meat off your bones?  Creepy doesn’t even come close to touching it.

                What to do, right?  I was fucked.  I couldn’t see well enough to really feel comfortable in trying to get off the roof.  I couldn’t get to the other side of the building either as the roof was far too sloped to risk trying a crossing.  I had zombies on all sides and little to no options even if I did get off the roof.  I decided to wait for daylight.  I would be hungry, but at least then I could see.

                Many things happened that night.  There was still a small number of staff, parents, and students on campus.  I saw several of them escape, driving at breakneck speeds over the bridge.  I even tried to flag them down, jumping up and down, screaming, waving, but it was all to no avail.  I thought at several times I would be able to get off the roof when they left, as some of the zombies started to follow their cars, but they came back too quickly to risk it.  I spent long stretches that night just trying to be quiet, observing the zombies.  I learned a lot that night watching them, and I’ve put it to good use since then too. 

                Lowlight of the cool night up there was when the last car came on campus.  It was another parent coming for their child. I don’t know what kid, or who the parents were, but I remember vividly how they died. Their sedan crossed the bridge cautiously at about midnight, creeping along.  I was already starving by then.  They crept up to the admissions house and I remember jumping up and waving at them.  They didn’t see me.  The car came to a stop, and mom and dad got out of the it, and walked carefully up to the door.  I didn’t want to holler at them as I felt I had just gotten the zombies below to forget about me, so I was trying to do a “loud whisper” if that makes any sense.  They didn’t hear me.

                I remember dad was older, probably mid 50’s, with grey hair, and had an aluminum baseball bat.  Mom was much younger, struck me as sort of a trophy wife, but you could tell she wasn’t a gold-digger.  I don’t know how exactly I knew that, but I could tell she was emotionally invested in the dude and the kid she came for.  She looked... you know, concerned I guess.  They tried the door, but it was locked.  Had they kept quiet, I think they would’ve been fine, but one of them said something to the other, and the zombies below me heard.

                It didn’t take long for them to shuffle around the corner of the building, and as soon as I saw the zombies moving I started to yell.  I screamed at them to get back inside their car and get the hell out.  The woman did turn and start moving, but hero dad decided to beat some ass with that fucking bat.  Lemme tell you right now: bats are not that effective.  I mean, if you’re a rugged person, and can swing it like a pro, yeah sure, you can split some wigs, but not this guy.  He clocked several of the zombies pretty good but didn’t get any head shots in.  I kept yelling to hit them in the head, but he didn’t change tactics in time. He kept hitting them in the sides and the arms and as you can imagine, it had no effect.  It was as useful as trying to beat a tree into falling over.  They swarmed him pretty quickly and collapsed on top of him.  I could hear him scream as they ripped him apart one bite at a time.

                MILFy had made her way back into the car.  Passenger side, where she started this fiasco.  She must’ve dropped her purse though because she didn’t start the car.  Daddy Rich probably had his keys on him as well, so she was just as stuck as I was.  Half of the zombies shuffled over after eating the dad and listlessly scratched at the windows of the car.  I don’t know if a zombie has the strength to break auto glass.  I suspect a big one could, but I didn’t get my answer that night.  The other half of the zombies came back to the admissions building and returned to their incessant scratching, trying to get up at me and my skin again.

                 That’s how things settled for an hour or so.  If I got right up to the edge of the roof nearest the road I could watch MILFy in her car without being seen by the undead below.  She cried a lot.  The more I sat there, the more I started to realize she was really beautiful, and how sad everything was for her.  It’s like the fantasy that’s always better than reality I think.   I wondered what her family life was like, I thought about which of the students her kid was.  I fantasized about how the kid would hate how hot his mom was, and how hot his friends thought she was, and how much he would’ve hated that.  It was how I passed the time for that hour.  I really felt like I got to know her.

