I decided to go inspect my propane kit (that had almost been the death of me twice already) to see if I could put it to good use now that we had no power. I was sure one or more of the stupid components in the thing would probably blow up in my face as soon as I turned it on. It seemed determined to kill me.
I watched Albert stalk past the garage and heard him go over the back fence. My throat tightened up. I couldn’t believe he was going to go try to rescue some little girl who may or may not even exist, based on some scumbag’s bragging. He had no evidence, no plan, no idea who or where she was. I stood there in the garage, dumbfounded by Albert’s stupidity.
I went into the house, retrieved my carbine and gear and went after him. But by the time I got over the fence and on to the next street, the truck and Albert were gone.
I spent the first hour kicking myself for not stopping him. I spent the next hour and a half cursing Albert, his linage, his stupidity, and even his lack of fashion sense. I was worried sick, and I was angry with myself for not being a decent friend. I knew he was going to go but did nothing about it.
I busied myself with hauling my stove out of the kitchen and behind my garage with a refrigerator dolly. I set up the propane stove on its stand and put it where my old stove was. I hooked up the cylinder and fired it up. It worked and didn’t kill me. What more could I ask for? I tried to read the instructions for the propane generator but found myself distracted, listening for Albert’s return. Chloe seemed to sense that something was wrong with me and stayed close by, trying to comfort me.
I heard several undead moaning as they passed up my street, wandering aimlessly looking for their next meal. Out of frustration, I went out to confront them but they were out of sight by the time I got to the front yard.
The skies darkened and it began to rain again. My mood darkened as well. I tried to inventory our new supplies but stopped when I found myself absently doing the math for one person instead of two. I sat down at the kitchen table and stared at the M-1 carbine Albert had been using for almost a minute before I realized that Albert had left unarmed. Panic gripped me.
What the hell was he thinking? I felt sick.
At around 4 p.m. I heard a noise coming from the back yard. Chloe growled menacingly and I armed myself and went to investigate. As I stepped outside, I saw Albert lowering himself off the fence. He was hauling a large duffle bag. He stopped in front of the garage and stared at me, his eyes blinking behind his thick glasses. I lowered my weapon. Without a word, he opened the garage and began unloading his bag.
I can’t even describe the relief I felt at seeing him. I went into the garage to talk to him but he ignored me. I wanted to hug him and kick him at the same time. I noticed a crowbar stained with blood sitting on my workbench. It hadn’t been there before. Albert laid out what looked like engine parts on the floor. He pulled out a 12-volt battery and wiring and began to tinker with it.
“I put a new battery in the truck and left an emergency battery charger in the bed.” he said, over his shoulder.
I guess he had made a run to an auto parts store. I told him that I was worried that he had gone to the biker’s wrecking yard. He stopped what he was doing and turned to face me.
“I’m going, and I don’t need your permission.” he said, simply. I looked at him for a long minute. He held my gaze stoically.
“Fine,” I began. “But if we’re going to do this, we’re not going to be stupid about it. We recon it first, and gather as much intel as we can.”
Albert’s eyes welled up with tears. He nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand.
“Don’t say anything,” I said. “You’ll just make me want to punch you.” Albert smiled.
We spent the rest of the day working on our own projects. I cut several sections of two-inch diameter PVC pipe, making them seven inches in length. Then, following Paul Miller’s recipe from his book on explosives, I mixed up a low-grade explosive called Bangor. With cannon fuse (Ken had given me a supply of it when I was at his surplus store) and disposable lighters, I built six improvised pipe bombs. I went out to the garage to go check on Albert.
He had built a fuel transfer pump using an electric pump, a 12-volt battery, hoses, and a cigarette lighter adapter. He explained that we would be able to pump gas from any gas station storage tank with this. Albert had also acquired several hand pump siphons for tank-to-tank transfer. We could use one for water as well, if we didn’t contaminate it.
I’m pretty impressed with Albert. He’s not the pudgy, inept guy I thought he was. When I asked him how he knew about all this stuff, he told me that he used to work part-time as an electrical repairman. Go figure.
Tonight we made plans to recon the biker’s hangout. I asked Albert why he left the M-1 carbine when he went out this afternoon. He told me that it wasn’t his property. Albert’s a funny guy. He doesn’t have any problems with stealing food from his fellow Mormons, or supplies from an auto parts store, but he won’t borrow a car or a gun from someone without permission.
I told him he was welcome to use the M-1, but that it’s a little loud, even with the suppressor on it. I also mentioned that he was a terrible shot and that we didn’t have enough .30 carbine ammo for him to get proficient with the weapon.
I went into my room and brought out my Ruger 10/22 with a suppressor on it. I handed it to him and told him it was a gift and that he now owned it. I also gave him my Glock 23 service weapon. He stammered and apologized, saying he didn’t have anything to give me in return.
“It’s not Christmas, dumbass. I just need to know that you’ll always be armed from now on.” I said.
We talked about approaching targets, room clearing, and all the other skills we had learned in our security patrol classes a lifetime ago. I wanted to make sure we would be able to look out for each other if we had to.
What we’re planning to do definitely goes to the top of my list of stupidest things I’ve done over the last three weeks.
DAY 22
Today was fairly uneventful, although we did learn a lot.
We took my Yukon out about 5:30 a.m. this morning and drove with the lights off all the way up to Sylmar.
Albert knew exactly where the biker’s lair was. Although dozens of undead chased after our vehicle during the trip we managed to avoid them and get away without incident. We found an abandoned tire store about two blocks away from the wrecking yard and after securing the area, went up onto the roof to observe our target.
The yard itself takes up almost an entire city block. It is surrounded by a ten-foot-high fence covered in most places with sheets of corrugated metal. There is a guard tower next to the reinforced main gate.
