Cassie (Adrian's Undead Diary Book 8) Read online

  That statement about going home with Martin and Blake should tell you we are largely done here with the thinning of the undead herd. Ethan and I immediately got to work yesterday on the shooting once we went over emergency planning with the folks here. Essentially we were going to start firing on distant undead, and as they approached, continue to engage them until we’d shot everything wandering our way.

  I brought the Savage and a hundred rounds of .30-06 as well as my M4A1 and a full combat load. Ethan brought his issued M24 and about a hundred rounds for that, as well as his own M4A1 and a full combat load. The rest of the crew here had their guns and such, so if things were to get out of hand we’d be able to hold our own for some time until the QRF from Bastion arrived. It felt good to be so over prepared for a fight.

  It was cold as fuck yesterday. Blustery winds made being on the top of a five story building much worse and did not help our situation at all. Not only were our fingers and toes miserable, but gauging the wind while it was moving was a bitch. My face was freezing off as well. Luckily as the day went on the wind calmed down, and we only wasted a total of maybe fifteen rounds on windage issues. I’ll go on record and say at least ten of those misses were mine. Ethan’s a far better shot, as I’ve already said.

  Ethan saw my first rounds go downrange to no effect. I was shooting at about 500 meters or so, and with the wind it just wasn’t happening. He stopped firing, and started spotting for me until I got back into the swing of things. The info on a shot is called dope. The wind, the range, the elevation, all that. It’s called dope. I never really used the phrase but working with a guy that graduated sniper school he said it a lot, and now it’s in my head like the lyrics to some catchy pop song. Anyway, he kept feeding me the dope and within three or four rounds I was firing accurately, and blowing skulls up at the range I was aiming for. The whole time Ethan kept writing in that incredibly detailed log about every shot he took, and most of mine as well. He noted ranges based on physical details, swirls of wind, cloud cover, target descriptions, you name it. So much information is in that little green notebook.

  I’ll go on record and say that shooting like this was a very cathartic event. I’ve been scared and worried I wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger when I had to, and being in such a safe place, shooting at such distant targets, with a confident and incredibly skilled buddy right beside me really helped me settle back in. It was like a video game, and with someone else right there, it was awesome support. He’s a funny guy, that Ethan. Originally from Colorado.

  We talked about his family (1 sister, Heather, older), and how he enlisted to get out of the small town he was in. He always wanted to work in or around planes, and when he took his ASVAB and enlisted, the recruiter asked him if he wanted to be a hero instead.

  Well fuck right? What red blooded 18 year old American says no to that? Our culture revolves around hero worship. Basic training completed, he rolled straight into the Pararescue qualification course. He said it was hard, but worth it. He planned on returning to Denver most likely after his next enlistment to work at a hospital. With his medical training (18D, if that means anything to you), he’s basically a fully qualified physician’s assistant, with a huge edge in trauma medicine. The fucking guy has done amputations in the field, as well as tracheotomy's under fire, extreme damage stabilization, and more shit in Latin that I didn't even understand.

  Broken eggs and spilled milk now though. He said at some point he’d like to try and make it back to his hometown eventually to see if his family is still alive, but we both knew that was a bit of a pipe dream. The fuel required for that trip would be epic, and let’s not even go into how dangerous it would be to drive that frigging far. I can’t even imagine trying to navigate the drive from here to say, DC, or Chicago, let alone fucking Denver.

  So he has questions unanswered, as we all do. I hope he and the rest of the guys aren’t tormented by their questions like I am by mine.

  Anyway, sitting up there on the roof and then later the balconies with him was nice. I hadn’t gotten a lot of time with Ethan, and I definitely hadn’t properly thanked the man for helping remove the bullet from my neck. He and Roger did the surgery, and if it weren’t for them, more than likely I’d be dead or at the very least still in a coma.

  Ethan said it was, “No bother brother,” and that I should, “Do what Michelle and Kevin think you’re here for.”

