Oh, and our transplants Caroline and Roger had their baby this morning. Six and a half pound boy. I don’t remember the name. Mom and baby are well, under the circumstances.
-Adrian
May 25th
Abby’s letter roused the dragon.
Mizaki got a copy of it delivered to him by some asshole at the Factory we think, and his response was to send even more people south. Of course the clever bastard did it in a way that slipped by us.
Kind of.
He sent another six bodies to Spring Meadow to fully lock them down as his territory. Again under the thin cover of ‘securing the immigrants.’ For… ‘safety.’
He sent another four bodies to the Factory to lock that place down.
He tried to garrison five more troops and a humvee at MGR, but they turned them away with weapons in hand, and that same humvee came here, only to be turned away at the gate by Kevin and a complement of our people. This all went down with Lt. Dana holding his dick in his hand, waiting for the shit to hit the fan, and to have to take a side.
The driver of the humvee met with Michelle, and they agreed on a compromise; they’d relieve six of Lemanowicz’s men so they could go home. Michelle thought this was okay, and the switch was on.
What she didn’t clarify, was who was switching out with who. They pulled Lt. Dana and replaced him with a different officer.
Picarillo.
That meatball dragging, sauce dripping, nasty little prick is back. We were promised he was out of the equation, but now he’s back, and furthermore, that anus is inside the wall here. They didn’t send him this way without knowing exactly how I’d react when I found out. My feelings for him were crystal fucking clear.
I’m not sleeping tonight. Maybe never again. I can’t let this slide anymore. I can’t sit here and let these goddamn people muscle us around. One more switcharoo like this, or one strafing run by that helicopter, and we won’t be able to fight back ever again. It’ll be over. Bastion ceases to exist as Bastion, as what we fought to make, and it’s taken over by a bunch of expansionistic pricks that do what they want, to whoever they want. We have to take a stand, and soon. We have to.
I talked to Kevin a half hour ago. He and I are taking off at dawn to head south to Maria’s place to see if we can get some kind of aid when shit goes down. We figure it’s two hours by horse. Maybe three.
Fucking Picarillo. He smiled at me when he walked over the bridge. Smiled at me. What the fuck is it with people smiling at me? Is there something fucking funny going on I don’t know about?
No one smiles at me. Not like that they don’t.
-Adrian
May 26th
This will sound strange to you Mr. Journal, but something happened tonight that shook me more than seeing the undead return. Something worse than big old Gerald eating his band mate over at Spring Meadow.
I know I said I wouldn’t sleep, but I did. I got all my gear ready for the trip this morning with Kevin, and then slipped into bed with Michelle, exhausted. I was out before I knew it, and had dreams of my old buddy Gilbert. He and I were sitting on his porch during a beautiful summer day, rocking slowly, sipping Blue Label and watching kids I didn’t recognize run around in his front yard. I remember talking with him but don’t recall what we said to each other, but the dream felt calming. Relaxing. It was good to see him again, even if it was only in a dream.
I woke up to the sound of five or six gunshots. I opened my eyes and sat up, wired and ready to rock. Before I got my pants on I heard two or three more shots, and when I had my boots on, I could hear a full-blown firefight breaking out, and it wasn’t a hundred yards from Hall E.
The radio blew up. People at the wall and gates were trying to figure out what was going on, and the people on our guard towers were trying to get lights on the action. It was Abby’s voice that did it for me. Galvanized, is the word. Her voice galvanized me.
With less emotion than a turtle on New Year’s Day in Canada she came on and said, “The NVC just tried to kill Hal, Gavin and I.”
That’s all I needed to hear. My blood boiled, and my ability to make rational decisions cooked off. Gone the way of the dodo. I grabbed my gunfighter gear as Michelle got dressed and I went out the dorm via the side entrance near the river. Didn’t want to walk out the door and get plugged. I saw Kevin running, and I ran to catch up with him.
