Having said that, Amanda’s strong suit is not shooting in close quarters. She was marginally useful at best, missing at least two thirds of her shots, and after an hour of clearing rooms, she was deaf as hell. Fortunately, she wasn’t involved too much in the fighting. We were done shortly after that.
Oh yeah shit. Gilbert took a fucking ricochet off something in the fucking leg. One of his reloads too ironically, which gave us both a laugh. Gilbert kept going on and on how “appropriate” it was that all his hard work was biting him in the ass. That guy is too funny. It was nice to have him in the fight though. He’s such a calming, steady influence in the shit. He's always on point, focused, listening, and just awesome. I wish he was fifteen years younger so we could really make some fucking progress. He and I Mr. Journal, we could tear shit up.
Also, I’m happy to report that Gilbert’s reloads were the hotness. They worked amazingly and without flaw in the M15’s, but I had a few misfires in the M4. Hector shot clean until he went out of commission, but all in all, for a relative noob doing reloads, Gilbert did us a solid. If he can continue with that kind of quality work ongoing, I’ve got total confidence in his skill.
So. It took us what? Two full hours to clear just the fifth floor the other day? It took us eight full hours to do the bottom two. What a soup sandwich. The injuries really started the toe pushing for us because we had to hit up the fucking minor leagues to fill out the roster. Once again I was missing Gavin like a motherfucker. He, Abby and I were a fucking clearing machine. We would’ve pulled Patty up from the ground to lend a hand, but she was our most experienced and mobile shooter on the outside, and if we were hit by survivors, or a huge pack of undead, we couldn’t risk her not being there to help the gimp squad we’d sent down.
I mean all in all it was a resounding success. Minor injuries that were easily dealt with, and now, officially, we own that fucking place. When we were on the roof exiting yesterday it was Gilbert, Amanda, Angela and I and we stopped to take in the view. The weather has been spectacular. Sunny, high 70s, no humidity, and just fucking awesome. It was a wonderful way to cap it all off, after we all got done emptying our fucking guts out. At least this time I was smart enough to not eat anything right before heading in. Mostly dry heaves for me.
Anyway, Amanda and Angela were sitting on a solar panel array catching some fresh air and downing some water and Amanda turned to Gilbert and I and asked a neat question. I’m really glad she asked it. “What’s this place called?”
“I have no idea. I’m sure there’s a name on the side of the building downstairs,” I said back to her.
Angela piped up after a few seconds of thinking, “We should rip that off, and give it a name that means something to us.”
Gilbert and I exchanged looks and nodded. It was a good idea. After a few minutes of careful deliberation, we settled on a name that made a lot of us happy. The apartment building shall be known henceforth as the McGreevy-Russell Outpost. Or MGR for short. Named after two fallen men. Two good fallen men.
Abby, Danny Jr., and Angela were pleased beyond measure, and I know the rest of us were all happy. It was a nice way to pay homage to our fallen, and because both of the men were fighters who gave their lives protecting others, it made sense to name a place we were going to use as an observation/security outpost after them.
I’m really happy with this. Of course now I’m wondering if we should rename the school? After all, if we are starting a whole new world here it might make sense to start naming things in meaningful ways to us. Of course that also seems arrogant to me, but I guess we can talk about it at a later date. There’s no need to rush this shit.
Today… a day of rest. Everyone who was hurt put their collective feet up, and we started to formulate a plan to get the hydroponics shit out of MGR. We don’t want to break the welds on the bottom floor doors, and that means we either go out the balconies, or we go off the roof. I’m thinking we do the balconies after getting the plants out somehow. Zach and Ryan have been talking to Gilbert for hours now trying to figure this operation out.
Gilbert has some herculean patience. Watching him talk to those two is a lot like watching a math teacher trying to explain geometry to snails. Somehow, he has managed to glean intelligence somewhere in their heads, and I think with gentle guidance, those two will be very useful for us. At the very least, if I can plug them into making a full hydro set up for us, and getting them to maintain it ongoing and teach others how to help them… then they’re both worth their weight in whatever drug they want. Ooooo… huge idea. I need to seriously lock down our medications. I do not want those two assholes getting the bright idea to break into our closet and help themselves to painkillers or whatever it is they might want.
