Don’t take me wrong; I’m not going to go out and seek it. But if it were my time to go, I’d probably embrace it. I think that the moment right before I pass away is the only time I’ll ever be able to feel any semblance of peace again. I’ve already accepted the fact that I am going to die, and I’m not afraid of it. I’m just tired of the literally constant fight to try and make a life out of these fucking scraps. Things can only go up from this state. Even if I went to hell, it probably wouldn’t be so bad; I’d never have to put up with another Iowan winter.
I went and spoke with Lisa after my talk with Dana. I found her sitting against a wall in her office. With a bottle in her hand—I don’t know where she got it from—she flipped me off the moment I walked in the door.
I asked her to explain the reasoning behind the gesture and she stated, “You took him away. Sold him to the dogs for those crazy experiments you guys were talking about the other day. Fuck you, assholes. Are you gonna do the same to me?” I tried to explain to her why it happened, but she wouldn’t listen. She was too deep in her bottle for reason.
I honestly feel pretty guilty about what happened, but I also feel like I can’t voice it to Lisa. If it wasn’t Joey, it was going to be me, and I don’t know if she would understand even if she were sober. She’s good-natured and seems to naturally want to help anyone, and in any way. She took to Joey so quickly, and in a way, I feel like she deeply cared about him. She’s the one that constantly kept up on him and made sure he was fed. He appeared to be the one thing that kept Lisa going. It was a task that got her up in the morning and fueled her will to survive. Protecting Joey meant a lot to her, and we took him away from her.
It’s pretty sad what this world does to people. It’s a bigger enemy than any other single person I’ve met. I suppose this is a given, considering that the world doesn’t just walk away into the other room. It just sucks seeing how circumstances can change a person. Branden, for example, has stiffened like a board. He used to be such a bubbly, friendly, caring guy. Now he’s judgmental behind his solitary veil. Not to mention reckless. Back in the day, he abstained from drinking because he didn’t feel responsible enough to be a father if he drank. If that doesn’t tell you he’s changed, I don’t know what could.
I have no idea about Will or Dana. I didn’t know them before the Silence, so I can’t gauge how much they have changed. I’d still imagine a fair amount, though. Especially considering that it isn’t easy for very many people to capture and subject men to the infected like Will did. It takes true grit and will to survive to do that, and then move on from it with little guilt. Dana, on the other hand, deals with his problems differently. Substance abuse is a crutch that gets him through the daily grind and his emotions. I imagine that it makes his emotions more tolerable to himself, but he doesn’t realize that he acts upon them much more when he is high.
I suppose I shouldn’t have such a negative view of the future as things, in one way of looking at them, will be getting better. Maybe the C.V.P.M. moving in and Dana leaving will be a good thing. There will be more stability here with fewer chances of random encounters. Having armed and trained men here will be nice. Hopefully, they can take care of all the infected that oftentimes roam up to the fence.
I’ll start writing down the interesting stuff now. The C.V.P.M. rolled in all high and mighty, as expected, around noon. It was only one truck, and I was surprised by how much stuff they brought. The four servicemen—yeah, Dana got his way—unloaded their stuff into the training room just off the break room. It’s a pretty good spot, considering it’s in between the main office doors and the smoking patio where it would be easy for someone to jump the fence and get inside. It’s also the room I was hiding in when I shot Bruce.
I watched from the roof as crate after crate was carried into the building. Unfortunately for my own curiosity, there was no printing of any kind on the boxes. Some were quite large and, judging by the grunting, heavy as well. What piqued my curiosity to even higher levels was that at one point, upon tripping on the parking lot curb, one of the soldiers dropped his crate. As it hit the ground, it created a clanking noise like it was full of metal parts.
I also took advantage of my aerial view from the rooftop to examine the C.V.P.M.’s gear. All of the men wore at least a pull-up bulletproof vest, while one of the men was wearing legitimate riot gear. Their firearms honestly weren’t what I was expecting. You would think they would all be wielding machine guns and have grenades hanging from their vests since that’s the stereotypical view of most modern servicemen. While they did have the protective gear, they mostly carried average firearms that I would have been able to buy before the Silence. A shotgun, a lever-action rifle (most likely of a .45-70 Government caliber, as I doubt they would shoot anything smaller, being the big shots they are), an AR-15 platform rifle, and what looks like a belt-fed machine gun of some kind. The latter is obviously from the remnants of the military.
By looking at their guns, I’ve come to the assumption that only one or two of these men, the ones with the AR style and the belt-fed, have the potential of being from the pre-Silence National Guard. The other two must be men who enlisted in the C.V.P.M. afterwards. Probably as a way to ensure that they were at least able to eat and to sleep in a secure location.