If what Abby said was true we had seconds before they radioed north to let them know something had happened, if they hadn’t already. I didn’t have time to grab my throat mic to try and get the PJs on it, so I knew it was up to me, and with Kevin right there, him too. I told him what we had to do, and he joined me without question. If Abby was talking on the mic, she and Gavin were safe for the moment.
We ran fast, and we ran towards the sounds of gunfire. Rifle fire from M4s or ARs, or M16s, but also the sound of a shotgun, and a handgun. At least one handgun, maybe two. Kevin and I got close, and luckily I had my NVGs on me (thank God for the failed packing to meet Maria) so I popped it down, and let the world come into focus.
The staff house the NVC guys lived in was obscured by their humvee and the Bradley APC. I could see a few lights on inside and some motion, but my main concern was making sure no one was inside the tank or humvee, or trying to get inside them. I swept the area and had Kevin come up to me to make sure no one slipped out and around to the vehicles. Gunfire kept up inside.
I went in the front door.
Several of the NVC guys were shot right there, dead as doornails. Guts blown apart by a shotgun. Gory mess, but a dead bad guy is a dead bad guy. From the crowded living room I went into the empty kitchen, then the two first floor bedrooms. Upstairs I heard more gunfire, but I secured the radio in the bedroom that Lt. Dana slept in. I grabbed the handset right off it and tucked it in my back pants pocket. We had managed to prevent them from making a broadcast.
Upstairs I heard a familiar voice begging for mercy, and then I heard another familiar voice screaming obscenities.
Jason.
The son from the junkyard. The young man who lost his family to the NVC. Or so we think. I bolted to the stairs and ran up, screaming that a friendly approached. The screaming upstairs abated some, and I moved forward down the hall towards where I heard the yelling, my M4 up and my willingness to shoot as high as could be. My hands felt like static. I could hear distant gunfire from the center of campus. I felt… a little afraid. A lot afraid.
Inside the last bedroom I saw Sharon and Jason standing over a kneeling Sergeant Rodriguez. He wore nothing more than his skivvies, and he had his hands on his head. His face was bloodied, his eyes ran with tears and he looked at me. They were going to kill him in cold blood, and I almost didn’t care.
“This fucker was there that day,” Jason blurted, his voice breaking. He clutched at a bloody smear on his jacket below the ribs. “He deserves to die.”
I needed him alive. I knew I needed him.
“We all deserve a death, Jason. I’m not so sure his needs to be right now. He’s in his underwear for Christ’s sake. Leave him be. We can get information from him. Really hurt the NVC. What do you say, Sergeant? Are you willing to work for the good guys for a change?”
“Absolutely. I’m sorry. Please let me live. I have a wife. We want kids,” Rodriguez pleaded. Snot ran down his face, mixing with the tears.
“WHAT ABOUT MY FUCKING MOM AND DAD?!” Sharon screamed at him as she raised a pistol at his face. A small automatic. Maybe a .380. Enough to pop his gourd.
“I… Picarillo did it. He went crazy when someone shot at him, and Picarillo killed them. It’s all his fault,” Rodriguez said, his mouth trembling. “I’m sorry. He’s crazy.”
The truth stopped everyone cold. Jason and Sharon’s guns both dropped down, and Rodriguez continued. He told the story of how a trade meeting went bad. How the NVC surprised them with an annexation, and it turned into bloodshed. All because Picarillo was an asshole.
The story bought him his life. I f
ound some zip ties in their gear, and we secured him. Our local radio chatter came back to life as I searched and secured the rest of the house. In each of the rooms I found at least one NVC body, in some rooms two. In doorjambs, in the bathroom on the shitter… Sharon and Jason were here first, and they gave no mercy. I don’t think I want to know how they got here so fast, armed.
All I know is that they saved us for a few minutes. Hours, it turned into.
We regrouped and locked Bastion down. I found my girl with Michelle back in Hall E with Hal, and her baby as Kevin made sure everyone was safe. I just went to her and hugged her, and kissed her, and hugged Hal, and kissed him too. I kept touching little Gavin’s head, over and over to make sure he was safe, and real. They were alive. Shaken, bloodied, but alive.