Honestly, I should’ve done that a long time ago anyway. I suddenly feel very lazy for not having done this crap already.
Alright, so. Tomorrow we are taking the day off again. It’s June 23rd tomorrow, and I think we all need to sit here, locked inside campus and just… hope to fucking God nothing happens. We’re all partially convinced the world will shit the bed on us after midnight (again), and honestly, I am leaning towards that being a pretty solid reality. Getting pwned is a way of life for us.
Gilbert just sent a radio out asking for Abby to come over his place. I wonder what’s up with that. I hope his leg is okay. It didn’t seem like a bad wound, but at his age, anything could go south in a hurry. Maybe he’s planning something special for the one year anniversary of the end of the world for us and doesn’t want to let us all in on it? Clever guy that one.
Mallory is fast asleep. No poontang for me tonight. Otis is sleeping in between my legs right now, and he’s happy as a pig in shit. Cooler weather, back on the bed with me, and things have been nice and quiet. Things are good for the kitty cat.
Day after tomorrow we’re heading back to MGR to get the hydro shit out. Once that’s set up, we can look into expanding it, and continuing our work on finishing the security shit here. It should go much fucking faster now that we’ve got Martin, Julie, Alex, George, Zach and Ryan here to help. They’re all fucking stoked to lend a hand, and frankly, I’m fucking stoked to have them here.
Kinda cool. Feels like a real community here suddenly. Kids are playing, our wall is making everyone feel safer, we’ve got good food, good times, and we’re all very much stable in how things are going forward. It’s almost like we’ve kind of reached that tipping point where we’ve got shit handled enough that there’s some kind of reliable normalcy.
I know, I know. Jinx much?
-Adrian
A Traitor’s Death
Gilbert sat his pen down on top of the sheet of white lined paper on the dining room table in front of him. He had taken the past thirty minutes to write down very specific instructions for Abby about what to do after his death later. There were things they didn't know, and he made sure everything important was communicated. Gilbert decided tonight was the night. It was June 22nd, and there was no way he’d make it through another night’s sleep after crossing the Devil. Last night had been Hell on Earth in his nightmare, and he knew in his soul if he went to bed tonight, he’d never wake up. He felt it was fitting as well if he could wait until just after midnight, and take his long walk on the one year anniversary of his wife’s death.
Better to beat the Devil on his own terms, than succumb to the web of lies he’d spun for himself. He was nearly suffocating under the weight of it all. Gilbert sat at the table and looked at the small police walkie resting in front of him. The small radios had become their lifelines since they’d found them at the police station. They’d hit the button, call for help, and within minutes someone would be there to lend a life saving hand. It’d be the last time he made a call on it when he picked it up, and it would start into motion events that couldn’t be undone.
Commit. Commit. Commit.
Gilbert reached out and picked up the walkie. He gently depressed the rubber call button and said his final, fateful radio me
ssage, “Hey Abigail, can you come to my place for a few minutes? I need a hand with something.”
A moment later little Abby responded, “Uh, yeah. Gimme fifteen minutes Gilbert.”
And with that, Gilbert’s fate was sealed. He had made his decision.
*****
Gilbert was instructed by The Voice in his nightmare to tamper with the ammunition Adrian had asked him to reload in their armory. When Adrian and his people went inside the apartment building downtown to clear it of undead, their weapons would malfunction, and they would likely have died. A single misfire at the wrong time could spell disaster.
Gilbert had made his choice. He’d spent far too long fighting half a battle against evil, trying to save his and his beloved wife’s soul. Either he did one, or he did the other. Trying to save his wife’s soul and interfere with The Voice had gotten him nothing but heartache, a soul full of dark lies and deceit, and a lifetime’s worth of guilt that only a single act of contrition could fix. He just needed the help of one eighteen year old girl to make it all happen.
