His soot covered face was filled with relief as his men came to him. “Holy shit I thought you were all dead. Has anyone seen Mary anywhere?”
The three men rolled around on the grass, trying to catch their breath. They looked horrified, exhausted, and relieved simultaneously. Hector shook his head sadly, and responded to Mike, “No man. She was on the roof pulling guard. I don’t know how she could’ve gotten down through all that.”
“What about Lisa? Any of you guys seen her yet?” Mike asked.
They all shook their heads in the negative. James winced.
“Fuck. Alright. We need to figure out who made it out, and what people managed to get out of the damn place. It’s a fucking wreck, the entire place is a fucking wreck. We need to get the hell out of here, and get over to Bastion tomorrow. Fuck this hole.” Mike punched the grass between his legs in frustration.
The four soldiers sat there for a long time before they gathered themselves, and took the situation over. It was dawn when they realized the full extent of the fire’s devastation, and how deep their losses ran.
*****
As the sun reached its zenith in the blue sky above them, Mike stood on the hood of one of the humvees his men had been using since the end of the world just over a year prior. He looked out over the gathered mass of what remained of the city of Westfield. One year had passed, and now all that was left behind was a scant twenty-six people.
From ten thousand, to twenty six, in a single year. The names of the dead ran through his mind as he looked out over the crowd that waited for him to tell them what was happening, and what would happen. He knew Lisa had died. Mary too. Tucker, the teenager from Adrian’s town with the bad hip had died. Vicky was dead, as was Sarah, Siobhan, Lisa, Stacy, Carole, Shannon, and her son Alan. The new mother Megan had died along with her infant daughter Allison. Most of the newest folks had died too. It was enough to break any heart.
Mike wanted to weep but he couldn’t. Instead, he told the people what was happening.
“The school is a total loss. We can’t stay here, so we need to leave. I am moving to ALPA to join up with Adrian’s people. They have food, shelter, fresh water, and space for quite a few of us. I know some of you still don’t care for him after the bullshit that went down with Sean over the winter, and some of you don’t know him at all, but I’m saying his place is the last bastion. It’s the safest place that’s close to us that we can all live at. We don’t all need to go to the same place, but we can’t stay here.
Hector, James, and I are going, and we’re taking the humvees, and a fair share of the food and supplies that we’ve saved. Everyone will get an even split of the stuff we have no matter what. Obviously, if we all go together, we can take more stuff to one location, and use it to grease the wheels to make sure we are welcomed in with wide, open arms when we arrive.
We are leaving in two hours. We will make sure everyone knows how to get there in the event that you haven’t made your decision in the meantime. You can join us later. If you choose to leave and go your own way, please find Hector, James, or myself, and we’ll get you your ration of the supplies, and we’ll get you set up to go your own way.”
Mike took the crowd's reaction in, examining the worried faces of the people. Just last night these people had their lives figured out, if only for a moment in time, and now, everything was dashed on the rocks again. Mike took a deep breath, and asked the one question he didn’t want to ask, “Does anyone have any questions for me?”
The crowd erupted with their questions, and Mike braced himself to answer every single one of them as honestly as possible.
*****
In the back of one of the humvees the tall man slowly drifted into a comfortable dream. He had successfully completed his first task—guilt free—and was on his way to completing the second. As he slipped into the welcome darkness, he felt his body become surrounded by the familiar and welcome coldness of the dark place. The taste of power entered his mouth, caressing his tongue. It was the flavor of copper, the richness of blood. Vitae. Not long after that, he heard The Voice speak to him.
“Nearly perfectly executed. Now all that remains is to move to the home of the evil one, and see to it that his life is brought to an end,” The Voice said with satisfaction.
“How do I do that?” The tall man asked into the darkness of the insubstantial void.
“Earn his trust. Show him you are valuable. Then when you see the moment, you may strike him down. Once he is dead, you shall be made immortal for all time, and reign as the King of All Men for the remainder of humanity’s time on Earth.”
The Tall Man felt a rush through his whole body, head to toe. “I thank you for this opportunity. It is an honor to serve a power as great as you, and be given a reward so substantial as well,” The Tall Man said into the darkness. His honest conviction wasn’t entirely there though. He served only to benefit himself. He wondered if The Voice knew.
“Indeed. Not long now until you are rewarded fully.”
“Not long now.”
July 15th
You gotta be fucking kidding me. I don’t even know where to begin with this, but the moral of this motherfucking story, is that Westfield ate shit last night.
It burnt damn near flat according to Mike, and that’s just not cool. A lot of people are dead. Mike is thinking it was intentional too, which means there is or was someone on the inside of that place that’s up to no fucking good.
Hard to believe this, but Lisa is dead. Mike said she had gone up stairs to try and get some of the people out of their rooms but she never came out. I hope she had a quick, painless death. She was good woman, and she deserved that at the very least. I’m scared now though. She was our more qualified medical person, and the two women she’s been training are pale reflections of what she knew and could do. Melissa is due in autumn, and the last thing we need is a baby coming into the world with damn near zilch for medical personnel to help.
