Adrian was shot in the back of the head, right at the base of the skull, from what I saw. The bullet didn’t come out either, so it is still inside his head or neck right now. I think at least. I wasn’t digging my fingers around in the hole, if you know what I mean. There was so much blood. I remember so clearly how he was on the green grass in the middle of the orchard, surrounded by red apples. They surrounded him like huge drops of blood. Surreal. Adrian kept coughing up blood as his eyes rolled up into his head over and over. His face and throat were almost black from bruising. He was in and out of it the entire ride back to school. At one point, with Mallory clutching his hand and sobbing like I was, he rolled his head over to me, and in complete seriousness, totally in control of himself, he said two sentences to me:
“Otis is my homeboy Abby. Keep writing…” He laid his head down on the little pillow on the stretcher in the HRT, and that was it. He hasn’t said anything else or opened his eyes since then. He’s been out of it. Not gone, but going.
His words made no sense. None whatsoever. No idea what the hell he was talking about. We both thought he was delirious with pain, or whatever. It wasn’t until late that night sitting around his little bed with Caleb Sophie Mallory and tiny Adam in Doc Lindsey’s little clinic in that fricking administration building I hate so much that Mallory turned to me and was like, “Abby, I think I know what he meant.”
We got up and left everyone behind, which was a lot of folks. People were clustered around outside waiting to see if he’d make it. It seemed at the time that everyone was either crying, or holding on to someone who was. Almost like one of those vigils for the dying or something. It was weird. Almost religious. I dunno how to describe it. I think you just had to be there.
Mallory and I booked it to Hall E, and we went into their room. Sitting on the small bed stand on Adrian’s side of the bed was a laptop. This laptop. Perched on top of the damn computer was Otis, and I swear he was waiting for us. As soon as we both walked in he perked up, and his tail started swishing back and forth. Now I knew he’d been writing in it off and on for a long time, which was all good and all, but this is silly. Oh shit yeah so we open the computer, and it’s locked, and I type in Otis is my homeboy, and viola, the shit unlocks. It took me a bit to look through the files to make heads or tails of this, and once I did, it hit me like a ton of bricks. There are like 200+ files on here just from his diary!
He’s got spreadsheets and shit too. Maps he’s drawn and scanned in, plus just random files of notes and notes and notes he’s been making. I never gave him the credit he was due. He’s such a smart guy, always thinking. It’s funny to say that though, because he still has a huge temper. Hard to think that a guy with such a rage issue can be so smart and calculating.
Horrifying when I think about it. I can’t imagine anything more frightening than Adrian mad at me. I’ve been reading about all the crap that went down with the Westfield folks at the school. I never really put that Sean guy’s face on it until reading Adrian’s writings. Funny that Adrian was so focused on taking that one guy out. It scares me to think what Adrian could be like when he wants blood. I’ll never forget his face the day we were attacked by the people at the farm.
When the Devil has bad dreams, he’s dreaming of Adrian.
Reading all this stuff makes me miss Gilbert. Like, a lot. He was like dad #2 for me after my real dad died. I haven’t gotten to that part of his diary yet. I’m about to read it. I just know I’ll be a wreck when I read it. Sobby and shit like a little girl. Gotta be strong Abigail. Gotta be strong. For Adrian. For everyone that relies on Adrian. Gotta do this. Positive mental attitude.
Oh, the second big thing I can clearly remember is when we were loading and dealing with Adrian in the orchard, Chris was bleeding out right nearby. I went over to him, and the only thing that stopped me from caving his fricking head in was Martin. Martin grabbed my arm as gently as he could and calmed me for a second. Good thing too.
Martin went to Chris and knelt on the grass so he could talk to him. Chris was bleeding a really dark red blood out of his side onto the grass, and had coughed up a thick clot of blood on his own cheek. Not gonna lie, but it felt good to know he was getting what he deserved after shooting Adrian.
