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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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