I counted one large single-story building on the grounds, another building that looks like a repair garage, and about a dozen shacks and trailers spread throughout the compound. Piles of wrecked cars and scrap metal take up a good section of the property near the back. They have a crane, two bulldozers, forklifts, and a fleet of choppers and trucks on the grounds as well as two gas pumps and an enormous above ground propane tank.
Albert and I drew maps* of the yard and marked all the possible access points we might be able to enter the grounds from (most of these are near the back of the lot).
There was no activity inside their compound, although there were almost 100 undead milling about the front gate. Through my binoculars, I could see speakers mounted on the top of the front entrance. I could hear tinny heavy metal music echoing off the buildings. They were attracting the creatures on purpose. The residents of the yard didn’t begin stirring until around 10:40am.
A biker appeared up in the guard tower to the left of the main entrance and looked down at the undead clawing and pounding at the gate. He lit a cigarette and proceeded to urinate all over the creatures below. This agitated the things to no end. The pissing biker left for about ten minutes then reappeared with several companions.
The bikers in the tower had hauled up buckets of some liquid and poured it all over the undead congregating below. They took their time and made sure to douse all of them. After some debate, one of them grabbed something out of the pissing biker’s hand, and after a moment threw the object down at the creatures below.
There was a moment where nothing seemed to happen, then several undead burst into flames. The rest around them caught fire within moments, and all of them burned fiercely. The undead thrashed about for several minutes, and then one by one dropped to the ground, scorched to cinders.
The bikers seemed to take great pleasure in this and left the guard tower, presumably to go celebrate. Inside the compound, more people began moving about. All morning Albert and I observed their movements and compared notes.
There are over fifty people residing there, possibly more. Most of them are male, but there are some women who seem to be there of their own free will. Everyone seems to have free access to all of the buildings except one; the main building.
The main entrance to that building is locked at all times, and while they do not have a guard posted, it is obviously a secured area. Only three people came and went from there and each one had to unlock the door with a key before entering.
Nothing really noteworthy happened until 1:05 p.m.. Albert and I had just finished eating when a commotion in the compound got our attention. Someone started one of the bulldozers and after letting it idle for a few minutes, put it in gear and drove it toward the main entrance.
The main gate opened and the bulldozer went through. It lowered its blade and pushed the burnt remains of undead out into the street, clearing the path to the main entrance.
The noise generated from the machine attracted dozens of creatures. They came running out of nowhere. The bikers gathered in the towers and gunned the Infected down. It was Albert who noticed the man shackled to a length of chain behind the bulldozer, being forced to follow in the dozer’s path.
Two Infected tackled the man and tore into him. After a moment of this, the driver of the dozer stood up and shot the two creatures dead. The chained man got up, obviously injured, but still alive. Through the binoculars I could see he was bleeding in several places. The bikers thought this was hilarious. We could hear their laughter.
“They’re barbarians.” Albert growled.
I glanced at him and saw that he was seething with anger. I didn’t know how to respond so I went back to observing them, trying not to get emotionally involved. We needed to keep this strictly business if we planned on getting in and out of there alive.
The Bulldozer drove back into the compound dragging the chained man behind it. The gates closed, leaving twenty or so undead to pound on the walls uselessly. I don’t know what became of the chained man, but he is obviously infected now.
At 2:20 p.m., a group of about thirty men started up their motorcycles and trucks. Several bikers mounted the tower and proceeded to gun down the dozen infected still milling about outside the gate.
The gates opened and the bikers and their convoy rolled out of the compound, headed south down the street. They passed within a block of our position so we laid low until they were gone. The timing coincides with the time we saw them at the Bishop’s storehouse the other day.
We left our position and made our way north on foot up an alley. I wanted to get a closer look at the backside of their compound where all the wrecked cars and scrap was, as this seems like it will be our best entry point.
It took us twenty minutes of slow, quiet movement to get to our destination. We encountered three infected on our way and had to dispatch them quietly. We left the alley and cut between two buildings.
We emerged to find the northeast (back) corner of the complex right across the street from us. We spent another five minutes scanning the area with binoculars looking for any surveillance cameras or guards. Satisfied, we walked the back perimeter of the yard looking for a way in.
Albert pointed to a telephone pole almost right up against the compound’s fence and I scaled up it. When I had climbed level with the top of the fence I cautiously peered over. The gap between the pole and the fence itself was only four feet, but there was no way down the other side. From my vantage point I noted the easiest path through the wrecked cars to the main building (which is the most likely place they would keep any prisoners).
As I scanned the other buildings outside the compound, looking for a decent staging area, something in the third floor window of an office complex nearby caught my eye. It was a person just standing there staring back at me. The shock almost made me lose my grip and fall. My first thought was that it was a lookout for the wrecking yard. If that was the case, we were screwed.
The person continued to stare, unmoving. I scrambled down the pole as fast as I could. I hit the ground, and looked up. The person clawed and pounded at the window and then disappeared from view. It was a plague victim. Thank God.
It was time to find a way in. I examined the corrugated metal on the fence and discovered that it is being held on with bolts and large washers. I am going to have to cut along the edge of the sheeting eight feet up and then four feet over. It will be noisy and we’re going to need a ladder.
There was nothing more we could learn here so we made our way back to the tire store and back up on the roof. The people in the compound moved listlessly about. I was still trying to figure out how we were going to get into the main building (with the lock on the entry door) when I noticed someone on the roof of that building fiddling with an antenna.
“How the hell did he get up there?” I asked out loud.
Albert looked at me and I pointed to the guy on the roof. Albert shifted his binoculars and looked at him. He shrugged his shoulders. We watched as the guy adjusted the antenna and then spoke into a walkie-talkie. We couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. The important thing to note is that they have wireless communication. That could be a problem if we are discovered by anyone.