  Yeah, no pressure there. Those two think I’m the savior of the world. I’m barely keeping my own shit in check and I’m supposed to be the guy that fixes the joint to boot? It makes me uncomfortable when people say these things. I don’t even like thinking about it, and when it’s brought to my attention that others know that I’m supposedly this super important person, and that so much rides on me, it puts this giant magnifying glass over my head. I feel super critical about myself already, I don’t need the scrutiny of others too.

  Bitch bitch bitch right?

  I’m just another turd circling the drain, waiting for the cosmic toe to push me down.

  I digress. Our shooting started fairly slow, taking down the small gathering of walkers off in the distance. Within ten minutes of our first shots, more walkers were coming in from all directions, on all surface streets. I’d say we had two or three coming towards us consistently for about four hours before it turned into a trickle. We stayed set up on the south facing of the building for an hour, then switched to the east, and so on until we’d taken out pretty much everything we saw.

  I’d forgotten what a high caliber round does to the head of a person. Explosive is a good word. There’s just tattered head bits, and pick or grey flesh spatters left when the round impacts. The bodies keep moving forward for a small moment too, like they don’t quite realize their head is gone. Then the body goes down like a sack of bricks, completely dead. It’s horrifying, and satisfying at the same time.

  Of course a few of the zombies had gotten to the base of the tower, and we had to take them out with our M4s. Luckily leaning over a balcony edge with the AimPoint sight made head shots remarkably easy. Ethan grabbed my belt and I would lean over. We’re fortunate zombies don’t move much, and when they do, it’s painfully slow and easy to adjust to.

  Ethan’s little green log at the end of the day today said we’d put down 76 walkers. That’s good stuff. Not as many as I’d hoped, but that’s still a really large number of dead off the streets. I’m not sure what we’re going to do about the bodies. Most of them are far enough away from the building that they aren’t a health concern, and with the cold weather here, the bodies should freeze and hopefully rot by spring. I suppose the humane thing would be to bring them back to campus to burn, or try and bury them in a park nearby. I’ll think on it.

  Staggering thought of the day: how long would it take for all the survivors in the world right now to bury or burn the bodies of all the dead?

  Oh. Yeah. I almost forgot the biggest thing of them all. Last night as well as tonight just as the sun started to set, Ethan and I both noticed tiny pillars of smoke curling up into the sky in the distance. Maybe three or four miles out, possibly less. I counted four fires in four different, distinct locations, and Ethan the same.

  It seems unlikely that there would be four random small fires in four random places all popping up at about the exact same time. If it were house fires, they’d be raging infernos, enveloping entire structures. These were small, controlled fires, barely putting smoke in the sky. If it weren’t for our good eyes, we might have even missed them.

  More survivors.

  I wonder if they’re the friendly kind of people? I’m starting to think getting my confidence back is a real priority. I might need to be on point in short order, and I can’t risk making a mistake that will cost anyone their life.

  Tomorrow, Blake and Martin make love to the stove. Should be a good time for the stove.

  -Adrian

  January 8th

  When Blake, Martin and crew arrived at MGR the other day we were in
trouble. Our shooting spree the previous couple of days had drawn in a fair amount of undead over the night, and when we woke up, we were greeted by radio traffic from Bastion letting us know we had a long morning ahead of us.

  Abby said that she saw something along the lines of 30 undead move into the vicinity of the tower over the night. She didn’t bother to wake us because shooting at night would’ve been more difficult (but not impossible, thank you night vision optics courtesy of the United States Air Force and USSOCOM). Instead, we were woken up at the ass crack of dawn with her telling me they were sending a small crew with Blake and Martin to assist us in clearing the entrance.

  Ethan and I saw that as a challenge. We didn’t need anyone’s help. Granted, arrogant and stupid as fuck on our part, but realizing that I had the balls to step up and drop the hammer on short notice gave me a hard-on that lasted an hour. Nice to feel like I have balls again.

  Ethan and I kitted up as fast as we could after hearing the radio transmission from Bastion. It was just like the days back in Iraq with Kevin when he and I were part of a QRF force. You get the call, and you get your shit and move immediately. No time to “get ready” if you get my drift.