I can’t sit here and write it all down, because I just can’t. I can’t. Abby went to visit Hal with the baby late at night because Gavin was crying. I didn’t even hear him crying, that’s how hard I slept. She took the baby to his father because Hal’s good at soothing the kid, and on her way she ran into Picarillo and three of the NVC goons that rotated into the group the other day. They were armed, and heading straight to the school building.
Abby surprised them, and a panicked Picarillo told them to, ‘take her out.’
You don’t ‘take’ Abby out. Wrong fucking woman.
And you certainly don’t fucking achieve that by telling someone else to do it, while she’s armed and holding her infant son. A mama bear protecting her cubs has fuck-all on Abby, and my girl showed them exactly what I mean.
Abby drew down on the four of them before they digested Pasta’s command to kill a woman and her kid and lit ‘em up. She plugged the goons but Picarillo got to cover as she killed the assassins. She got inside the building before he could return fire. She retrieved Hal, and with him playing hold ‘em was Texas Rich. When she told them what happened, all hell broke loose. They busted out and started hunting down anyone wearing a uniform, and not a minute later Jason and Sharon were headed to the staff house where the NVC lived. They won’t admit to it, but I think they were heading up there to kill them anyway, or at least were sitting in the woods waiting for a convenient chance to have a late night hunting accident. Or about fifteen late-night hunting accidents.
I’m chalking it up to good fortune and I’m not asking any questions. If ask them anything about what they were doing, then I have to go back and talk to Kevin, and our Ginger Reaper, and Amanda and Eddie about their execution of Angela’s killers.
Abby went on the radio sometime around then, and that turned us all onto them. There were 26 NVC people here when the sun went down. Picarillo is either hiding or gone, Rodriguez is in custody, and the other 24 are gonna push up daisies after we burn their ashes.
In the gun battle, we lost three people. Texas Rich took two rounds to the chest and died. I’m really pissed about that. He was a good man. Hal reports that Rich took out two guys before checking out, and definitely saved Hal’s life. We’ll honor him appropriately, that I promise. We also lost two other people I don’t think you know about. They came from the newest wave of refugees we took in. Same group Caroline and Roger came in, and Tom, the pilot we have yet to get a helicopter for.
In addition to deaths, we had eight other people catch rounds. Quan and James both took wounds to the legs, and Ethan took a round to the left arm. Worst of all, a stray round busted a window in Hall B and Ollie caught it in the fucking gut. Ethan and Joel had to surgically repair his bowel, but say he’ll pull through. Not the best injury to suffer to the man who feeds us. He’s in rough shape from pain, but will survive. If Ollie dies…
Jesus just writing that made me start crying. I fucking love that guy. Man, Ollie. Not fucking Ollie. Not my ginger brother. What about Melissa? And their daughters? Goddamn.
The other four wounded are in the clinic under the wounded Ethan and the not-wounded Joel’s care. They are expected to survive.
For how long… Well we need to figure that out.
We have a town hall meeting in two hours, and we are figuring it out.
You know… I just remembered something Gilbert said to me in my dream. Ha. Weird. Is that an epiphany?
Right before I woke up when Abby went Dirty Harriet on their traitorous asses, Gilbert turned to me and chuckled.
I said, “What’s so funny?”
And he said back, “Time to get to work. There’s no rest for the wicked, son.”
“Ain’t nobody wicked on this porch, you old fart. And no work to do.”
“Oh, Adrian. You and I, we’re the wickedest of them all. The best of the worst, sent to do what must be done. To protect the innocence of others, I suppose. We may be righteous in what we do, but never forget; we have done horrible things in the service of trying to make a better world. It’s time for you to do some horrible things, I suspect.”
And I woke up.
I am starting to think that dream may have been a little more real than most of the others I’ve had of late.
My hands feel like static again.
-Adrian
Terrible Things in Your Name
Beneath the pervasive smells of sweat, drying blood and spent gunpowder, the cafeteria smelled of food. Rifles, pistols and shotguns that hadn’t yet been cleaned from the prior night’s mayhem coupled with the residue coating many of the men and women who had shot them made the room stink of murder, and war.