I suppose that would be a pretty decent setup, really. Food, bed, and you’d be able to help out the community by slaying those who have become infected and helping the hospital pursue their research. The only thing that would hold me back from joining is that I know what the C.V.P.M. has done with at least a few of their prisoners. Not to mention that this building is already secure and soon to be even more secure. It would be better for me to simply avoid them, however. The best path to success is to avoid complications, I think.
After they finished unloading everything into their room and locked up their truck, Dana asked one of them if his car was coming. The man replied saying that he had no idea. He was simply given his instructions: new post and the means to fulfill his new duty. He couldn’t comment in any detail about the car or his duties beyond the obvious.
I think it’s funny how the C.V.P.M. are trying to keep their sovereignty and privacy. Like most in this place, the training room doors have a large portion at the top constructed of glass. Right after they moved their stuff in, they began to paint the glass black to conceal their barracks and operations. I also heard a hand drill from the training room; I imagine that they are putting locks on the doors. From their point of view, they probably feel like they are working prison duty with a bunch of felons. So I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at these measures to seclude themselves from both our group and Casey’s.
Casey wandered toward us in the break room as we all hung out around our new guests. “Would you guys be willing to hold some stuff for us?” he asked.
“Depends on what it is,” I answered.
“I want you guys to take our ‘extra’ guns. The C.V.P.M. will probably ask us to turn them in, and I’d rather let you guys have them. I’d advise locking them in that fenced part of the building so that they don’t freak out.”
“You think they will let us do that?” I asked.
“I don’t think they know how many guns we have, anyways. As far as they’ll know, the guns are yours and you guys don’t have those kinds of restrictions.”
I let out a hum as I pondered. “I suppose so.”
I followed Casey through the produce area and clear over to the other end of the building. Inside one of the inbound offices, where Casey and his men were holed up, he gave me a large duffle bag stuffed with firearms. With the men that they lost, they do have a lot of these ‘extra’ guns. When I was locking them away, I counted three shotguns of various gauges, two rifles, and four handguns. A couple of them were in pretty good shape, too. I’ll have to ask Casey if he’d be willing to exchange a few.
After that, sure as flies on shit, the C.V.P.M. servicemen asked for Casey and Ethan. Within five minutes, they were asked to brin
g all of their firearms forward to be confiscated, painted with bright orange paint, and redistributed. Casey had to explain that he had already given his extra firearms away to us. When the C.V.P.M. came around to ask us about it, we told them that this business had been conducted the day prior. We also told them the firearms were securely locked away. They ended up accepting us having them, which is a sign that they view us as a more stable group, even with Dana’s incident with the Colonel. That’s good.
A few hours passed, and Dana was becoming anxious, spitting occasional complaints about his car not being here. Considering that was his only viable means of traversing across the country, I understand his frustration. He’s finally reached a point where he can’t wait around any longer and he has to make every attempt possible to make it to his family. I just hope that they won’t be disappointed by his newfound drug habit when he gets there. That is, if he gets there.
Lo and behold, a car did arrive. A red sun-bleached car from the late ‘90s made its way up to the parking lot. It isn’t a shock that they would give him a hunk of junk car. Rust has taken hold on its doors and undercarriage, but further inspection revealed it to have relatively low miles for such an aged car. The odometer read 154,371 miles. It’s well-used for sure, but still functioning. The serviceman that delivered the car told Dana that he had best be thankful and to take it as a gesture that the C.V.P.M. is willing to work with anyone.
Dana was ecstatic and eager to begin his journey. Almost immediately, he began planning out how long it would take him to get to California and what supplies he would need. He seemed rather optimistic, despite the obviously large challenge he was thrusting himself into. Hope, it seems, might not ever disappear from the human species, even in places and times like these.
The rest of the day was filled with an awkward distance between everyone. The C.V.P.M. stayed in their ‘embassy room,’ Casey and his men stayed in their area, and I just wandered about. It seems like, now that we have a military or a sense of law in the building, everyone is too worried to really do anything. I think everyone just wants to test the water first and see how this is all going to play out.
Day Thirteen
An Excerpt Written By Dana
Things to do:
Find some gas tanks or buckets and siphon some gas
Enough food (canned only, not at warehouse) and water to last two weeks (maybe ask the guys??)
Clean and oil guns
Road flares?
First aid kits, painkillers if possible
Can of fix-a-flat stuff and other car things
Going out here shortly to find a few things I need for the trip. Taking Branden and Chester with me. Should go fine. C.V.P.M. gave me one piece of shit car, that’s for sure. Going to have to go to extra lengths to prepare for something to go wrong with it.
——
Just got back from our scavenging trip. Went pretty well. Got a good chunk of the stuff I needed. Just need food, a little more gas, and the road flares would be nice, but oh well.
On another note, found some funky-ass zombie shit, too. Big sack thing out in one of the stores we perused through. Fucking gross. It was probably eight to ten feet in diameter, and didn’t have any facial features or limbs. I don’t know what the hell died that made that big of a bubble. Maybe a horse? I don’t know. We shot a couple holes in it from a distance, just to be sure. Going to have to tell the hospital about that one.
