Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 5): Wrath (16 page)

Yes I realize I’m being an impatient shithead, but I’ve only got so much patience. Like our gasoline, it’s a resource I am running out of. I want desperately to do the right thing, but I am not perfect, and I am sick of watching nothing happen all day while other things (important things) sit idle. I’m pissy.

While Abby and I had our collective thumbs lodged securely in our assholes yesterday Gavin, Patty, Blake, and Ollie worked together to set up a special filtration system so we can clean our gasoline and diesel. I’m not sure what the hell they tried to build, but it required several trips around town, and apparently that was a little dicey. I guess the undead presence was inflamed by something, and they had to stop the trucks at one point to lay down fire to clean the road out. It hasn’t been that densely populated since STIG was around. That can’t be a good sign. Is something dragging that legion of dead in the city this way? I’m feeling guilt now over not being around on these off campus trips. Thoughts like these will keep me up at night.

No one was hurt, and apparently they figured out a way to get it done. Gilbert was adamant the system be set up here on campus and not at the garage. Blake was sort of pissy about it, but when Gilbert pointed out how silly it was to set up a complicated system not where our fuel was stored, it made sense to him. I mean shit, why drive multiple 55 gallon barrels miles away, only to process them, then drive them back? I refer back to my comment about pissing with a condom on. Doesn’t make sense. We set up the filtration dealio here, and we move the fuel by hand, not wasting time, gas, or risking attacks by the living, or the dead. Durrr.

The rest of last night was meh.

Today Mike and company arrived for their trade meeting. No Mallory. Not sure what to make of that. Also not sure what to make of the fact that I was indifferent about her not showing. I could’ve gone for sex today (shocking revelation that is, right?), and yet I’m not really broken up that she didn’t make the trip. Shrug. I’m in a shitty mood I guess. Probably best she didn’t make the trip anyway, I would’ve been an asshole, or inattentive and wound up making things worse.

Relationships. I tell ya.

Westfield is in a bad way, and officially Mike said they are potentially a few days away from asking for our help. This is not good. This is really not good. Worst case scenario not good. I probably don’t need to tell you that.
 

We saw the writing on the wall already about this, and the Westfield folks are apparently now about to pay the price for Sean’s pre winter bullshit. I guess the folks who have returned to town over there are now realizing there is no food, and the majority of the available water is typically bad. They have also figured out that Lenny’s farm is still operating, and there have been multiple daily “drive by” incidents where cars will creep down the length of the farm’s fence, and the occupants of the vehicles will peer out the windows with gaunt faces, and hungry eyes.
 

Lenny hasn’t fired on them, but he’s made a good show that he’s armed, and that if they fuck with him, he’ll blast them. However, Lenny is just one man, and he can’t watch the farm 24/7. As a result, Mike has split his forces, and now LaFrenz and that new security chick who came here before are at the farm all the time pulling security for Lenny. One is always on duty, watching to make sure things are okay.
 

Of course this leaves the school two people short for defensive purposes, and Mike is here today, which leaves them another person short. Doesn’t take Sun Tzu to clearly see they’re begging for trouble. It also explains why Mike came alone in the water truck by himself today. Not SOP. Hector can’t make the trip because he’s needed on the school roof to help keep watch. Mike said they’re desperately trying to get some of the able women trained with weapons, but practice ammo doesn’t grow on trees, and they’re worried any shooting will draw unwanted attention from the living as well as the dead. For the moment he’s training them in the gymnasium, but it’s work. None of them are taking to it quickly, and the overall sense of morale is dipping. I’m super thankful Abby and Patty are natural shooters by the way. Lucked out big time on that.

He said they might dial 911 here soon, and if they do, we are the people who pick up that phone. No hesitation, and no questions asked. That’s the least we can do for them after everything that’s gone down between our groups, as well as everything that we’ve done for each other since. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say our fates are largely shared at this point.
 

I’m scared something bad will happen.