Martin asked him one question, and the answer Chris gave will sit with me until I am old and gray. Martin asked him, “Chris, why the hell did you shoot Adrian?”
Chris coughed again, and launched another thick wad of mucous and blood onto his chest. He cracked a creepy smile, and stuttered his answer, “Ha. Heh heh. You said it Martin, fucking fools. (he coughed again) The Devil’s won already, we’re just slowing down the after party. I did it for the Devil you fucks. Adrian was one of the last things preventing the Lacuna from taking everything over.” (this is about what he said, I don’t remember the exact words)
Martin looked back to me like he’d heard the rantings of a madman. I think the expression on my face told him what I’d also heard didn’t seem like fiction. We’ve known Adrian was special for a long time. Gavin, my man, my love, died to make sure Adrian didn’t, and I swore to Adrian I’d do the same. Gavin knew Adrian was special, and now Martin did.
Martin looked back to Chris, and without missing a beat, punched him in the face so hard I heard his jaw break. Sounded like sticks of celery being snapped. Chris’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he was dead within seconds. Martin stood, and we all left the orchard.
Some of us have returned there already to retrieve the fruit we left behind that day, but I didn’t go. Adrian was right. Well, Adrian was mostly right:
The garden was safe for the rest of us. I’m sorry. Orchard. The orchard was safe for the rest of us.
I plan on writing here in his journal until he takes back over from me, or he dies. If he dies, I will take over permanently, and write until I die. Hopefully he doesn’t die, because I love him so much, and we need him so badly. People are already starting to unravel without his presence here. No one has his charisma, his pull, his authority. Mike is close… but it isn’t the same.
Mike is coming back from Gavin’s tower tomorrow. He will hopefully keep things on track while we figure out whether or not we are going to lose our beloved leader.
After reading all of Adrian’s writings, I felt like it was important that I share things about him he hasn’t shared about himself here. I don’t want to get into the slightly creepy habit of writing to this fictional “Mr. Journal” character, but I do feel like it is easier when I think that I am writing to someone. Who exactly I am writing to I haven’t figured out yet, but when I do, I will let you know.
So here’s an amusing fact about Adrian: he says “huh?” a lot. His hearing is fucked from concerts and gunfire, so unless you speak clearly to him, he is always asking folks to repeat themselves. Sometimes I think he asks us to repeat ourselves to give himself extra time to think before he answers, which is something he’d do.
He’s clever like that.
I miss him.
Abby
October 11th
Christ. He’s fricking observant.
I hate how he pretty much knows most of what I’m thinking, most of the time. Sometimes he’s off a little, but really, when I start to think about what I was really thinking when he was writing some stuff down, he’s pretty much right. I always thought men were idiots.
Well they are. But some are less of an idiot than others. I don’t get it with Adrian. I really don’t. How is it he can know so much of how my mom and I are feeling at any given time, but he was entirely fricking senseless with how into him Mallory was?
Strange fella. I’m also really weirded out reading about his dreams. It’s like, validation and stuff. I can envision a crazy person telling us crap to convince us that they are hearing and seeing things, but when I read in this diary, and he talks about his dreams, and all his doubts about them, and how he questions them, and how confused and scared he is, it’s like reading the truth. I don’t know how else to say it. He mi
ght lie to us to our faces, but his vulnerability here in the diary about it tells me he’s been honest and truthful.
That kinda scares me. It scares me to think that he’s really a conduit to the dead. They speak to him. They really do. Reading about how Gavin wanted me to know that he loved me and still wanted me to move on really shook me. Like, sobbing like a little girl shook me. I felt like my own special brand of dildo to be honest. A cute little vibrating pink one. Perhaps with a cute Hello Kitty on the side of it.
An adorable dildo that’s occasionally awkward, and sometimes really useful to have around. I’d like to think of myself as just that. Kind of cute, occasionally awkward, but useful to have around for the most part. I’d like that to go on my headstone when I’m dead:
“Here lies Abigail Williams, an adorable pink Hello Kitty dildo of a girl, that was only occasionally awkward, and mostly useful.”
