Tagged with "253rd"
January 31st, 2012 Tags: 253rd entry

January 31st.

                We almost lost it all this morning.  All of it. 

                Every last person here could have died, and it’s only by some profoundly good graces we still have as many people living here as we do.

                Late in the night last night, the sickness that had incapacitated thirteen of our residents became fatal.  We don’t know who died first.  We haven’t pieced that together yet, but we know who is dead now.  Looking at the bright side, our food problems just became much more manageable.

                God I’m an asshole.

                I was woken up by the sounds of gunshots this morning just as the sun was turning the sky that faint shade of dawn blue.  Just enough light so you know the day is coming, but still dark enough to know that it isn’t quite morning yet.  I sat up immediately with the Kimber and grabbed the walkie.  I asked what was happening.

                I pulled my pants on, and my shirt on, and over the radio I heard Abby’s voice, “something happened inside the clinic, some of them died, and now they’re out.  They’re moving around towards the dorms.”

                Undead inside the walls again.  Moving about as they wished.  It was like a fucking bad dream.  I had an immediately flashback to the night on the roof of admissions, and the afternoon in the classroom building where I shot round after round into the mob of undead, trying to scratch out a safe place to live in this fucked up world.  It seems we (I) came a little full circle this morning.

                I dressed as I heard more and more folks wake up to the single gunshot and the radio traffic.  The Factory and MGR joined in, asking if we were okay, and collectively we asked them to clear the air, and let us figure out what we had on our hands.  I had the tactical guys get their comms online, and we got off the wide band radios.

                We made a quick plan, and via the various comms gear we got a headcount on the people who were NOT put in the quarantine in the clinic.  Everyone was accounted for, and the only variables were the folks from the clinic.  We had no radio traffic from them, which meant Roger’s walkie was never used.  We’re still putting together what went down in there, and it’s hard.

                Our initial plan was to open windows and fire using rifles at anything on foot that didn’t respond to verbal commands.  Least amount of risk that way.  I saw nothing from my window.  I would’ve thought something would’ve crossed in front of Hall E or the cafeteria, but nope.  Angela over in Hall A, which is right next to the old admin building the clinic is in, shot four times, killing four of our own.  Well to be fair, she wasn’t killing them.  She was putting their animated bodies to rest. 

                From Hall B Blake took a single shot with his Enfield, putting someone else down, and after that we saw no one and nothing from our windows.  From there we formed into small teams that were dorm based, and we moved out and into the campus to scour every inch for the remaining undead or survivors.  From Hall E I formed up with Caleb and Abby.  Our plan was to sweep the campus in a rough circle shape so we weren’t converging and firing on the same spaces.  Last thing we wanted was to meet in the middle, and be firing at each other.  We swung south towards the clinic itself.  Hall A put no team out because there just weren’t enough bodies.  We crossed in front of them and immediately saw George clawing at the door that led to the apartment he shared with Alex.  Angela had no window or angle to see him to shoot him.

                He’d been bitten three or four times in the chest and neck, and he was covered with fresh, sticky blood.  He hadn’t been dead for long.  When we rounded the corner I was the one facing him, and once I was sure he was dead (look for the whites of their eyes, as the old saying goes), I put that red dot on his face, and sent him back to oblivion where he belonged.  I hope these people are getting rest wherever they are.

                We moved down the road to the clinic and prepared for the worst.  We swung around the building to the entrance that I went in through back when I was clearing the building originally.  It was the door facing the admissions building, near the bridge and campus exit.  The door was ajar, and after a quick plan, we breached.

                I am not sure how much detail I can even go into here.  It was fucking carnage inside.  Blood and gore all over.  I hollered out for anyone alive to reply, and from the upstairs we heard a woman yell that she was in an office.  The same office Abby holed herself up in that day.  Funny how things come full circle.

                In the open clinic area on one of the beds was Jenna.  Jenna was hooked up to an IV bag that Roger must’ve gotten on her.  She sat up when we came into the room, and got off the bed, dragging her IV hangar behind her, slowly opening and closing her mouth, her face twisting into that same silent rage I’ve seen so fucking much.  I liked Jenna.  She helped me so much, and she was a real asset for us here.  I didn’t have the heart to hit her in the head, so I simply lined that red dot up one more time, and sent the back of her head all over the bed she died on.  She’d been bitten several times.

                I hate my life sometimes.  A lot.

                Here’s a list of the confirmed dead, all from inside the clinic.  Our locked doors and reinforced windows held all across campus, protecting everyone that stayed inside thankfully:

 

                Julie, Martin’s wife.                                                                                      Deceased.

                George, Alex’s partner.                                                                                Deceased.

                Andrea, Lindsey’s daughter, age 6.                                                          Deceased.

                Jeffrey Daniel Langston, not quite 1 year old.                                        Deceased.

                Doc Lindsey.                                                                                                 Deceased.

                Veronica of no last name, age 5.                                                               Deceased.

                Diane                                                                                                              Deceased.

                Sgt. Roger Halliday                                                                                      Deceased.

                Kyle Fishman                                                                                                Deceased.

               

                I could cry.  A lot.  The heartbreak here right now is motherfucking epic.  Everyone has been touched by this, and it will take a long time to shake off the aftereffects of this.  Things we could’ve done differently, finger pointing, all that jazz I’m sure is not far off.  Anger and rage will be right after, and we need to keep emotions in check as best as possible.  Michelle is soothing nerves as best she can, and Kevin is putting everyone straight to task with Fitz.  If people are busy, they are less likely to shut down, or freak out.

                In the upstairs office we found Becky, Shelby, Ryan and Chester.  They are the lone survivors of the clinic.  Right now they are in Joel’s care, and Ethan will be returning from MGR tomorrow morning to assist.  We are going to lose them too if we don’t get some serious fluids into them.  They are fading fast, and we are dangerously low on IV bags.  We can’t get fluids into them fast enough.  They can’t keep them down.

                I know there was an ambulance on the side of the road between here and Westfield.  It’s off the road in fact, down an embankment on a side road.  I saw it when I was walking around on the other side.  With any luck, the ambulance will have enough IV bags to get us through the sickness here, and buy us enough time to formulate a serious plan on how to get more medical supplies for the future. 

                I talked to Joel and Ethan about whether or not we could make our own IV bags and they looked at me like I’d grown a third eye.  We have no sterile environments to make any in, and without very specific raw materials, we would essentially be making germ and bacteria bags for direct injection.  We’d kill people faster by giving them homemade IVs.  I figured it was worth asking.

                We’re leaving first thing in the morning.  The weather has been clear for a day now, and the roads are probably good.  We’re going in just the two humvees as soon as Ethan gets back here to beef up our numbers.  I’m hoping we find the ambulance with no trouble, and it is still filled with usable medical supplies.

                And hope.  We could seriously use a huge bucket of hope right now.  We’re running on E at the moment and could use it.

                I’m very much out of sorts right now.

 

                -Adrian

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