                  I was totally shocked when she opened the car door and got out.  It was obviously suicide.  I think she came to the conclusion that she had no more life left to live, and she just gave up.  Can you blame her?  One of the students, one of the nerdy ones killed her.  She just tilted her head back against the door frame of the car and he ripped her throat out, right where the Adam’s apple would’ve been.  She died pretty quickly, never put up an ounce of fight either.  Her mind was made up the moment she got out. 

                 I hated to see her die like that, but you have to respect the will it must’ve taken to do what she did.  I’m not condoning suicide Mr. Journal, but there is some sense in what she did, after what just happened to her and her family.  I was genuinely sad to see her go.  I actually was hoping to talk to her after we got to safety.  Maybe in a way I was trying to rescue her like I didn’t rescue Cassie.  I felt really miserable after that woman from the car died.  I felt even more miserable after her body got back up, and started meandering around, looking for something to eat.  Namely, something like me.

                 The rest of the night was spent laying as silently as possible on the roof of admissions.  Eventually everyone who was capable of leaving campus was history, and I was left alone with no help anywhere to be found.  My stomach was growling like you can’t imagine, and I was really thirsty.  At about the time of dawn when the eastern horizon takes on that faint bluish tinge I remember I felt a little bit of optimism.  Maybe I would make it.  I had fallen in and out of sleep a few times that night, and I don’t remember my dreams.  I do know when I saw that horizon I was achy and my back was killing me.  When I launched myself away from my mom at her elderly home earlier I really smashed my back against the wall.  Falling asleep on the roof did me no damn favors.  So I got up to stretch.

                  I walked around my little roof world and re-assessed things.  About ten zombies had walked off.  I was happy to notice that when I shifted my weight, and heard a loud crack under the shingles.  I nearly dented my head when it dawned on me how retarded I was.  I knelt down, and noise be damned, starting ripping up shingles.  Below the shingles was plain plywood.  It was a gamble, but I felt the house inside was empty, and if I could get through the roof and got inside, I would be one step closer to safety.

                 I had no hammer, but the sword would work as a lever pretty good to pry up a sheet of the plywood.  As quietly as I could, which wasn’t very quiet at all, I pried up one edge of a sheet of plywood, and got it torn up.  That was loud though, and by the time I had the wood up, I was fully surrounded by even more zombies than before.  The crowd on the ground below was at least 3 or 4 zombies deep now, and surrounding half the building.  Below the plywood was the ceiling, which was drywall.  A few good hacks with the sword though, and I cleared a space conveniently right above a desk.  I started making noise inside the building to draw attention, but nothing came.  I dropped down into the office, and proceeded to clear the house and check the doors.  Empty, and locked, respectively.  The zombies were gathering outside en masse though, so I needed to work quickly.

                  As I said, the campus doors are strong, so that was going in my favor.  Windows though were not.  I had just watched a handful of the dead try and break car glass with no success, but regular window glass is a different animal all together.  I needed to get into a room with more security.  Luckily one of the back offices had only one small window, and had a strong interior door.  I checked one more thing before I began my plan for escape:  the refrigerator.    The staff fridge had two lunches from the day prior still in it, as well as some bottled water, and I started eating the crappy little sandwiches and gulping water as fast as I could.  Reminds me of my military days.  Eat as much as you can, as fast as you can and worry about digestion later.  I didn’t know when my next meal was coming.

                  New plan was this:  make a shitload of noise on one side of the admissions building, then run into my secure room after drawing them in.  I would have to be really quick, or really clever to get the majority of them inside the building with me.  Open the small window, escape to a hopefully clearer exterior, get into my car somehow, get the rifle and more ammo for the pistol, (possibly retrieve the shotgun as well, but that really seemed like reaching at that moment) and start doing some serious yard work on these fucking undead.  No rest for the wicked.

                  I implemented plan “day after that day” immediately.  Well that’s not entirely true.  I kept a small chunk of turkey from one sandwich for Otis.  He needed something to eat badly, and I do not want anyone to think I don’t take good care of my cat.

                 Love that guy.

 

                 Talk to you soon Mr. Journal.

 

                 -Adrian


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