The Farm thing has me worried, and so does this bullshit with Westfield. I’m not angry like I was over the Sean thing. This is different. I feel less justified, I don’t know how to describe it. Maybe it’s because no one I care about is dead yet. Maybe I’m only able to react, and not able to be proactive?

Fucked if I know man.
 

Mike and Lisa are putting signs up all across Westfield, and especially near the farm so that if folks are hungry and need food, they can contact the school peacefully, and get some. Of course that’ll add some strain to their food consumption, but it’s better to lose a little weight than get shot and killed over a fucking potato.
 

We all immediately agreed that if something were to happen, we go. Furthermore, Ollie asked if it would be okay if he left here to go back and stay with his dad for a bit, at least during the day. Melissa didn’t care for that one bit, but there’s a lot of sense in him doing that. If Lenny’s farm is taken by someone, then almost all of the food they have goes kaput. Then we’d need to retake it, or find another farm, or relocate the entire population of Westfield to here. If Ollie helps his dad, they get their farm up and running faster, producing more, and Ollie’s a decent shot with his rifle, and should something happen, he’s another gun immediately in the fight. It could buy them enough time to get the big guns responding, which could make a lot of difference. Fire superiority, remember? He who shoots most, usually wins the fight.

We figured it out that Ollie would go for two days, then return here for a day, and we’d reassess at that point. When Ollie returns on the 20th, we’ll know when Mike and them need to meet again. Ollie followed Mike back to Westfield earlier this evening. I only sort of saw Melissa saying good bye, and she seemed quite distraught by him going. I hope this doesn’t end badly. Ollie’s such a good guy, and the two of them really deserve some frigging happiness together. We don’t need another child growing up in this world without both of their loving parents. It’s bad enough already.

Not sure what else to say. After they all left the mood here was sullen to say the least. Gavin kept wondering aloud about how he felt bad for having moved here. He’s developing that wonderful guilt I’m so familiar with. Abby took that personally, and the two of them were bickering upstairs about it for hours. Moral dilemmas Mr. Journal. At every turn we’re all filled with doubt, guilt, and fear. Makes life so much harder.

Too little butter. Too much toast.

I don’t know what fire needs to be put out first. My guts tells me I need to deal with The Farm immediately.
We
need to deal with The Farm. We’ve got a meeting with the Edwards clan tomorrow, and if that goes well, I might approach them to give us an in to meet this Pastor Adams. He sounds an awful lot like a Jesus freak to me, but I need to get someone I trust to see the look in his face, and hear the words out of his mouth. Maybe Gilbert or Patty. If we get the heebie jeebies, and things seem bad, then I’ll feel good about taking the door, and getting those women out. If not, then I guess we’ll deal with Blake’s response and see where the cards land.

After that, maybe we can send an extra body or two back to Westfield and give them a hand putting down undead, and reintegrating the returning survivors, or putting them down, whichever becomes necessary. I’d hate to think we have to kill folks over any of this shit, but the reality is life fucking blows, relationships get pwned, and people die.

All we need now is a massive influx of undead.
 

That’d slap that icing on the cake pretty nicely.

-Adrian

Homecoming

There would be no fireworks later. Amanda missed the fireworks. The ones that were colorful in the sky at least. There were plenty of other kinds of fireworks to watch lately, but they usually revolved around gunfire, or smashing in the thick skulls of her dead neighbors. Amanda wanted her fireworks gore free.

It had been less than two weeks since the world had gone to shit, and today was July 4
^th
2010. Independence Day. Amanda’s white knuckles gripped the steering wheel of her minivan in a chokehold. She sent a glance at her two small children in the rear view mirror. Seven year old Alan and ten year old Tabitha sat in the two bucket seats of the middle row. Despite the thick hot air of early July Amanda had both of them dressed in their winter coats, and snow pants. Better bite protection from the zombies. Both of them were buckled in their seats tightly, and with the cardboard boxes taped inside the large van windows they kept their eyes fixed forward on her. It was better that they couldn’t see all the dead people walking around town. She smiled tightly at the loves of her life and wondered how her husband would fare with her parents.
 

