Do you remember when I stashed an “oh shit” bag halfway between here and Westfield? Back when I was doing my recon work when Sean was still alive? Mr. Journal we were right near there earlier today when we left to scour for my ambulance.
Our team heading out today was myself, Kevin, Fitz, Abby, Hector, and James. Hector and James really wanted to go to get outside the wall, and the rest are pretty self explanatory. We’d been leaving the Westfield soldiers behind more often because they’re less used to breaching operations and house clears, and because they’ve gotten into a great rhythm with the security at the school. Not to mention Hector has been tapped for vehicle maintenance and James has been in the woods hunting. This was their change of pace moment.
With three in each vehicle all heavily armed and pretty experienced, we felt good. Kevin also mounted M203s on his and Fitz’s M4s, so we had some serious squad support weaponry if need be. The roads heading over to that neck of the woods was decent. A little slippery, but not bad. The ambulance was right there on the side of the road, buried under the entire winter’s accumulation of snow. The tree cover right there was heavy as well, so there was little to no melting. Also, like a collective bunch of fucking bosses, not one of us remembered to bring a snow shovel. All we had was entrenching tools from the humvees.
We parked in the road, which of course hadn’t been plowed at all the entire winter (no surprise seeing as the DOT hasn’t been in operation of late). We had to rotate out the shoveling duties due to how hard it was to chip out the icy layers and thickly packed snow. It was shit work. We were grunting and groaning to the nth degree, making a ton of noise, and we managed to draw in two zombies in the seven hours we were there.
I happened to be pulling security both times the walkers came at us. Both came from the direction away from the main road, and they were struggling to trudge through the snow to get to us. I think it’s funny that the undead always use roads and streets to move. You’d think as mindless creatures they’d simply move in a straight line towards noise, but noooo… They always seem to stick to the roads.
At any rate, I watched as the two male zombies shuffled their way towards us, knee deep in thick, crusty snow. They fell over at least three or four times as they came up the road. At one point Abby was standing next to me watching, and she shook her head sadly and walked back down the embankment to the ambulance. It really was sad and awkward and whatnot. I finally put rounds through their heads when they got to about thirty yards away. Made no sense to risk them getting any closer.
The good news out of the shooting of the zombies was that they were the drivers from the ambulance. They had more medical gear on them, as well as the remainder of the keys to the compartments in the rear of the ambulance that were still sealed. We did of course have to shoot a patient that was long dead and strapped into the back of the ambulance though. The guy had a bite wound on his arm I believe, and I’d guess he turned on them, caused a ruckus, then caused the crash that killed the two EMTs.
We did manage to salvage a lot of medical supplies from the mostly tipped over van. Our largest need was met only sparingly. We desperately needed IV bags to get fluids into the bodies of our sick survivors, and in the ambulance we found only six bags. Fortunately, Ethan said the bags were still good, so that’s something. Those bags will get us through a couple of days as we essentially force feed fluids right into their bloodstreams.
After we got everything out of the ambulance, we stopped at the house I stored my shotgun and Sig at, and retrieved them. They need some tender loving care, but they’ll work fine with some attention. It was nice to see the Sig again.
On our return we got the supplies to Ethan, and he started to tend to our sick. By the time we returned the clinic had been cleaned out. I could see the smoke rising from the back of campus from the fresh fire on the pyre. The bodies had been moved.
Ugly work I imagine.
Bastion is on its end, on tilt right now. Martin lost his wife of fourteen years. He’s been with his son, lost to his emotions since everything happened.
Lindsey lost her six year old daughter. I don’t need to explain to you what that would do to a mother. She’s living right next to Angela and Amanda right now so she has company and is surrounded by support.
Jeanette lost her baby boy. She’s also with Amanda and Angela. The Westfield people are hurt very very much by the loss of the child that was named after the man that helped to lead them.
Everyone misses Doc Lindsey.
I miss little Veronica. She was a bubbly little girl that died far before her time was due. She had no family we could find, no name, and she left the world just as anonymously as her family did. The only thing that marks her life now is the mentions of her in this fucking journal. Pathetic.
Diane, the woman we believe brought all this upon us is also dead. I wonder if this is karma for having shot at us when we arrived to try and rescue them? I wonder if this is karma for us too.
Roger is dead. He was such a good guy too. One of the nation’s most highly trained military men killed in his sleep (we think) by someone who died under his care. We really needed him here, and it’s clear now how close Kevin’s group really was. They are all in mourning over his loss.
I don’t need to explain how badly Kevin is missing his buddy Kyle. Kyle was Kevin’s driver on their last op in Jerusalem, and he was an excellent team member before that, and since then.
Alex has shut himself away trying to get over the loss of George, his boyfriend. Michelle has been trying to talk to him to get him to come out and be with the rest of us, but he can’t sustain it. Ten or fifteen minutes of socialization and he overloads with emotion, and leaves. He just can’t take it.
Michelle shut the school down for a few days to let everyone digest the past couple day’s events. Ollie has rolled down the amount of labor he is asking of the younger people as they struggle to cope with the sudden large scale loss of life. We’re an emotional wreck right now, myself included. The less I think about what just happened, the better off I am.
