While that was going on, we unloaded all the parts and gear into the maintenance garage down the hill, which Blake has now completely taken over as his own. That’s fine. He needs the space to work on our vehicles, it’s largely unused, and will work out well. We do need to address his ongoing power issues though. It’s too far to run cables, and for the moment he’s doing the work up here near Hall B, which is scaring the living shit out of the chickens. It’s bad enough that the zombies tried to eat them when we were under siege the other day. Poor fucking poultry. Ooh. I think we’re about to get some new chickens. What’re they called? Baby chickens? Chicklings? Hatchlings? Chicklits? Drawing a frigging blank. Oh well. Senility strikes again. I think I misplaced my false teeth too.
Heh.
So that was yesterday. Today was back to the grind (sort of) as Blake took the backhoe out of duty to get the repairs needed on it done. Luckily we’d dug the trench way out in advance yesterday, so in all reality, the only part of the job we skimped on today was the part where we push the earth up behind the wall to form the reinforcing berm. Once the earth is packed back into the trench to firm up the logs, they stand fine on their own. The back wall is for projectiles, and making sure someone can’t drive a truck through the thing. Good fucking luck with that. Where it’s largely finished, it’s tough as hell and solid as a five foot thick brick wall.
Ollie wanted to get cracking on a set of double gates. Sturdy, heavy duty bastards. One gate will be on the opposite side of the bridge, and the other on the campus side. We’ll set it up so we only open one gate at a time, creating a kill box. We can use it as a trade area if need be. Mainly we want the two gates so if someone rams the first, they’ll get caught on the bridge, where there’s no fucking cover, and we can light them up. God forbid we get the guard towers built and equipped with LMGs. Don’t know where we’d find them, but if we do, we’d be golden.
Not much else going on. Fields are good, food is good, everyone is still healing well, spirits are slowly rising, campus has been entirely devoid of undead, and I haven’t been bitten in the crotch by any giant dogs, or shot in the chest in some time. I am starting to get the itch though. That special itch. I think I need to get Mallory back here sometime soon so I can scratch the hell out of it.
Awwww yeah.
Of course I haven’t seen her in some time. Maybe I need to get a haircut. I can feel the hair on the side of the ‘hawk growing in, so maybe I am due after all. Reasons to get myself to Westfield +1.
Not much to report for things coming up. I do kind of want to head back downtown to that large apartment building to see what’s up there. There are no good reasons for those undead to be at the base near that huge ass trash pile unless something is attracting them there. There has to be people up there, and I am wondering if they are trapped, or need assistance. I guess if they were bad off, they would’ve signaled for us when we were at the auto parts store, but who the fuck knows?
More fence building, crop growing, gate building, vehicle modificating, and the same old, same old in the upcoming days. With any luck, more construction equipment will fall from the sky. I can’t recall seeing anything big around town, even at the construction sites we’ve visited. Our luck, right? Sigh.
Peace out Mr. Journal.
-Adrian
June 8
th
(2
nd
entry)
I woke up about twenty minutes ago because Otis was trying to get under the sheets with me. He was pawing at the top of the top sheet like a dog trying to bury a bone. I tried to push him off the bed three times but he was pretty damn adamant about getting under with me. I pissed, took a late night dry crap, and for some reason I powered this bitch on. The generators are all off in the building, and it's quiet and dark. The only light is coming from this screen.
Something that's been weighing on me heavy is the day that Gavin died. The married couple as well, the one with the kid named Tucker that was shot so badly he couldn’t walk. I haven't asked Mike how he's doing. I wonder if he can walk now? I find it's bad that I can't remember their names right now. I remember the husband's name is Larry. Was Larry.
We were eating and drinking outside near Hall B, celebrating the first meet with Pastor Adams from The Farm, and more or less officially bringing the… fuck what was their last name? Edwards. I had to look it up.
Larry, Candace, and Tucker Edwards.
My memory is messed up on it, but I want to say it was late afternoon. Or mid afternoon. I can't say for sure it would appear. The kids were frolicking, music was playing, we had moose meat on the grill, fresh food had been prepared, and we had just pulled a Ford Explorer up from one of the parking lots to give to Larry and Candace. They were beyond excited. Laughing and clapping and hugging everyone. Tears were flowing, smiles were everywhere.
