It’d be easier to try and ram the gate down. Might be safer to come at us via water, and if we’re ever attacked by real military people that’s the way they’ll do it. However, once the wall is built around the entirety of campus, we’ll be largely cured of that risk. Well, unless they hit the wall with heavy duty breaching charges, or a few anti-tank missiles, but if that’s the case, we’re going to be fucked anyway. We are not equipped to deal with people with that kind of hardware and training.
Back to the topic at hand.
After our half day of labor, we prepped up for today, and had a nice team meal. The prep work was deliberate and used as a training opportunity for the new folks. I wanted to show Angela, Amanda, Hector and Mallory how we loaded up, geared up, and prepared for a run into town. If we are going to be growing as a community over the coming weeks, months or years, then we need to make sure everyone is trained and ready to go for just about anything. Granted, some folks have different strengths than others, but when it all comes down to it, we need the Marine mentality:
Everyone is a shooter first.
Last night I slept good, but I chalk that up to Mallory using me like a sex toy. I think that woman is starved for sexual affection. By the time she’d done whatever it was she needed to do with me, I was fucking beyond exhausted. (pun not intended, but pretty frigging funny) I’m also fairly sure we kept some other folks up late, which I honestly don’t feel all that guilty about. I have needs, and I’m an adult. I also fully realize I talk about my sex life far too much, but to be fair, you are reading a man's journal, and there are few things more important to a man than his sex life. Conveniently, you'll notice I also talk about guns a lot.
We rolled out early this morning. Well not that early actually. I think it was about 10am when we drove across the bridge to head downtown. The team was myself, Hector, Amanda, Angela, Mallory, Abigail, and Gilbert. Everyone else stayed behind to pull defense, and accomplish a quick food inventory. It’s been some time since we last counted our canned foods and whatnot, and we needed a good idea of how fast we’re pissing through everything. (As it turns out, we’re doing very good at the moment.)
The trip to downtown was decent. We left in three vehicles. The deuce and a half, the HRT, and the dualie. Undead numbers were fairly mild, with one large pocket right near the pharmacy I raided back in what was it? December? Back when the damn dog bit my crotch. There was about ten of them in the intersection, and I couldn’t see any reason why they were standing there. No dead bodies on the ground, no signs of recent abnormal occurrence. Ironic statement that is, eh? What is abnormal about a bunch of undead milling about in the middle of the street? Sigh.
We haven’t gotten the full plow blade attached to the HRT yet, but that doesn’t mean it can’t ram the piss out of zombies. I hit them full bore after we’d come to a stop to observe them, and we took them all out with melee weapons once we got a little past them and it was clear they were unable to move. We dragged the bodies out of the road when we were done with them. No sense leaving unfinished business around.
The remainder of the trip to the parts place was uneventful. Almost creepy how clear it was. I am really starting to wonder if this is some form of manipulation by the powers that be. It seems every so often they either ramp up, or ramp down the undead around here to suit their whims. If they want us to struggle, then they wave their wand of evil, and a hundred zombies appear from their hiding places. If they want us to have an easy go of it, then they do the opposite. I can’t figure it out.
We parked the vehicles at the auto parts store and proceeded to ransack the remnants. We wound up completely filling the Deuce (is that a poop joke?), and putting the rest of the shit into the back of the dualie. (is that also a poop joke?) While we were packing the remains of the parts store, I stood guard, and engaged the undead milling about on the surface streets with my M4.
Now I could’ve beaten them to death. There was only ten or so, and they were spread out just about right, but I actually wanted to make noise. I wanted anyone up in that building to know that we were down here engaging hostiles, and taking them down. I know noise is generally bad, but in this instance, I felt it was worth it.