Lisa left today, and I say good riddance. She’s stuck-up and doesn’t act very logically. She left because of the whole Joey ordeal, felt like there was another way to fix the problem, but there wasn’t.
C.V.P.M. kept their distance but started a patrol. It seems like at any given time two of them are in their little hole and the other two are out and about. One of them stands guard up on the roof and another one walks the fence.
Chester just will not stop complaining about his journal. He lost it somewhere, and has gone around asking everyone if they have seen it. Super annoying. Sorry, bub, it probably won’t come back anytime soon. Start a new one.
Day Fourteen
Well, I can’t find my journal anywhere, so I’m starting this one, which is sad. This notebook is rather stiff and unused. My previous journal had become well-worn and fragile, but comfortable to write in because it was familiar and relaxing. Pages were bent, and some of the pages were torn slightly from movement in my backpack. I treasured, and still treasure, that spiral-bound notebook like it was a good book. I guess it kind of was, considering how much was written in it.
I looked all over the place for my old notebook yesterday and into today. I can’t imagine that I would have dropped it, but I have considered that since its disappearance. I’ve checked every square foot of this massive Warehouse and haven’t find anything, which means I might have lost it when Dana, Branden, and I were out looking for supplies for Dana’s trip. I don’t remember taking it out of my bag while we were away from the Warehouse, though.
I also have already thought to myself, well, what if the notebook didn’t even make it into my backpack after writing in it last? But I feel that the possibility of myself not returning the notebook into its proper compartment of my bag is highly unlikely. I’m not so absentminded that I forget to take care of my most precious belongings. Especially the ones I use daily, the ones that keep me from going insane.
I’m somewhat nervous that someone will find it. I know it’s part of the reason I’m writing it, but something about a stranger coming along and finding my journal incomplete, or while I’m still alive, feels as if it defeats the purpose of the whole thing. Also, someone could get to know me quite well and that makes me very uncomfortable. It was intended to be something found a hundred years from now, not today or tomorrow. I imagine that someone who finds it could deduce where the Warehouse is and how it has a bounty of food inside. Not a very good thing to lose.
I really wish I could have found it and been able to write in it last night, as a lot of things happened yesterday. I’m afraid my memory, which is usually pretty good, won’t remain accurate. Nonetheless, here we go.
Yesterday, we left the Warehouse in search of a few things for Dana. He didn’t need too much, so we were only out for a few hours. In one instance, I got a good bite on my forearm, and in another instance, we came across something unexpected. Inside a small electronics store, which we had casually stopped in for no reason other than to look, we found a gelatinous blob of skin.
Now this mass was just slumped onto the floor. It rested six feet wide and maybe waist high. The skin-ball was moist and glistened from what seemed to be sweat, judging by the musky smell of it. It didn’t move on its own at all, and when lightly bothering it with the muzzle of a gun, it appeared to be quite fixed to its spot on the ground. This could either be because it was physically attached to the flooring or it had weight resting in the bottom. We had no way to confirm the reason behind its stationary position.
Upon discussing what we had just discovered, we deemed it necessary to destroy the thing. It was obvious that it was some form of the infection, and we figured that there would be the infectious airborne virus inside the ball. We held our breath, fired one round each into the wiggly blob, and immediately vacated the shop. Branden swears he thought he saw liquid released from the bullet holes, but we didn’t dare venture back inside afterward. Hopefully, those three bullets were enough to kill whatever it was.
When we returned to the Warehouse after finding roughly half of the things that Dana wants for his trip, we found Lisa leaning against the wall near the main doors. I noticed a backpack laying on the ground next to her and the .22 rifle next to it.
“Hey,” I said as I approached her. “What’s up?”
With her eyes still cast to the ground in front of her she said, “I’m leaving. I figured I would tell you in person rather than just disappear.”
My jaw dropped. “What? Why are you leaving?”
She pushed herself off the wall, shifting her weight to her
feet. She sighed a slow, melancholy sigh and looked at me. “You—all of you—have created more chaos and heartbreak and have been so apathetic to me that I just can’t stand to be here anymore.”
“This is about Joey, isn’t it?” Dana asked.
Lisa glared at Dana. “I never did like you with your just general lack of care. But no. This isn’t just because of Joey. Because of you guys, I had a gun pressed to my temple and I thought I was going to be raped. Then, when it came down to it, you didn’t even hesitate taking Joey away from me.” She paused and clenched her fist in anger, then shook her head before reaching down and picking up her backpack.
“Lisa,” I said. “Where are you gonna go?”
She slung the backpack over her shoulders, picked up her gun, and began walking out the door, glass crunching underfoot. “I’m moving on. That’s all that matters.”
The Book of a Few Page 19