Fuck.
Mike arrived today with the water truck, all three of his remaining humvees, a few pickups, a semi loaded with supplies, as well as one of the huge military tow truck rigs. Unreal. What’s more impressive, is that out of the sixty odd people living in Westfield, only 26 survived the fire.
He came today with just twenty four people. Just twenty four. Get this fucking factoid: Of the twenty four, seven of them are under sixteen years of age. I think Mike said the headcount was fifteen women, and nine men. One of them is a baby.
We just got them settled into the various dorms across campus, and luckily, there were enough beds and enough bedding to get them all more or less comfortable. We’re now full up in Hall A, B, and C. I won’t let them into Hall E with the important shit until I know what’s up with them fully. Trust is now an issue.
Mallory ran straight into my bedroom when she arrived here earlier. She didn’t say a word to me all evening as we got everyone and everything checked in and made relatively comfortable. It wasn’t until I came up here to retire for the night that she even interacted with me at all. She was on her back on the bed, half asleep, and I got on top of the bed next to her, and she rolled over, and put her arm on my back. She pulled me into her, and we stayed just like that until she fell asleep.
Whatever happened over there really scared her. Once she was fully asleep I slipped out from under her arm, and started to write this.
I’m tired. It’s been a long fucking afternoon and evening, and I was tired from all the work we did yesterday before that. I’ll be trying to put some notes up tomorrow if I can find the time and energy.
Fuck.
-Adrian
July 16th
A full day of talking to all the survivors has more or less ruined my optimism about life, and survival in general. I can’t believe how many people are fucking dead.
Thirty six people died in Westfield the other night. Thirty fucking six. That’s so many fucking people. Many of them I knew fairly well too, which is a fact that sits oddly wi
th me. Most of them weren’t friends, but anytime someone you know passes on, it seems there’s this fucked up thought process you always go through where you try and figure out just how you feel about their death.
I’ve been doing a lot of that today. Do I cry about him? Do I cry about her? Should I be angry right now? Because I am.
Remember when I visited the school to try and get laid Mr. Journal? Remember all those girls that were sitting in the cafeteria that day? The ones that were pretty much all hitting on me?
They’re all fucking dead. All of them. To a one. I don’t even remember their names right now, but I can sure as shit remember their faces. I can clearly recall how they sat there talking to me now, and how oblivious I was to their advances. I feel like shit strangely. I sort of wished I’d slept with them, at least one of them before they died. I feel like I could’ve made at least one of them a little happier.
Is that weird? It feels weird to say. It just seems like a waste to me in the moment.
Lisa is dead. That just pisses me off. I liked her. She was good people. She was a good leader, better than me by a long shot. We’re also sorely going to miss her medical skills. She had two trainees that have received almost eight months of training under her, but they’re not anywhere near as well trained as she was, and they’re green. Rookie green, and scared to do their jobs. I’m sure for minor stuff they’ll excel. It’s the big things that scare me now.
Tucker’s dead. Remember him Mr. Journal? Larry and Candace’s kid from the trailer near The Farm? The one who took a few rounds to the hip when the preacher attacked us, and stayed in Westfield to get medical help from Lisa? Yeah he died. Whole fucking family is wiped out now. What a frigging waste.
Megan Clough? Remember that name Mr. Journal? She’s the girl who slept with Sean, and gave birth to Sean’s daughter Allison? Both are dead. I want to say that’s karma in full effect, or maybe even say something vindictive like, “That’s what she gets for fucking Sean,” but the reality is… It’s a dead mom, with a dead baby, and my heart is just fucking broken over it. I’ve got no hatred left for Sean. His daughter deserved a chance, and Megan deserved a chance, and now they’re dead. Redemption left unearned.
It’s a fucking shame.
Of all the folks who did survive, Chad did. Imagine that. Sean’s asshole buddy makes it through like a fucking beacon of shittiness. I hate to say this, but he’s actually been really cool since he arrived. Very helpful, and doing a good job of keeping the folks here on track, and productive. Some folks are really struggling with the loss of life, and others are just freaking out over the displacement. He’s been a champ, and I guess he doesn’t deserve me shit-talking him.
Hector, Mike, and James the three guardsman all survived. I guess LaFrenz and his girlfriend took off north to get away from all this. I hope he does okay. He was a little weird, and a little quiet, but he struck me as a good man. I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for him.
Mallory made it, but you already knew that.
The kid Chris also made it. The rugged nerdy one. I guess he was the one who helped fix the generator. I’m glad he made it, he’s a good shit. I can identify with his role in life. He did get his arm pretty fucked up though. I guess he was hit by a zombie that was on fire, and he’s got a scorch mark that looks conspicuously like he was attacked with flaming bat.
I guess that seals the deal on the whole zombies on fire thing eh?
Zombies: bad.
Zombies on fire: worse.
