Midnight (Adrian's Undead Diary)

by Chris Philbrook

  He and Jason got the solar panels and the boxes of 5.56 out of the truck. The panels were still packed in the shipping boxes, which told me they still had a warehouse full of them to trade. I made a mental note to make sure that any trades involving just panels would be done heavily in my favor. If they aren’t using them, and they have so many left over in their warehouse, then I don’t need to give up an arm and a leg for them. Now expertise on installing them, that’s valuable.

  We got them in the back of the plow truck and that was it. We’d spent far too damn long outside in the cold already, and we knew it was getting too dangerous to stay here. He suspected they’d led an army of undead in this direction, and he wanted to get turned around and back before the horde reached here. I shook their hands, Patty shook their hands, and I think there was genuine satisfaction on all parts. Other than Brian getting steamed over the fire trucks, it went perfect.

  We agreed we’d talk every other day at 6pm, and that someone would leave the radios on at all times in the event something went wrong. We also tentatively planned that we should start doing face to face meetings once a week where we could do trades, or share a lunch, or whatever. Basically just building up solid diplomatic relations. Two kingdoms breaking bread, right?

  And that was it. We got in our plow, they got in their truck, we turned around, they turned around, and we all left. Abby followed us home, and when we got back to campus we had another mini celebration. Gilbert was positively elated we got the solar panels, and that we’d kept it civil after hearing about the argument. He patted me on the back quite a bit for keeping a level head. I wanted to snap his arms and call him a traitor, but I didn’t. I still need to figure him out.

  Gilbert and Charles decided that they were going to make us a dinner, so we went to the cafeteria and got some extra food for the occasion. Abby and I got the solar panels stored in there as well, as it seemed as good a place as any for the moment. Randy and I threw down some serious Xbox action and the two elder statesmen got us a decent meal together. It was an early dinner, but it was nice to celebrate again. Seems like we’re doing less and less celebration, and more and more arguing, bickering, and potential backstabbing. Maybe I’m just bitter. Look Mr. Journal, it’s negative Nancy again. Can’t get rid of that bitch.

  After our late lunch/early dinner meal we called it a night. I felt we had had enough socialization for the moment, and I headed back to Hall E. You know it’s weird. After getting some decent sleep I noticed I wasn’t skittish at all. I even started to think I was a weirdo for the whole watch tapping zombie thing. I mean shit, it could’ve been a complete coincidence. Spasm or something in the zombie’s hand right? Plus the zombie would have looked up when it noticed me anyway, right?

  Right?

  So for the first time in a long time I don’t know what I’m doing tomorrow, or the next day. I just redid all the fuel tanks, so that doesn’t need to be done again for a few days. I don’t have anything to do here in Hall E other than maintain my flourishing little indoor garden. I think I’m two or three weeks from some decent tomatoes, by the way.

  I am actually feeling like we should clear some more houses on Route 18. I know they are spread pretty far apart if I head west towards Westfield, and it might be a good idea to just get them clear and empty. Peace of mind, plus who knows what the hell might be in the houses. I noted earlier today that the cafeteria food supply looked pretty well beaten up, so I definitely think we need to obtain more supplies. We’re not even into February yet, and the food is looking like it might be a problem.

  The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. I could even use it as a training opportunity for Patty and Abby. They could probably stand to see how I do it in case I die. Man that’s heavy. I haven’t thought about dying in a long time. Changing the subject.

  Might do some house cleaning tomorrow. We’ll see. Plus I think I might start making detailed maps of the area so I have a better idea of what is where, so I can keep track of shit. We’ll see.

  -Adrian

  January 27th

  Busy as a beaver Mr. Journal. Feeling positive about things the last couple days. Strange eh? I guess negative Nancy got her eviction notice, and I hope that bitch doesn’t come back anytime soon.