Except it didn’t do anything. No one poked their head over the upper floor balconies to see what was going on, and no one hollered, and we saw no lights. What I did see once we moved out and approached the building was evidence that people had been throwing garbage and waste over the balconies. You could see smears of yellow and brown coming off of four different, distinct balconies on the building, and with the rain we’ve had lately, there’s little chance those shit smears are that old. In fact, I could see a sheen on at least one of the smears that told me it was still wet. Down in the street where the shit and piss had landed, the smell was pungent and fresh. Someone was without doubt up there, and they were peeing, and pooping.
Which, if you’re a fucking rock star like I am, you’ll realize that means they are eating and drinking as well, which implies they have a steady source of food and water from somewhere. I don’t know where they’re growing or getting their food, but it means they aren’t starving, and they’re reasonably safe up there.
The ground floor entries are all barricaded heavily from the inside, which also says that they were able to fortify the place at some point. From the outside looking in, the two main doors on the ground level are heavy duty exterior doors, and the windows have been covered with what looks to be plate steel. Further, when we jiggled the handles on both doors, there was no give at all in the frame, which tells me the doors are either welded shut, or somehow braced from the inside to withstand serious impact. Clearly this is an industrial fortification job. Now if you recall, I saw smoke coming out of some of these balconies over the winter, which meant at least one or two of these apartments somehow caught fire at one point. It would seem that the building itself withstood the storm though, and there were enough survivors inside to continue on, apparently indefinitely. That’s assuming they aren’t slipping out somehow, and they’re actually still alive inside.
When we finally left and went home, we had no real idea what to do with that information. We have a fortified building that apparently has food and water inside, and is sustaining an unknown amount of people. Judging by the number of apartments that had shit smears on their balconies, it’s looking like as many as four balconies are occupied, and let’s make a generous estimate of as many as three people per balcony. That’s twelve bodies in there. Now I can’t say for sure there are twelve, or ten, or four people there, but there
are
people there, and they’re alive and kicking.
If they didn’t come out to contact us, then that means they either didn’t hear us shooting, or they intentionally avoided making any kind of contact with us. Deaf folks seem unlikely, and it also doesn’t strike me as realistic that they couldn’t hear all my gunfire. If they lasted this long, then they clearly have been paying attention to the world around them.
Gilbert and I have settled on the idea that they are playing dead because they’re scared, and don’t want to give up what they’ve got. How to do make contact with them? For that matter, do we even need or want to make contact with them? If they’re safe in there, and they aren’t fucking with us, why force communication? What is there to gain?
Having said all that, everyone is dying to know who the hell is in there. Is it an astrophysicist? A gardener? A chef, a baker, a candlestick maker? Curious minds want to know what’s going on. I want to know what’s going on. There HAS to be a story to hear in that building that can help us.
Gilbert and I decided with the help of some of the others that we should return to the apartment building in a couple days, and attempt more verbal communication. We’re making big signs out of laminated paper telling them who we are, and how to contact us using the safe house we set up heading out of town, and what channel they can contact us on should they have walkies themselves. We’re also going to use one of the athletic department megaphones to simply yell up at them.
I’m anticipating there being a much larger crowd of undead on our return next time. We made a lot of noise down there today, and as we’ve discovered, noise draws the pricks in. There’s a damn good chance we led a few dozen or more of the zombies right to the building’s doorstep, and I suppose if anything, we need to be responsible neighbors, and go back to trim the weeds off their sidewalk, so to speak.
Tomorrow we’re going to return to working here on campus, as things are going well. With any luck we’ll hear word from Westfield about how Blake and Kim (and possibly baby) are doing. I’d like to get the upgrades on the HRT going again, and plus I’m frankly curious to see how many horns that demon seed he’s fathering comes out with. I’m guessing five.
Mallory is downstairs right now playing cards with Abby. Those two are becoming thick like thieves, which does not bode well for old Adrian. Whenever two women get that close to one another, inevitably I will pay some kind of price. I have anticipated that I will be harassed, and/or teased by the new Team Vagina look, so I have hidden a jar of icy hot for revenge purposes.
Hopefully she’ll come back up here shortly, so I can get some stress off my chest. If not, I’ll just black out from exhaustion, and she can have her way with me.
