Well. Things are going… fairly well here.
I’m feeling silly tonight. I had a couple drinks earlier outside on the porch of Hall A with some of the folks here, and despite the motherfucking mosquitoes, it was well worth it. We hadn’t really taken much time to sit down and put our feet up and get to know each other, so spending an hour or two with these folks was really nice.
Alex and George for example, our resident gay couple, are pretty awesome people. They both worked in the city before the end at a bank, and despite those skills being entirely useless now, they were both very creative people, and they’ve got a lot natural talent. Both of them can play a couple musical instruments each, and Alex can draw like a bastard. It was really nice to sit down and listen to the two of them play a song together. They both play guitar, and they played five or six songs for us. It’ll be nice to have some reasonably creative and talented folks around here. It seems like the bulk of us are “practical” types, who are far too no-nonsense.
Even Ollie was swayed to their side. That or he doesn’t give a rat’s ass they are gay. Who knows? I’m just happy to have everyone getting along, even if it is only for an evening.
Martin has about ten years as a welder, is pretty funny, huge, and can hold his liquor. His wife Julie is also a good sized girl. Not really fat at all, just tall. Martin is about six three or six four, and she’s gotta be at least six foot as well. She played college basketball, is pretty physical in general, and worked as a cook in a nice restaurant over in Westfield. She’s been helping Melissa make meals for us, and frankly, it’s been awesome. I know it sounds a little… what’s the word? Misogynistic? But it has been a blessing to have our meals prepared for us.
It’s like time has rewound several hundred years. All the men are out toiling, breaking our backs, working all day, risking our lives, and the women have stayed back, and are tending to all the things that don’t seem to require broad shoulders, and a penis. I know that sounds dickish, and it isn’t entirely true. Angela and Abby as well as Patty do as much labor/dangerous shit as any of the men do, if not more. It’s not a hard and fast rule, but I find it strange that our culture and day to day habits seem to have regressed so far, so fast.
I wonder if this is part of the grand plan? I wonder if the powers that be want us to live a simpler, old fashioned life? Although if that’s the case, how do we explain our gay friends, and the amount of women who shirk the roles of the past?
Alright, so where were we Mr. Journal? Ah, right. What the fuck is going on here? Well our two most impressive recent accomplishments are the following:
Martin is a welding fiend. We got his welding gear setup down in the maintenance garages and within 40 hours or less of starting work on the HRT’s upgrades, they are done already. Not only are they done already, but he did more shit than we asked for or could’ve even imagined.
The front of the truck now has a spare plow blade affixed that sits about six inches off the ground. We can hit undead at full speed now, and they’ll just fly off the front of the truck like a snow drift. Very exciting.
Keeping the weight of the vehicle in mind, Martin welded a few steel plates into the doors of the cab so if we take fire, the doors will be much more bullet resistant. He also welded small plates over the windows, as well as putting a pretty nifty lever in on the back door so once the iron bar is swung into place and latched, getting that door open will require The Hulk, or an act of fucking god.
He also welded some bolts over the rear wheel wells that have twin matching thin steel plates that slide into place to cover the wheels. It’ll dramatically cut down on the chance of the rear wheels getting cut or blown out, and it should stop light small arms fire. I’m thinking 9mm or less will just splash off the steel. Might not make a bit of difference at all, but I know I FEEL better seeing all that shiny metal attached to the HRT.
So… fucking awesome. Even Blake had to applaud all the shit Martin did. There was no way Blake was skilled enough to make all that happen, especially over the course of just a couple days in the shop. Blake’s been working on it in his spare time for what seems like forever, and he had… nothing done of note. Martin had two days, designed everything, cut everything, mounted everything, and now tomorrow he’s back on fence duty with us. Cut and goddamn dried.
While Martin was up to that, Blake was working on the fuel filtration I’d asked him to do. To his credit, he has been balls deep in the project, and he’s making great headway. Periodically he does need to yank someone to lend him a hand, but that’s fine. Lifting and moving the barrels is a bitch, even with the barrel dolly we have. He simply can’t move 55 gallon barrels and do all the other work and get shit done in an effective manner. Hence, we lend him some brute force labor in the form of someone else for a bit. I know Blake has been happy to get the social interaction. I also know everyone that’s gone down to the filter setup to help him is entirely fed the fuck up with hearing how awesome his little baby boy is.
New dad, right?