  Yesterday morning I awoke having had no terrible dreams. Very nice. I also managed to get a solid eight hours sleep despite not taken an Ambien. Really don’t want to get addicted to those things. I wound up getting up early, like 7am or so. I took a quick campus patrol on foot with the bow again, and encountered nothing. My paranoia about zombies with watches seems to have faded with a few good night’s rest. The temperatures have gone up about 25 degrees. It was in the negatives pretty much straight for about five days, and yesterday morning it seems to have gotten more tolerable. A balmy 32 degrees the last two days.

  After checking and finding that the campus was clean of danger, I swung over to Hall A and knocked. Patty let me in and I sat down in the kitchen. They were getting together a breakfast of some form or another. Chuck’s arm looks about the same, but this break is a slow healer, so that’s to be expected. Randy was actually reading a book, which floored me. Of course it was Manga, but hey, it has words, and isn’t the Xbox.

  I asked the family if they felt like going on a jaunt with me later to check on and possibly clean out some of the houses on Route 18. Chuck had just taken a painkiller, and he was in and out so he put up no fight. Patty and Abby were both kind of on the fence, but I sold them on the fact that it’s like 30 degrees warmer outside, and that there might be food or supplies in the houses. The icing on my cake was that I wanted to take them out shooting with a new set of guns. Specifically, 9mm handguns for them. They were fucking ALL ABOUT the gunplay.

  I told them to meet me at our middle of the road shooting range in half an hour and we’d get some trigger time for them. I hoofed it back to Hall E and scraped up the two most appropriate 9mm’s for them. I grabbed that new Beretta 92F, and the Smith & Wesson 952. Decent capacity handguns with a little more stopping power than .22’s. I wanted to get them into handguns we had spare magazines for. I didn’t want them to “bite it” when they were putting bullets in an empty clip.

  I grabbed 40 rounds of 9mm and headed down to the range. The girls showed up just as I was putting up new sheets of colored construction paper for targets. We went through the same basic instructions, skipping the draw and fire one shot deal. They’re experienced enough now to just load the magazines themselves and start up. We did however work extensively on magazine swaps once the girls picked the handgun they liked. They both wanted the Beretta, but it’s a little lighter than the S&W, and plus Patty would be using the Tac .22, so she had more magazine changes available to her with that. The Beretta has three magazines, and the S&W just two. (man that was rambling as all hell. Abby got the Beretta. Patty got the S&W. Short version right there for ya.)

  They performed as I’d expected, which was very well. Once they got over the slight fear of firing a bigger gun, they were fine. Most people don’t realize there’s damn little difference in the lower calibers in terms of recoil and muzzle lift. The girls could prolly even step up to a heavier .45 soon. We’ve got spare clips for the Colt 1911’s now, and if 9mm gets really low, then we’ll think about it.

  I gave them the guns, the spare clips, and a box of 50 rounds of 9mm to load their magazines with. We agreed to meet at the plow truck at 10:30 and we’d head out to find some trouble. I got my standard load for gear, plus the 12 gauge master key in the truck. We packed into the bench seat, trucked down Auburn Lake, and dropped the plow blade to make a path to the houses we wanted to check out.

  Maybe half a mile down Route 18 headed west there was a house on the left. After that we saw four more houses within another half mile, then a pretty barren and empty stretch of road that winds its way up into the hills. That’s the direct route to Westfield, where Sean and his fuckrags came from.

  We started at the end and worked our way back in the d
irection of the gas station. The end house we started at was a raised ranch similar to the style of houses on Gilbert’s unfinished cul de sac. About two or three hundred feet down the road were two more houses, directly across the street from one another. We made a deal that we’d clear those three houses and call it a day.

  I showed the ladies how I had been clearing the houses. Park, honk, holler, wait, etc. I gotta say, having the two women handy made things go much faster. We could clear out the exterior and check windows for activity much faster for one thing. After we did our honking and noise making we checked the outside areas for movement, and checked all the windows as well. We saw nothing in the house windows, and after a few minutes to make sure, I kicked in the front door of the house. All three of us worked house clearing tactics together. I was on point with the 12 gauge, and girls came in behind me with their 9mm’s. It was nice having my back covered.