And just then, she knocked on the front door of Gilbert’s home. Gilbert rose to his creaky feet and shuffled down the hallway, taking his time. There was no rush anymore. His calf had a small flesh wound in the stringy muscle which slowed him a beat, but to be honest, he knew it was the weight of his deeds causing his feet to drag. Depression was a heavy ball and chain. He undid the dead bolt and pulled the door in, revealing the tiny blonde on the other side.
“Abigail, thanks for coming so quickly.” Gilbert gave her a warm, but sad smile.
Abby caught the strange tint of emotion on his face and she narrowed her own eyes out of curiosity. “Everything okay Gilbert? You seem off. Your leg alright?”
Gilbert let the sad smile out again and looked down at the white bandage on his leg. It ached, but not as much as his heart did. “No Abby, there are far larger things on my old mind tonight. I brought you here to sit down with me, hear a story, and do me a couple of big favors. Can you do that for me tonight?”
Abby’s face slipped back into that confused expression again. “I guess Gilbert. What’s up?”
Gilbert led her back to the kitchen and took his familiar, worn seat. It was smoother than the other wooden chairs from years of sliding into and out of it. It felt comfortable, welcoming. Gilbert savored the moment in the event it was the last time he ever felt it. Abby was a good person to share his last moments with. Abby pulled out the chair beside him, favoring the foot she’d broken a toe on the day prior and sat down. Gilbert idly looked at the holster on her hip carrying her Beretta. Gilbert lamented what the world had come to. An eighteen year old girl should not need to carry a loaded gun to visit her grandfather.
Gilbert shook his head. He wasn’t her grandfather. He just wished he was. The old, tired man took a deep breath, and looked at her. Her eyes were large in the dim candle light of his home and she looked like she was ten years old. Gilbert shook his head in shame and she reached a tiny hand out to rest on his. The old man noticed it was the hand missing a middle finger. One more wound for her to deal with.
“Abby, I have not been a good man.”
Abby shook her head in disagreement. “That’s horseshit Gilbert, you’ve been a great man. You been into the Blue Label again? We all love you.”
“No drinking tonight Abigail. Tonight requires a steady hand, a clear head, and a resolute mind. You love the man you want to love. You love the man I’ve presented to you. You will not love the real me. And tonight, I’m spelling it all out for you before I die. No more lies.”
Abby pulled her hand off of Gilbert’s. She went cold faced as she assessed the seriousness of his last statement. “Die? What? Are you sick?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes I am.” Gilbert licked his lips before speaking again, “Abby, I’ve been having my own dreams,” Gilbert said quietly.
Abby perked up slightly. “Dreams like Adrian’s? Of The White Room? That’s terrific. I’m so happy someone else is experiencing them too. Did I tell you Gavin had one right before he died too-” Abby trailed off as she started to put two and two together in her head.
“Abby, I am not dreaming of The White Room. I’m dreaming of the dark place. I’m not a good man Abby. I have been in service to the darkness. The Devil has been pulling my strings since before this started, and as much as I’ve gone against him to try and do what’s right, I can’t keep doing this, and I crossed him this week and it’s the last time he’s gonna take it from me. The next time I fall asleep, I won’t wake up, and I won’t let him win like that. He may take my wife’s soul, and my soul, but I will not give him Adrian too. There’s too much at stake.” Gilbert’s jaw was firm, resolute.
A single moist corner formed in Abby’s eye. “You. You’re serving, the other side? Gilbert how could you? Why? How did this happen? What about Adrian?”
“The Devil has my wife’s soul. She didn’t die from cancer. She died a year ago tomorrow, best as I know. The Voice in the dark has been having me do things to make life more difficult for Adrian, to break him, to turn him. I’ve tried hard to fight the Devil, but I can’t anymore. I can’t let Adrian break. I can’t be a part of trying to ruin a good man. It’s getting worse Abby. The Devil’s out of patience, and he isn’t interested in corrupting Adrian anymore. He wants him dead and out of the way.” Gilbert looked her deep in the eye and let it sink in.
