I’m wiped. This needs to be a fairly short entry, or I’ll face plant into the keyboard and wake up tomorrow with a bunch of little square key impressions on my face. The only thing worth talking about is 114 Park Street, and how I am not crazy.
Read that again Mr. Journal. I am not crazy.
I didn’t go with everyone today as Gilbert requested (he correctly thought I might be too invested in everything), and when everyone returned, they all looked at me like I was... I don’t know, special or something. Like I was one of those weird guys on the late night talk shows that claimed they could channel spirits and talk to your dead relatives and shit. I felt a little ostracized, but also validated at the same time.
Andrea, Madison, and Lindsey were at that house. I guess my people rolled in making plenty of noise to ensure that they couldn’t be mistaken for having snuck up, and Abby approached the house on foot, right out in the open. I originally put up a stink about her going, but she insisted on accompanying them, and frankly, she’s as adamant a supporter of me and my lunacy as there is, so having her there as my advocate was probably a decent idea. I am just scared she’ll get hurt seriously one of these days.
They parked the trucks away from the house, and Abby walked through the abandoned street with her arms held high, and called out to the house that we knew they were there inside, and that Doug had asked us to come get them. Abby was greeted with a shotgun barrel out of a window. I guess Lindsey didn’t quite believe her. Kudos to the other three for not lighting that house up when they saw that barrel poke out into the sunlight. At the range she was at, there was little chance Abby would’ve been hurt badly with the spread of a shotgun blast and all, but shit, if I saw someone point a gun at Abby, holy shit it is fucking curtains for them. Game fucking over.
Abby spoke to them about why they were there, and from what Gilbert said, she fucking told them exactly what happened. Dream story and all. I’m not sure if that helped, but after a tense half hour, the barrel disappeared, and Lindsey let Abby and Patty inside so they could talk.
When they left this morning, we loaded the truck up with some canned food, some water, a little bit of hygiene shit, and some clothes we thought would work for them. The mother and daughter brought the stuff, and they sat down with the remnants of the Manning family, and talked about what happened.
Patty said she was the one that shot Doug, and Lindsey of course cried. If she hadn’t cried, I guess that would’ve been kind of damning. However, Lindsey was thankful that Doug didn’t suffer long, and most importantly, didn’t come back to hurt anyone else. I guess there’s the silver lining in finishing off one of us if we’re going to die. We need to be mindful that we’re doing right by that person, and not the alternative.
Abby and Patty told them we had a secure facility on the outskirts of town, and that we (read, I) promised that we’d take care of them in the wake of Doug’s death, and if they were interested, we’d take them in here, or at least help them get set up somewhere safe. Lindsey said she’d have to think about it, and that’s understandable. As Gilbert said, we were the enemy yesterday. They agreed on another meeting on Park Street on the 7th at 9am. Hopefully that meeting is less awkward, and I get to go. I’m feeling better every day now, and I am optimistic that I will make that trip.
Before I forget, I want to point something out. If you haven’t already noticed, during the entire visit to Doug’s family, they didn’t encounter a single zombie. As soon as they left, Gilbert said they had contact with some stragglers. A few undead slinking out into the open from… somewhere. In the interest of not making noise and scaring the Manning family, they left those undead where they saw them, and moved out.
Mr. Journal do you think it’s odd that they didn’t see a single zombie in an area of town that we haven’t cleared yet, that people have been moving through? Were they on lunch break? Smoke break? Conspicuous in my book.
Gavin has given me a wide berth all afternoon, and all evening. He didn’t know the full story about the night of March 3rd, and the full details of the horde of undead that assaulted us that night. He saw the books after he helped us purge the campus, and he knew something strange was afoot, but the whole story was never shared with him.
I guess he asked on the way back, and Abby told him what happened that night. Well, those nights. God that blew. I’m still surprised we made it through that. Mr. Journal, there were a lot of odds stacked against us then, and it was a miracle we pulled through it.
Anyway, Gavin is obviously a little weirded out over the whole “dreams from the dead” bullshit, and he just agreed to roll with the plan today because Abby was onboard with it. He didn’t believe my story, but he was willing to go on the faith he had in Abby. Now that he’s seen that the dreams are real, I think he looks at me, and wants to ask me if I’m a wizard. Or Nostradamus. Or if the Devil and I have some kind of ‘agreement.’
Either way, he was definitely strange around me. I’ll have to adjust to that I think. I can’t change that my dreams are visited by the dead. I can’t alter that for some reason I’m involved with whatever it is that’s going on. I don’t like being the center of attention. I don’t want to be the weird guy that everyone thinks is crazy.
I just wish I knew what the hell was happening.
If I’m lucky, I’ll have another dream one of these nights.