  House was a split ranch, with one big floor up a half staircase, and the basement/lower floor below. Abby held the foyer on the stairwell while Patty and I cleared the basement. All was clear there. When we returned to the stairwell, Patty took the door, and Abby and I cleared the upstairs. Fortunately, the house was empty. Freezing cold of course.

  The basement was a wreck due to the pipes bursting from the cold. I suspect we’ll be seeing a lot of that right now. Once we had the house safe, we proceeded to clear the bastard out. Of course I’d forgotten that the back of the plow was filled with snow, so as the women searched the house for supplies, I dug a shovel out of a closet in the house and shoveled the truck bed empty.

  By the time I was done, the girls were finished tossing the house. Mr. Journal, there is a downside to bringing women on house cleaning duty: They take everything. I mean everything. They took the drapes, the throw rugs, the shoes, the rubber gloves under the fucking sink they plan on using to clean out the toilets later on with, and the dish drainer. It was like they were moving, and didn’t want to leave a single thing behind.

  I literally laughed out loud as they took armload and box one after another to the truck. Just laughed. I suggested that we didn’t need to take ALL that shit right now. People wouldn’t be stealing drapes and dish drainers if they were scrounging for food and necessary supplies. Just more shit to store for the meantime on campus. Once we got all their “phat loots” loaded on the truck, we drove down the street and parked in between the next two houses.

  We knew we had trouble as soon as we got out. The house on our right was an L shaped ranch. The house across from that was an old school colonial box house. Must’ve been a hundred years old at least. It had a huge driveway with about six cars in it. When we got out of the truck we could see in the windows of both houses there was undead scratching at the windows. Two undead per house actually, and all four were beating on separate windows. We made a quick plan to take down the undead right through the windows in the ranch first, but when the girls lined up to take their shots, we heard glass breaking from behind us, and we started scrambling. I told the women to take their shots, and I’d deal with the glass situation.

  I took a quick look in the colonial’s yard from behind the hood of the truck, and saw there were two zombies stuck in the snow. They’d managed to break the ancient ass glass in the house and tumble out into the snow. Now mind you, we’ve been just shelled with snow this winter, so the snow is easily two feet deep.

  The two zombies were about 30 feet from the road, so I knew I had some time. I unslung my rifle and rested the M15 on the hood of the truck. One loud crack later one of the zombies was poofed! Into the snow and just the one was left. I put the rifle on the hood of the truck and got the sword out of the cab. I heard about four gunshots from behind me as I sat and waited for the zombie to get across the yard through the snow. Honestly, it got kinda funny when Abby and Patty came around to watch. We stood there as this emaciated old man zombie trudged one inch at a time towards us, skinny arms extended, teeth snapping away.

  Once the schleppy Methuselah was about three feet from the edge of the snow the girls back away, and with one giant ass sweep of the sword, his head got chopped in half across the bridge of the nose. Dude was so old I swear I saw dust fly from his brainpan. He went down into the snow like the first zombie.

  Here’s where it got hairy. We’d spent so much fucking time watching George Burns come at us not one of us was paying attention to the ranch behind us. A third zombie from that house had come through a broken window and made its way all the way around the truck, and it tackled Patty. She screamed bloody murder as this teenage girl zombie took her down into the snow. I wish the fucking dead people made more noise Mr. Journal. Irritating that they’re so frigging good at being sneaky.

  Patty’s a pretty tough bitch, and with Abby right there too, we managed to grab ahold of the shoulders of the zombie and yank the mother fucker off her and toss her into the snow. I had dropped the sword when we rushed to help Patty, so I went to pick it back up to finish off the zombie. When I turned to deal with the ambusher, Abby was already standing almost over it, and she put one round into the teenage girl’s forehead, executioner style.

  Hardcore kid.