Abby nodded, understanding somehow. “Gavin knew Adrian was important from his dream. He died for him. He told me so. Why is Adrian so fucking important? I mean, I love him, and he's done so much good but he’s just another person, just like the rest of us.”
“Abby no he’s not. And I suspect you know it on the inside. He’s so much more than just a person now. I can’t dream of the dark place when I’m near him. It’s the only place I’m safe at night. Of course I pay for it dearly when I leave his presence, but the reality is, he’s a player in the game that’s gonna decide all of this, and we cannot let that man fail. He’s strong Abby. Stronger than any of us know, but he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t even think that. He's still letting what he did with Cassie eat him alive. He’ll lose faith in himself before we lose faith in him, and that can’t happen. As Adrian goes, as mankind goes now. I can’t be around anymore. I can’t be the Devil’s asset. I need to remove myself from this game.”
Abby’s chin trembled as her eyes overflowed. Her tiny nose wrinkled as she sniffled. “What do we do? Are you leaving? Are you going to kill yourself?”
“If I leave The Voice will take me anyway. Leaving is the coward’s way out. Plus I am a firm believer that if I kill myself, I’ll guarantee myself eternity in Hell. I need you to do me. Abby I’m sorry, but I need you to do this. It’s what I want, and it’s the right thing to do. With me dead, the Devil loses eyes and ears on Adrian, and that’s far more important than me trying to save two old souls.”
Abby shook her head vehemently against the idea. The tears spilled out of her eyes and ran into her golden hair at the top of her cheeks. Her voice cracked and trembled as she tried to speak. “No fucking way. I am not killing you. No way. Nuh uh. You can walk downtown naked before I do that. Fuck you Gilbert, I can’t shoot another person I love, even if you’ve done the work of evil. I can’t handle that.”
Gilbert smiled. “You know, you remind me of me. Telling the evil guy to fuck himself. I can see right where you’re coming from. But just like I got roped in, you will too, because you love Adrian, you love me, and you know Gavin died for him, and we both know you won’t let harm come to Adrian if you can prevent it.”
Abby snarled at him, “You don’t know shit about me and what I want! Fuck you Gilbert!” The little woman stood up, sending the wooden chair toppling. She pointed a digit at the old man in near rage. She was shaking she was so hurt and angry.
Gilbert let her simmer down before speaking again. “Abby I’ve killed men, women and children. I’ve watched villages burn, buildings blow up, and I’ve watched as my
friends have bled out between my fingers in my arms. I’ve killed dead people, I’ve shot undead children. I’ve lost a wife to the Devil, and I’ve spent countless hours in the dark place, waiting for my death to come. I’ve got nothing left inside Abigail. I’m a hollow old man. All I want now is the peace and release of death knowing I can’t be used to hurt the people left behind that I love. At least in death I can hope for redemption. One last fuck you to the Devil.”
Abby stood furious in the kitchen, looking down at the old man she held previously so high in her life. Hearing his tale of lies and deceit broke her tiny heart. It was almost too much for her. A lifetime’s heartbreak in just a year was too much for anyone to have to bear.
Her voice cracked, “I don’t wanna…” A small river of tears broke down her face as she spoke. Her little chin tightened as she sobbed uncontrollably.
Gilbert wiped his own wet eyes clear and nodded in agreement. “I know girl. I know. But Adrian’s hands can’t be bloodied with my death. He can’t kill me in anger, or that could do it. You need to do this because you know it’s the right thing to do, and because it is my burden, and my wish. I’m so sorry little girl to ask you, but this needs to happen now. I’ve got everything ready so it’s easy for you. All you gotta do is pull the trigger once, and make this old man happy.”
All Abby could muster was a half hearted nod. Gilbert pushed his chair out, and wrapped his thin arms around the girl. He leaned his head back and kissed her softly on her forehead. They cried like that for a good long time.
Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 5): Wrath Page 30