Briefed by a harried Michelle to prepare a larger lunch than usual, the cooks had put together the best meal they could on short notice and that meal fought the battle to fill the room with something pleasant for the noses of the people of Bastion. Once the nervous populace of Bastion had eaten their baked chicken reluctantly, the meeting she called began.
The rectangular tables covered in faux-wooden lamination had all been dragged to the painted concrete walls of the room and folded away when possible. Above them, faded sayings painted on the walls by teachers long dead tried to motivate hungry students that were just as likely dead. The old and young used the few tables alongside the wounded, but everyone else stood. Everyone. The entire population of Bastion (save those manning the towers and gates) and the entire population of MGR were in the cafeteria to hear what happened, and to hear what would happen next. Their bodies were stiff, their faces wracked with grief and worry. They looked to the center of the room for guidance, and hope.
At the center of it all stood their leader; Michelle Lewis. At her side was Adrian, and at their side were Kevin and his love Becky, as well as Abby and her love Harold. Becky held her and Kevin’s daughter, and Shelby clung to Kevin’s leg, trying to hide from the crowd that looked at the man that became her dad, and his friends. In Abby’s arms was their son, Gavin. She clutched the quiet little boy with the bright blue eyes close, and kissed his forehead over and over. Hal watched her and the baby with eyes filled with a father’s love, and tuned out the stares from the nervous people surrounding him.
“I’m ready,” Michelle said to Adrian.
“No, you’re not. None of us are. But that’s never stopped us before…” They shared a smile, a laugh, then a quick kiss. Adrian stood back, and whistled once. The sharp piercing noise halted the tremor in the room and brought the focus to him. He waited a moment, then stepped back and let Michelle take the stage. She spoke clearly, and without hesitation.
“I’m sure you’ve all gathered the majority of facts about what happened. Late last night we were betrayed by our supposed allies with the Northern Valley Cooperative. A small group of their soldiers attacked Abby as she held her son, as they were on their way to either capture or kill Harold.” She paused, and let everyone gasp and sigh. The sounds of shock turned after a fashion, and became angrier. She picked up before the momentum of discord grew too powerful. “As you can see, we were able to prevent them from carrying out their grisly task, though it was not without loss.
We suffered three dead last night, and eight wounded, though the men and women who took up
arms were able to defeat the NVC soldiers who were stationed here. Can we please give them a round of applause? Men, women, please step forward and let us recognize what you did for us last night.”
A group of people stepped forward into the open space as raucous applause erupted. They looked around, sheepish and embarrassed at Michelle’s request. Most slipped back into the crowd within seconds and tried to be forgotten. Jason and Sharon lingered a bit, and the look of vindication on their faces was powerful.
“But now, we are faced with the aftermath of the horrors of what happened. We may have survived the night, but now we must develop a plan to move forward, and that’s why we’re all here, today.”
“We need to negotiate,” a man called out. Adrian recognized him as Tim Board, the Vegas magician. “There’s no way we can confront them. They have tanks and helicopters.”
“We took one of their tanks last night,” Jason answered him. “And we have the Trinity here. They saved the world, they can figure this out.”
Adrian laughed out loud, and Kevin joined in.
“What?” Jason asked Adrian, the crowd watching. “Some of us traveled a very long way to be near you three. There are people here who drove through Hell from Texas to park their asses on a seat near where you eat. Some people here don’t pray to God anymore, Adrian. They pray to you guys. They may not admit it out loud, but they do. Rich did. He was afraid to say anything about it, but he did. Do you get that?”
“No, not really. There’s a lot I don’t get though. I pity the idiots who say a prayer asking for my help. I am no God. No Jesus, no Buddha. I will deliver no one from sin and if you’re looking for forgiveness too you’re barking up the wrong fucking tree. I’m just a dude trying to figure this shit out one day at a time,” Adrian said, almost scowling. “I was drafted for what happened. I didn’t enlist. There’s a big difference.”
Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 10): The Last Resort [Adrian's March, Part 2] Page 19