Andrew hated her parents. To be fair, they didn’t care for him either. All of them were too matter of fact to play nice for long, and frequently their brutal honesty led to painful arguments over nothing. Family events were awkward and lasted too long, and it had hurt their marriage. They only held together because of the kids, and their mutual desire to give them a better life.

The end of the world came about on June 23
^rd
, and it had come quickly. When the first reports of the dead coming back to life started to roll in, too many people thought it was another church stunt to draw attention, or perhaps some giant, elaborate hoax. Everyone knew better now. Amanda’s neighborhood was crawling with the walking dead. She’d left a trail of them behind the minivan just twenty minutes before. Eventually they’d catch up. Nothing stopped them.

Why risk leaving their house? What was so important that she’d risk her life as well as the lives of her two young children? She was doing it for hope. The hope that her sister and her husband were still at their house on Wilbur Street, across town. Her sister Angela was married to a town cop, and she knew they’d be at their home, all sealed up and safe. She tried calling several times, but a car accident or something knocked out the phone service right after her sister said her husband was on his way home after filing the paperwork on a fatal shooting. At the time a shooting right here in town seemed shocking, but now it seemed like too little too late.

When a large Dodge van drove down her street that morning with a man shooting a pistol out the window like a cowboy on horseback, she knew it was now or never. If she drove in his wake, her and the kids had a chance. Her husband left behind, she bundled the kids up and left. As she parked the car on the side of the street in front of her sister’s home, she saw her brother in law’s cruiser in the driveway, and breathed a powerful sigh of relief. He was there.

“Come on kids! Time to see Aunt Angela and Uncle Danny!” She undid her seat belt and opened the van door after checking to see if the road was clear. She slid the nine iron from the floor of the van and hefted it. She and her husband had gotten remarkably adept at staving in the heads of the locals using golf clubs. Granted, the graphite shafts broke eventually, but there was little that could stand in the way of the head of a well swung golf club.

Tabitha helped her younger brother get free of his seatbelt as Amanda opened the slider of the van. The cardboard scraped and tore as the door glided open. She kept an eye peeled on the street to make sure none of the undead crept up on them as her kids hopped out. They instinctively reached for each other’s small hands as they ran around the van and up the steps to her sister’s large front door. As they reached the porch at the top, her brother in law’s hulking figure pulled the wide door open.

Danny McGreevy filled every open space in the door frame. He was out of his police uniform and dressed in an all black SWAT style jumpsuit. He held his hunting rifle comfortably in one hand as he scanned the street and waved her and the kids inside. The serious, worried expression on his face said everything to her. He held a lone finger at his lips instructing the kids to stay silent as he pulled the door shut behind them.
 

Amanda wrapped her arms around her sister’s bald giant and squeezed him. “Hey you. Where is Angela? Is everyone okay?”

Dan smiled painfully. “She and Junior went to my mom’s place already. It’s too dangerous here. I actually just got here to get some stuff, and try the station and Moore’s for more guns and ammo. I can’t believe how many of those people, those things are out there.”

She nodded. It was as thick as black fly season.

“Where’s Andrew?" Dan sat the rifle down on the table beside him as the kids flopped on the huge sofa.

“Back at my parent’s place. I had planned on leaving the kids with you and Angela, then going back for them, if you think you had the space for us all. We’re surrounded by so many of those things Dan. We can’t stay there much longer.” Amanda shook her head in frustration.

Dan looked to the ceiling in deep thought. After going over the merits of a few plans in his head he responded. “Tell you what. You take the kids and meet Angie at my mom and dad’s house. The road should be clear enough heading there. I’m going to hit the station, then Moore’s. When I leave there, I’ll swing by your parent’s place, get Andy and your parents, and drag everyone back to my parent’s place. Once things calm down, I’m thinking we might want to check out that private school on the west side of town.”

“How long are you going to be?” Angela looked over at her kids, both half asleep from exhaustion.