I’d like that. Remind me to leave a note for someone to have that put on my headstone.
One thing about Adrian that I never realized was how on top of things he really is. I can’t tell you how little I knew about what was going on here on a daily basis until I read this diary. How he found the time to get all his own stuff done, then keep tabs on all of us and all our projects, as well as all the issues that come from just being alive here, as well as get sleep, write in this fricking diary and get laid periodically is just crazy! How he slept is a mystery to me. I wish I could hire a private detective to figure it all out. I need a van, a lesbian with glasses, a large dog, a stoner, a poindexter with a neckerchief, and a stuck up college chick to get it done.
It’s just silly to think he got all this done on a daily basis.
How is he not crazy? He’s visited so much violence on so many people you’d think he’d be sitting on a mountain of guilt. I mean, I know he has expressed feelings of worry, and stuff like did I do the right thing and all that jazz, but you read about so many like, war veterans and stuff going crazy over it all, and I would just expect him to be the same way. I know for awhile he was acting a little kooky, which was probably him working out some issues, but he should be hella crazy by now. Like, ”stirring pudding in the tub with his junk while wearing a leopard print leotard," crazy. I know I’ve lost a lot of sleep over shooting people, even the dead ones, but it doesn’t seem to bother him like it did my mom and I. I guess you get used to it.
Now there’s a scary thought. I am not cool with being okay to hurt and murder. I think if that happens, I’d just be a different kind of monster, just like the zeds we’re dealing with.
Alright. Enough small talk. I wanted to talk about the things that I think Adrian would want documented here other than just my feelings and whatnot. He seems to have spent a lot of time and resources keeping this Mr. Journal character in the know on all the different projects everyone has going on, and how things were going on all the fronts. Lots of irons in the fire, if you get my drift.
First item on the agenda is the whore factory. The club on the other side of the city is doing reasonably well. They are still tits deep in skanks, and surrounded by a lot of zeds, according to the update Mike got from them last night over the radio. We’ve had some early morning rain most days so they are doing good on water, which I know Adrian was super worried about. I remember back when the guys at Westfield were getting water from us and how much Adrian bitched about that. As soon as I heard about skanktown’s water sitch, I just knew Adrian would be bitching up a storm. I guess it’ll be another sitch where we need to get them in h2o or they’ll go dry on us.
And let’s face it, no one likes a dry skank. Have I mentioned that I don't like strippers at all? That they debase the female form for monetary gain, all the while tantalizing men with a product they can never have?
So yeah they are still putting zeds down there after our huge cowboy and Indian gunfight when we went in for Mike and Blake. Too much noise I’d bet. Whenever we make a lot of noise it always seems to draw them in. They must walk for miles to collapse in on us. They’re like the little sands inside an hourglass, constantly moving towards the center, trying to bury us. It blows.
I checked in with Mike after the radio from whoreville and he says we have no plan to visit them any time soon. They are still safe, and can manage the number of zeds quietly without our assistance for the moment. They kind of said that they were in a good spot, and they’ve got food and water for the meantime, so they don’t need us making a trip there. Who knows, if we went there to help, we’d probably make so much noise helping we’d bring even more in on top of them after we left. It’s better to let them swim on their own for the moment. We’re only like an hour and a half away or so, so if things get really bad for the sluts, we can make it there to help them pretty quick.
Second item on the agenda is how things are at MGR. Mike and mom came back the other day to help shore up everyone here. Things are kinda sketchy with Adrian laid up in the clinic with Blake. Lots of folks are… what’s the word? Lethargic? Things aren’t the same without the big guy roving around making sure all the crap that needs to get done, gets done. Folks just listen him. They don’t listen to me, or Martin, or Caleb, or Ollie, or anyone else like they did him. Folks just… toe his line.