We'd established a rotation for bridge security. Every fifteen minutes one of us would walk over to the bridge, cover it for anything coming across, and then we'd switch out. That way we'd miss just short bits of the party, and everyone could have fun.
Gavin had just taken over for Abby on the bridge. She'd come back, bouncing and smiling, a little bit of naughty on her face. I bet she'd stolen a kiss as they switched out. Most of Gavin's fifteen minute shift had gone by when we heard a single shot. It was the sound of an AR or M4, which wasn't too surprising. By then we were all carrying them for security, and a single shot wasn't uncommon. I remember my weapon was sitting on a picnic table, the magazine out of it in case a kid touched it. I'd just sat it down to pick up Madison and give her a toss in the air. I stopped, sat the kid down and looked over my shoulder. Hall B's main entrance faces the back of the Cafeteria, so obviously I saw nothing. I heard three more shots in pretty rapid succession and that's when we thought something far more serious was up.
On my belt I had a walkie, and I unclipped it and sent a transmission out for Gavin. I asked him, "Gavin you need help over there?" I gave him about ten seconds to respond, and it was about two seconds longer than I should've.
Whoever shot the next shot on their team was either gifted, or lucky. Larry caught a slug straight through center mass, right at the base of the sternum. Something heavy too, not a 5.56, but something like a.30-30, or bigger. Larry let slip a gurgle and a gasp as his smile disappeared.
I'll never forget the look on his face as he dropped to his knees and fell face forward on the lawn. I was facing the Hall when that first shot went down, and for whatever reason I looked over at Candace first. She started screaming and ran over to Larry, but that bought her a round to the chest as well. Not center, but close enough that when she hit the ground, she didn't move again.
My brain put two and two together real quick and saw that the front of the Hall had an impact hole where her through and through hit. Based on where she was, and where the bullet hit, I did the geometry and figured that the shooter was near the north corner of the cafeteria. My M4 was at least four feet away, and I knew I had no time at all.
I drew my Glock and spun, shooting before I even saw a target. I wasn't trying to hit anything, I was just trying to get bullets out. They got off a few more shots, but mercifully none hit me. I saw a guy leaning out from the corner of the cafeteria, I saw the muzzle flashes from his gun. It sounded different than the first two shots. I figured it was a second shooter. I got my front post up, Glock kicking and walked my pistol over his location as I dropped to a knee, then to my stomach. He doubled over as I heard the crack of a bullet whizzing by my head. Almost bought it. Someone yelped in pain from the bullet that was meant for me. A woman. I later learned it was Melissa.
The man on the corner doubled over as I emptied my magazine into him. I say that and it sounds badass, but the reality is only one or two of my rounds hit him at most. By the time I was prone, I was dropping my mag and fishing for the spare on my belt. Abby had dove behind the porch and when she heard me returning fire, she managed to take cover and start putting suppressing fire out. It wasn't accurate, but we already know it's about making them duck, not killing them outright.
I belly crawled low under the picnic table my M4 was on as a handful of rounds hit the wood and the Hall behind it. Luckily there was a low garden retaining wall in front of the lawn, and they didn't have an angle on me. I was able to reach up and grab the gun sling, and with a tug, the M4 fell onto my chest, and I was in business.
A magazine slapped in, a round chambered, and the safety off, I was putting a heavier volume of fire out within seconds. Between Abby and I, we got their heads down enough for Patty, Blake and Gilbert to get into the fight, and that was the end of it. Sixty seconds from their first bullet to their last. When they stopped shooting, I took a better position behind a larger part of the retaining wall and hollered out for the others to check the wounded. Heavy suppressing fire was coming from the direction of the bridge. It sounded like spray and pray bullshit, not disciplined fire at a target or area. I tried to count the shots, but multiple weapons were firing at the same time. Shotguns and pistols as well as the higher pitched cracks of ARs. I heard a few branches snap from an errant round near Hall B, but nothing came close to us.