  We got Patty up and other than a nasty bruise on her elbow and a shit smear in her panties, she was a-ok. Crisis averted, we decided to clear the L shaped ranch the teenage zombie had just came out of. Due to the slightly more violent situation we were extra cautious. Patty and Abby stayed behind me and I cleared the Ranch solo. It was pretty much open concept, so there were lots of clear lines of sight, and the likelihood of getting jumped was mitigated.

  I found one more zombie in a back bedroom in the ranch. I hate to say it, but it was another little kid. Judging from the size of his body, he was about five years old, and he was as skinny as a rail. Distended belly and bulging eyes too. Looked like he had starved to death a long time ago. I got to wondering how that happened, and I think his parents and sister might’ve been bit, and they locked him in the bedroom to keep him “safe.” No way of knowing. That’s one thing that pisses me off about all this. I never get any fucking answers. Just more and more questions.

  I wound up having to blast some buckshot through the door to kill the kid. He had the door barricaded and when I knocked on it, I could hear him scraping and scratching on the other side. One blast at belly button level and I’d ended his threat. Once I’d checked everything I started to head out, and just as I started to leave, I heard more gunfire from outside.

  Patty and Abby were engaging a small handful of undead coming out the windows of the colonial. I think the count was about nine zombies. I sprinted the fuck outside putting a fresh shell in the Mossberg, and announced my presence behind them. Abby and Patty were standing at the truck, using the hood for stability, and were calmly and cleanly taking their shots. Luckily (actually, smartly) Abby had been facing towards the colonial and Patty had been watching the door of the ranch. They had plenty of warning when the undead started to come out, so they were able to stay ahead of the front edge of the pack.

  I think they took about an even number of shots between the two of them, and I wound up just watching from the flank, making sure that they weren’t attacked from behind. The girls handled all nine zombies about as perfectly as you could. I was like a beaming father. Once they’d dropped them all, I waded into the snow to make sure they were all dead. Little nerve wracking to head into two foot deep snow with zombies hidden in it. However, I walked slowly, and the bodies were all successfully shot in the head.

  Definitely proud of my girls.

  Before we ransacked the ranch we cleared out the old colonial. I tell you what. Giant fucking place. Two very large floors and a full, rough stone basement. Solid twenty minutes of narrow hallways, locked doors, cobwebs, and the nasty ass smell you get when too many people try and fit into one place for too long. Judging from the dozen of undead we had, it was probably an extended family that had tried to batten down the hatches to weather the storm. God only knows what went wrong.

&nb
sp; Once everything was clear in that house, we tossed the ranch. This time I told the ladies to calm the fuck down and only take important or immediately usable shit. Not just taking shit because it was free. They didn’t listen. Not one word. Too many neat things to take, and once you teach a woman how to shoot with a 9mm, there’s no telling them anything. Sigh. Team Vagina has asserted itself.

  Oh well. I covered them from the street as they took everything out. And they took everything. I was surprised to find that despite having 10+ people in it, the colonial had a really ample supply of durable foods. In their rickety stone basement they had a lot of mason jars filled with jams and preserves that looked homemade, which was really nice. Too bad we don’t have any fucking bread to put it all on. They did have lots of soups, tuna fish, peanut butter, and spam, and all that other shit, so in terms of food, the colonial was well worth the trouble.

  The ranch had next to nothing in it worth taking. I think those people lasted some time, and they depleted everything we would want. We did get some new movies and music though, which is good for maintaining morale, and keeping our boredom in check. There were no weapons other than melee weapons, and no tools to speak of, other than a new chainsaw in the colonial’s shed. Oh, they did have a five gallon gas can with fuel in it, which was pretty cool.

  We called it a day after that, leaving the last two houses for another day. Our original plan was to hit them today, but we wound up tuckering out after we got everything back to campus and unloaded. As I said, the ladies took everything. Looked like the Beverly Hillbillies when we were coming back up the hill to campus. Abby said she wasn’t feeling well at all, and she rubbed her tummy and said she had cramps. Ruh roh. Makes me think about how many feminine hygiene products I’ve left behind. What happens when all the tampons and pads go out of date? Should we start looking for wine corks or spackle or something?