Enough of the folks here listen to Mike that he can fill in for Adrian. Within an hour things were more back to normal with him on campus. People were doing what they had to be doing, instead of sulking outside the damn clinic, waiting for Adrian to sit up alive like the second fricking coming. Which frankly, wouldn’t surprise me in the least. If anyone is going to shake off getting shot in the neck, it’s him.
So with Mike and Mom here, Alex and George have relocated to Gavin’s tower for the meantime. Both of them are decent shots, and they were more than willing to get out and experience life in a different place, even if only for a little bit. They’ll be there for a week, then come back here and switch out with Martin and his wife. Their little boy Chester will stay back here while they are gone for a few days. Hopefully things will go back to normal, and Mike and Mom will be able to return to Gavin’s tower quickly. It’s weird that I want them to leave after freaking my shit when Mom moved there with Mike. I’m glad Mom is happy, I just wish she’d spent more time talking with me about it. I know it’s her life and stuff, but I just wish she’d talked to me earlier about it. I kinda felt like the only girl sitting alone at the dance that day. Talk about a shitty feeling.
Third item on the agenda is the man himself. I am not a doctor, nor do I play one in this diary. I know pretty much dick about medicine. I can put a band aid on if I have to. I know how to use hydrogen peroxide. So please be aware that what I write here is possibly wrong.
After talking with Lindsey, she’s saying that Adrian has a bullet in his neck, and it is lodged somewhere bad. She’s not entirely sure what to do at this point, but she says she’s fairly sure that if they leave him be for a few more days, his wound will heal up some and he’ll stabilize enough that she can go in and remove the bullet. She’s fairly sure that the bullet is restricting the blood flow to his brain, and is part of why he’s still in a coma. Some of us said that if his brain is not getting enough blood, we’re risking he’ll turn into a vegetable, but I guess Lindsey has some kind of machine that tests brainwaves or something, and she’s saying his brain is fully functional, or what passes for fully functional for Adrian. So for now, Adrian is not turning slowly into a turnip.
If she can operate and get that bullet out, his chances for a full recovery are very good. So she says. I think the phrase is “famous last words.”
I said already that folks are very put out by Adrian’s condition. His entire family has remained at his side since we got back from the orchard, and most of the folks here are lethargic (there’s that word again), worried about him. Hell, I know I spend almost all of my day thinking about him, wishing he’d get back up and be a smart assed dick again.
I don’t think we appreciated him and all he did enough. Wow. I don’t like the tone of t
hat sentence. Far too post-mortem for my tastes. I don’t think we appreciate him, and all he does enough. He makes us realize what we need to do to survive, he does what we can’t or won't do, and at the end of the day, he has always put his life on the line for the people here. Now that he isn’t up and about doing all those things, it seems like we’ve lost our crutch. Now we’re struggling to figure out how to do all this without him motivating us, and making us feel safer.
What’s the quote Adrian says? We sleep well at night because rough men stand ready to do harm on those who would hurt us? Or something to that effect. I really understand that now. The only reason I’ve slept many a night is because I knew Adrian was there for me, and that if anything did happen, he was there to protect me. I know this sounds clichéd, but he is our guardian angel in almost every sense of the word. I think his halo is a little rusty, and crooked, but it’s there.
The barn is done, I think. I know Adrian was sweating bullets over heating it during the winter, but Ollie says it’ll be just fine with the body heat of the animals and stuff. That’s one less thing we need to worry about.
I checked on food and water, and we’re fine. I don’t know why I checked on water. We live next to a fricking lake. Not the brightest cookie in the shed, am I?
Oh, James was kind enough to shoot a deer today. Huge one too. I forget how much he thought it weighed, but the penis party on campus said it was a ten or twelve pointer, or some nonsense. Before all this I wouldn’t touch deer meat with a ten foot pole, but now, I attack it like a cake. Who knew Bambi was so delicious? Why do I sound like Adrian? I guess I'm trying to write like he wrote. Keep it consistent. He’s such a shit influence.
Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 7): The Trinity Page 14