Strangely enough, I don’t feel like I failed this time. So many of our bad incidents have felt to me like they were my fault, but I really feel like this time we made good decisions. If anything, I feel like our medical people underestimated the seriousness of the sickness that we’re dealing with. I’m not laying blame here Mr. Journal. Our medical people are top notch. But, we are not in a real hospital, with full diagnosis equipment, and a real lab to run real tests. It’s a lot of educated guesswork.
Where do we go from here?
We need more IV bags. We also need more medicine. We also know that there are no good places to find these things in town, or in Westfield. Furthermore, there are no good places to find these things in any of the small towns around here. We’ve already cannibalized the pharmacies and the local clinics.
Our last resort is the city.
Our discussions about what that means will be tomorrow morning.
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.
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.
We are dealing with three enormous problems right now, all sort of working in concert to bend us the fuck over. It seems as if our good intentions and good will has brought serious problems upon us. We are paying the price it seems for doing the right thing.
Some kind of miserable flu bug has taken strong root here. Ethan and Roger both think that the new people brought it in with them, and that does make a lot of sense. Diane has been hacking and wheezing for days since she arrived, and it appears that whatever she had has spread.
Ethan and Roger aren’t sure exactly what it is, but seeing as how it’s pretty catchy, they’re thinking it’s viral. Pneumonia hasn’t been ruled out yet, but we haven’t done a lot of testing as of yet. It starts as a headache, aches, and runny nose. Within maybe five hours of that, your temperature skyrockets, and your sinuses go haywire, filling your chest with thick mucus and phlegm. Vomiting seems to be frequent when it really sets in. A couple of our sick folks also have sore throats, but that doesn’t seem to be the case across the board.
As of right now, the following people are sick: Julie and Chester (Martin’s wife and son). George (but not Alex yet), Andrea (Lindsey’s daughter), baby Jeffrey (the new kid named after the Lt from Westfield and Jeanette’s baby), Doc Lindsey, Jenna, Veronica (she of no last name), Roger the pj, Kyle (one of Kev’s guys), Becky, Shelby (Becky’s daughter), stoner Ryan, and Diane. That’s a grand total of fourteen sick I count as of right this moment. Jeanette is having a fit leaving her sick baby with Becky, but she understands the dangers of sickness.
We’ve got them in the clinic right now under quarantine. We didn’t have enough beds there already, but in the basements of one of the dorms we had some cots for emergencies. As of now, the clinic is looking a lot like a refuge camp. They’re being cared for by the sick Roger and Doc Lindsey. It makes some sense to have an ill medical professional deal with it, though I’m sure the care we’re giving them in this fashion is somewhat lacking. Fresh fluids are in plenty right now though, and that’s a huge thing. We put down three chickens this morning to make massive amounts of chicken soup for the sick people, and they’re doing their level best to consume it, although over the radio it sounds like they’re cleaning up a lot of vomit as well.
We’re hoping the quarantine measures prevent it from spreading any further.
Helping us in the quarantine department is royally shit weather. Freezing rain, sleet, and wet, thick snow have brought everything to a horrible halt. The freezing rain is a fine mist, and as soon as it hits any surface, it seems to freeze instantly. The walkways and roads here are glassy smooth ice right now. In order to get around, we have to smash our feet through the crust of ice over the wet snow. It seems to be coming in cycles with wet snow too, which is miserable, chill you to the bone cold.
We can’t really drive anywhere at the moment because of the ice. We can’t sand or salt effectively to get around safely. Hell, walking around campus at all has cost us a few spills just within the past three or four hours. I was watching out the window of the common room in Hall E earlier as Angela tried to walk from Hall A to the cafeteria. She ate shit three times after just trying to walk twenty feet. Luckily she didn’t hit her head or anything, but she still turned her ass around and crawled back to the dorm.
We aren’t staffing the gate or the towers tonight. It’s a risk, but there’s just no way anyone with any sense would be willing or even able to attack us. MGR and the Factory are reporting the same shit weather and icy conditions too, so I feel like the world has kind of ground to a halt for a bit.
The third and most disturbing factor that we have on our plate is the food. We are still chewing through it, and there has been precious little progress on our hydro production front. Ryan had some stuff break on him, and he’s also sick, so there’s been shit happening for about three days. Not that we’d miraculously have tomatoes and potatoes and green beans grown by now if we had the three or four days back, but it’s the frustration of there having been NO progress for any period of time.
It just pisses me off. This whole fucked up conspiracy of bullshit makes me wonder if the Jinx Fairy is a card toting Union member of the Jinx Fairy local 401. That bitch might have backup. Scary thought eh Mr. Journal?
For the moment myself I’m sitting here in Hall E, fighting the small cold that I hope doesn’t turn south on me into the plague that’s ravaging the clinic. Lucky fourteen is bad enough, I don’t want to be number fourteen. I’m drinking an assload of water, and I’ve got a pretty large thermos of that soup we made earlier. It’s really quite good.
I’m very tired. Kind of achy. I’m the tired where I don’t even want to masturbate. I just kind of want to lay down, and close my eyes, and let the sinus pressure drift away after I take one of these supposedly “non drowsy” sinus pills. That’s a damn joke. I take one and no matter what…. I’m loopy. The shit works though. I always feel better after taking them.
We’re in a holding pattern yet again for the moment. I’m hoping I can check in after a day or two and happily report that we have people starting to feel better, the weather has gone, Ryan has built more hydro stations, and Ollie impregnated a few of our cows.