Few of the folks I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned the names of too. Like I said, there are a lot of fucking kids here now. Insane. I hope we can keep them safe. I guess the bright side of all this is that we have tripled our labor force.
We have also tripled our food needs. From what Mike said, Lenny has agreed to allow us to relocate his cattle as well as his chickens here so we can get milk, eggs, and chicken meat on the regular. That’ll be coming in a few days. When he can harvest his crops, he’ll be shipping most of it here. He has stayed behind on his farm, where I’m betting he’ll spend his last days. He’s a good man. Right now he’s alone though, and I’m hoping we can convince at least two or three people into going back there to live with, or live near him. Safety in numbers… and it also gets a few people out of here that we don’t have to worry about feeding.
We need to ration food starting immediately. Scary thought.
Tomorrow we are taking a day off to continue to get folks settled in and acclimated to the campus. It’s a huge place with a lot of buildings with locked doors, and everyone needs a full tour to know where to find what, and what the damn rules are. I'll be needing to hand out new key rings to people, and that means keeping a better tab on who can access where.
Speaking of rules, we’re having a meeting tomorrow morning to establish community guidelines. We need very specific instructions on what folks can do and where to do it, and what the expectations are of living here. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, and everyone MUST contribute. We cannot afford to harbor people who do not carry a fair share of the load of labor. If you can’t provide us with something, you need to leave, and provide yourself with everything on your own. Everyone carries their weight, or as much of it as they can.
Sorry.
The day after tomorrow we’re tentatively planning a return to Westfield to hit a garage there that Hector has stocked up with spare parts, as well as what remained behind at Mike’s unit’s armory. He’s saying he got almost all the ammunition out of the school before the fire, and he says that there is quite a bit of useful gear back at the armory. Spare weapons, parts, tools, vests, boots, blah blah blah. Really a treasure trove for everyone.
It’s funny to think that water runs are now a thing of the past, and that all these people will now be living here, or living near here. It’s weird that there are so many more people here. I don’t even know the names of most of them. It’s kind of scary, especially considering that Mike is certain that someone set that fucking fire.
If they’re here, I hope I have some pretty awesome dreams so that folks can point out who the fuck did it. The last thing we need is for buildings to start burning down around here, or whatever could be worse than that.
I shudder to think.
I’m so torn. I’m happy for new people, but this is a lot of fucking people. I’m also sad because I lost friends, and the world lost people that matter, and that could’ve really helped us rebuild, or at least move on.
Life sucks man.
-Adrian
July 18th
Lots of tension here.
Trying to keep it all under wraps has proved to be a very difficult task. We’ve had arguments and small fights here almost constantly since everyone arrived, and it has made for an awkward campus. Everyone has frayed nerves. We’re all on each other’s case about shit that we can handle, but don’t seem to have the patience to wait and deal with.
We’ve broken up into two groups. Well more accurately, we’re still two separate groups. The ALPAN people, and the Westfield folks. The old guard is angry the new folks are taking up space, eating our food, and using our shit. The new folks are pissed off they’ve been transplanted, and their friends and family members have been killed. The peace is fragile right now, and I am really hoping I don’t have to break up any more fights or settle any more arguments. The next person who gives me the hairy eyeball after I tell them how things work here is getting their fucking teeth punched down their throat. I’m fed up with having my authority questioned.
This is MY home. These people are here because of the work I did, with the people who were here because I LET them come here.
God I’m pissy. Legit at the end of my good nature. I am really pretty close to decking someone. Mike pulled me aside earlier when we were over in Westfield at Hector’s garage and told me I needed to take a deep breath and simmer down. I damn near put his teeth out. I’m just so sick of all this bullshit. I’m fed up with assholes, and death, and fucking zo
mbies. We frigging practically waded through undead over in Westfield this morning to get back to the school. No one had the foggiest idea where they came from.
Granted, some were burnt to a crisp, which likely means they came out of the school over there, but there were a lot of pristine (and I use that term very fucking loosely) undead just milling about. We wound up putting down something like sixty undead just to clear space to get to the garage. Clearing the armory was easier, but not by much.
Alright, details I suppose are the order of the day at this point.
Yesterday we gave tours, assessed skills, and tried to meet everyone. I don’t remember all their names. It’s just not happening. I don’t think I have room in my fucking skull for the names of new people. I’m afraid now that if I learn their names, I’ll get close to them, and then they’ll die, and I’ll feel much worse about it. I’d rather keep them at arm’s length, and anonymous, so when and if they do leave or die, I have remained detached.
Is that fucked up?
Yesterday while we gave tours and whatnot Martin led a small crew of volunteers to get some of the wall done. I think he had three people with him, and they managed about ten feet of wall. Not much to celebrate, but wall is wall, and every foot counts. I’m really hoping we can get some of these people working on the wall with us in a hurry. An extra six or seven bodies would basically double our work force, and that’d shave a LOT of time off the project as a whole. Right now the priority is relocating everything back from Westfield to here.
Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 6): In the Arms of Family Page 11