Oh shit I totally forgot to mention that Martin has an idea for a new project. Remember when we hit The Farm, and we took their horse/cow trailer? Martin is thinking with enough scrap steel/iron, and some raw materials, he can get that trailer more or less turned into a moving gun ship. We can latch it onto the dualie with no sweat, and drag the trailer slowly into heavily infested areas, and simply fire at our leisure. There’s little chance the trailer will get thrown over, and we can store food, water, ammunition, medical supplies, you name it back there.
On paper, it seems like a rock solid idea, so I’m going to give it some thought, and if it still sounds good in a few days, we’ll look into it.
I’m really wondering if that’ll be a huge asset on the run to Gilbert’s warehouse. A moving gun platform would be… fucking sweet, and you I both know Mr. Journal that the fucking warehouse is going to be covered in undead. If the dark side knew about it through Gilbert, then it’ll know for motherfucking sure that we are going to make a run into the place. The toe pushing will be fucking legendary, especially if we half ass it.
Something like that gun platform would put what? Ten guns into the fight? All from a nice, reasonably safe place? Seems like a fucking dream come true to me.
Clearly, I am overlooking some vital detail that will get me, or my friends killed. That’s why I am giving it a few more days while I think about it. We are in a hurry to get to Gilbert’s, but at the same time, we are not in a hurry. It makes little sense to rush it, despite how important the place could be to us.
The rest of us non-mechanically inclined assholes worked on the walls the past two days. We made pretty impressive progress considering we had no Martin. He easily counts as two of the rest of us. I think we got 35 or 40 feet up both days, which was a feat.
Oh you know, one thing that really gets my britches in a bunch is bug spray. We cleaned out all those houses so long ago, and it appears as if none of us had the goddamn sense to take any bug spray. Abby and Patty broke off yesterday morning and went back down Auburn Lake Road all the way to Route 18 and went looking strictly for bug spray.
Thankfully, the country in this neck of the woods is chock full of mosquitoes, so they managed to find about ten cans in an hour, so our DEET needs have been met at least for the remainder of this summer. That’s good news I suppose.
Um, what else?
We sort of discussed the idea of staffing MGR soon. Not one person raised their hands for the job when it came up, so we’re now thinking of doing it in a rotation. Basically we’ll send two or three people down there for a two or three day rotation. They spend their time at the top, monitoring town for movement and whatnot. If we can get the repeater from the police station moved up there and powered, they’ll be able to communicate directly with us keeping us in the loop in real time. At the very least, they’ll be able to fill us in when we do shift changes every couple of days.
I’m figuring it’ll be a largely indispensable place for us to control, and use. If we can accomplish staffing MGR, getting the repeater set up there, finishing the wall here on campus, as well as make the run and clear out Gilbert’s place and the plumbing supply store next to it, we’ll be sitting really fucking pretty.
Now the one thing we really do need to address kind of immediately is another fuel run downtown. As I said, we’re getting really low on gasoline, and Blake only made that more apparent when he told me he was already done filtering all our gas, and was now working on diesel. If we are going to use gasoline powered generators on a regular basis, we desperately need to gas the hell up.
In light of the sober face Blake gave me when he informed me of our fuel plight, we’re going to make a fuel run the day after tomorrow. We’ve had a little too much to drink today already, and I don’t want to make a run to a gas station hung over. Plus I guarantee two or three of us will be kissing the bottom of a toilet on their knees come dawn.
Not to mention, we’ve got a bitch of a day on the fencing tomorrow. There’s some really rocky ground coming up, and we’ll need Blake’s assistance on the backhoe to get it done. On the plus side, we can use any boulders we dig up as roadblocks, or mobility deterrents in other areas. Blocking roads, etc. We really need to put up some staggered weave roadblocks on the road heading to the bridge so if anyone does get by the semi at Jones Road, we can light them the fuck up as they slalom through the obstacles.
More shit to do.
So yeah. Not much else going on. I mean shit that’s enough for sure. I’m tired just thinking about doing it all.
Little worried too. We haven’t done a fuel run in... fuck, months? Open ground, flammable fuel everywhere, we might need to bring a few rookie guns too... Seems like a pretty fucking scary proposition all in all. Tomorrow night we’ll go over the logistics of who should go, what they will bring, and how exactly we’ll get it done. I really want a zero mistake run here.
There are still two more gas stations in town that we haven’t visited yet, plus the convenience store that we already hit once, which for the life of me I cannot recall if it still had fuel in it. I want to say yes it did, but it seems like forever ago. Old age is just destroying my damn memory. Good thing I’m writing all this shit down Mr. Journal.
Headache is setting in. Gonna pop a Tylenol, and curl up in bed next to my man Otis.