I didn't look back once, but I knew it was bad based only on the noises people were making. The first voice I heard was Melissa, and the second Ollie. Melissa had been shot (twice, as you probably know by now) ad Ollie was losing his mind over it. Tucker was down, Larry was dead, and Candace was face down and dying. Gilbert and Abby were moving from casualty to casualty to assess them quickly. Only Gilbert really knew what he was doing, and I focused on his voice.
"Dead. Dying. She'll be alright. Stable but fucked up. Adrian go. Find Gavin."
I didn't even hesitate. I told Blake to stay behind and give cover, and I told Abby to be on my ass, and I started to swing wide around the south side of the cafeteria, using the corner as cover. As we walked slowly, Abby tried to walkie Gavin, but he didn't answer. She tried again as we got around the edge of the building, and that's when I saw the four wheelers pulling away from the far side of the bridge. There was a substantial amount of blood running from the corners of the cafeteria, so I knew I'd hit someone. What was worst though, was the body. Gavin was on his face in the grass near the primary classroom building, near Hall A. I could tell it was him because he'd worn a Denver Broncos jersey that day instead of his BDUs. With them riding away, we moved slowly towards him. I was afraid they'd left a few shooters behind to snap at us, but they didn't.
By the time we'd made our way to where Gavin was, Abby was a blubbering mess, barely able to hold her weapon up. I crouched near him, and could hear his labored breathing, and see him clutching at his midsection. The motherfuckers couldn't even give him a clean death. His weapons were missing too. I checked for head injuries, and we got him rolled over. Once I was sure he was able to breathe and move, I grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him over to the Hall A porch, into strong cover should something bad happen. That took a full on minute or two. I got his shirt off with Abby's help, and even though I was primarily keeping my eyes up looking for more threats, I could see he'd taken at least two to the abdomen. It didn't take a long examination to realize he had small penetration wounds that matched up spot on with a 5.56 round.
Seeing Abby's face was what did it. I felt this roiling, bubbling feeling come up from down deep, and my face turned hot. I remember this one moment where I looked down at my left hand on the front of the M4, and it was red and sticky with someone's blood, and I kept thinking to myself, "How did I let this happen? How could I be so stupid?"
Then I heard a large engine trudge near the bridge and cut off. It sounded throaty, with a little rattle and whine. A diesel for sure. A big old one. I told Abby she was on her own for a minute, and I left Hall A's porch at a full sprint. I slowed and rounded the corner of the office building at a slow walk, my weapon up and immediately on the chests of two women. You now know them to be Angela and Amanda. Across the bridge I saw they had a deuce and a half. I remember feeling shocked to see one. In the front of the truck I could see a teenage boy, and a little kid. I couldn't tell if it was a boy or girl.
I threatened them proper, and they dropped their one gun. A shotgun. Within a few seconds of questioning them I knew they weren't part of the attacking force, and I my mind instantly went elsewhere. It went back to Gavin, and the Edwards people, and Melissa. I knew we had just a small amount of time to get them medical aid in Westfield. We had to get them to Lisa.
I left the women. I knew with the kids present they wouldn't try shit. Too much at stake.
Gavin died on the way to Westfield just after telling Abby about the dream he'd had regarding me, and by the time I made it back to Hall B Candace was dead too. Tucker was a crippled orphan with a jellied hip. Lindsey was screaming and shaking, holding her decapitated baby girl. I've never seen so much blood, or tears as a result of it. Maybe I'm remembering it worse than it was, but I doubt it.
Sigh. I've talked enough. I think those that died that day deserved more of an explanation as to what happened. Maybe they'll find more peace with this recorded here Mr. Journal.
Or maybe I will. I'm tired now. Depressed too. Gonna hit the rack, and get back to it tomorrow.
-Adrian
June 10
th
Sleeping better since my late night confessional the other day. That's good. What's also good is we're making some hella progress on the wall. We are now going in the opposite direction from the bridge, wrapping in front of Hall A and towards E. The soil on that side of the bridge is heavily filled with rocks and debris though, and if we didn’t have the backhoe to dig, we’d be fucked.