Win/win.
-Adrian
Dream a Little Dream
Gilbert woke up in his bed, covered in a cold, clammy sweat. The warm June morning sunlight streamed into his window with the energy of a thousand candles, illuminating the soft blue paint his wife had just asked him to paint the room. New beginnings, she had said.
The old man swallowed hard and rested his head back on his damp pillow. He’d had another dream. Another nightmare. Years ago Gilbert had finally shaken the nightmares from his time as a Green Beret in Vietnam, and having to experience a whole new series of nightmares recently had him shaken to the core. These were much, much worse than his dreams of seeing dead children back in the late 60’s. These dreams were real.
They all began the same. Gilbert came to inside the dream wandering in the dark, in a cool expansive area that was neither inside, nor outside. His sense of smell was invaded by the overwhelming stench of fresh blood on the air, and even if he chose not to breathe it in, the coppery wetness sat on his tongue like sticky, bitter oil. He was scared to swallow in the dreams. Gilbert wanted nothing about the feeling he had in his throat to get any further inside him.
The first few dreams ended with him wandering in that void all alone. He’d walk on his old, creaky legs for what felt like days and then when he thought he couldn’t go any further, the sun’s rays broke through his eyelids, and he woke up sweaty, and shaking. The past few dreams had been dramatically different.
Last night’s dream had been the worst yet.
Gilbert had come to in the darkness and it was colder than before, and the air thinner. He struggled to fill his Parliament damaged lungs with desperately needed oxygen in the hostile dreamy environment. His breathing labored to the point where he had to stop moving and rest his hands on his hips, inhaling the near frigid metallic air carefully and deliberately, trying to quell his racing heart.
Then the voice spoke to him. It was unnatural, and overwhelming. It came from everywhere, but spoke only to him.
“Gilbert Donohue.”
Gilbert’s heart leaped into his chest, nearly blocking his airway, causing him to let loose a cough that freed up a thick wad of dark mucous. It dribbled down his chin. “Who the hell is that? What’s happening here dammit?”
“The end of times Gilbert Donohue. Humanity’s last stop. I am here to let you know that you play a pivotal role in deciding the matter.”
“Who the hell are you? What’s happening? Why me?”
“Your questions are to the point. It speaks to why I have chosen you for the tasks laid out ahead of you. I shall answer you thus; I am no one, and nothing. I am the devourer. I am the end. I am the force about to be set free to break humanity like a wave on the rocks at the shore. I shall turn you all inward, eradicate you from existence, and show your folly so that this life can begin anew. You have been chosen because you have skills and experience that are applicable for controlling the outcome of this.”
Gilbert looked around in the dark expanse trying to figure out where the voice came from. As the voice tapered off into silence he came to the realization that he wasn’t
hearing
the voice. He was
experiencing
it. “Why do I get the feeling I am not going to like this?”
“Because in the end Gilbert Donohue, you will die. You will die a traitor’s death as one of the men and women who will stand against humanity. Rest assured Gilbert Donohue, despite your feelings to the contrary, you will reside for eternity as a hero amongst my legions. You shall be known as my Voice, and as my Advocate here.”
Gilbert closed his eyes in the darkness and let the words sink into his soul. His stomach knotted as his mind came to a stunning conclusion. “You’re the Devil, aren’t you?”
“That is as good a name as any.”
“You seriously want me to be the Devil’s Advocate?” Gilbert shook his head in disgust.
“You ARE my Advocate. Your wishes do not factor into this equation.”
“Try me. You can’t make me do shit. I will not betray my kind, even in this fucked up dream.” Gilbert sneered into the darkness.
“Gilbert Donohue, do you love your wife?”
Gilbert’s blood ran like ice water suddenly. He could be tough forever. He’d die before he did anything for the Devil. His wife on the other hand... That’s dirty fighting. “I love my wife. You stay out of her dreams, and out of my head too you prick. I’ll square off with the Devil without thinking twice. Been there, done that you asshole.”