  Ethan and I went to the second floor balcony that overlooked the door that Martin built. We used that spot to set up a shooting position to thin out the crowd of undead that had gathered there. Ethan did a quick count and said we had forty one to drop.

  Easy peasy.

  Because we were only maybe twenty feet from the heads of the dead folks we were shooting at I went with the M4A1 on semi, with the suppressor attached. The AimPoint sight is perfect for short range fast shooting, and I was happy to see that the rifle performed excellently. If you’ve never shot with an AimPoint, it’s a clear round sight that projects a small holographic red dot in space where the bullet will go. They’re fantastic for firing accurately, and quickly. You lift the weapon, shoulder it, and as soon as you see the red dot inside the square on your target, you fire. It also cuts down on the pesky projected laser dot that the old beam style sights made.

  When I started to shoot I actually asked Ethan to give me the floor for a bit so I could get some rounds out of my gun to get it broken in. He said that was fine, and I went to town.

  I took the time to line up my first few shots very carefully. I picked zombies that were extra sedentary, and put that red dot right on their face, or forehead, or even the top of their head and took the proper deep breath and slow finger squeeze. No trigger slapping thank you very much.

  The first few rounds popped skulls like I’d hoped. I intentionally started firing deep into the crowd to avoid us making large piles of dead bodies to push out of the way. The bodies crumpled to the ground one after the other. I’ve said this before, but the nice thing about having the first few bodies drop, is the other undead start to trip over them. They are too stupid to look down and adjust where they are stepping to stay upright. You should watch the fuckers navigate a set of steps. Hilarious shit.

  Anyway, it got to the point where there were so many undead moving about that it was actually a relief when they started to trip and fall. It cut down on all the heads wandering about and let me focus on the task at hand.

  We reached a point where Ethan had caught on to how I was shooting at the furthest away and slowest moving undead, and he started to spot for me. He’d call out something like, “Tall blonde three o’clock,” and I’d zone in on them and lo and behold, they’d be the exact kind of target I was looking for.

  I think I’d put down about thirty of the dead we’d seen, and we had another ten or twelve wander in from the other sides of the building when we realized that we had to leave the balcony. The indent where the welded steel door was gave us a really shitty line of fire, and we essentially HAD to go down to street level to get the last of them put down.

  Ethan and I wandered to the steel gate and assessed the situation. We sat and watched quietly in the freezing cold morning air as the rows of zombies reached through the bent metal bars at us ineffectively. Ethan pointed out how strange it was that they didn’t breathe. I knew they didn’t breathe, but watching their jaws reflexively close and open over and over again without seeing their breath come out was definitely strange. No one chews at the air like that. Ever. It's an entirely unnatural gesture. I guess one upside to the cold weather is that it deadens the smell somewhat. Now they just smell like cold, stale dead bodies.

  I drew the Kimber and flicked it to 'danger mode,' and Ethan drew his M9 and did the same. We took a few steps back up the steps, and started shooting the undead at the rear of the group, one by one. I really like firing the Kimber. The 10mm recoil is powerful and satisfying, but not overwhelming. The weapon is smooth too. Super well made weapons firing powerful calibers are a wondrous thing. I will say that my eardrums did not appreciate going from the sweet, soft whisper of the M4 with suppressor to the 'bang on a giant steel drum with an explosion' cough of the 10mm. Loud as FUCK in that hallway.

  I just wish the magazines held more rounds. No worries. I rarely fire the pistol in the first place, and if I have to, I will rarely need more than what the weapon holds. If I do, I’m probably fucked no matter what I'm carrying for a backup weapon anyway. I suspect the Jinx Fairy has reared her ugly head at that point, and shat on my cornflakes.

  Anyhoo! We plowed through the skulls of the undead pressing against the metal doors Martin made, and just as we were finishing up, we got the radio call that the crew was inbound, and they were pulling up. They wanted to know what all the gunfire was about…

  I simply replied to them and told them that we’d taken care of the work that they came to do, and that all was well, and thanks for all the fish. We needed more help clearing the bodies out of the way than anything. In some ways, they were pleased, but in other ways, they were pissed. No matter how much we say we hate violence, there’s something satisfying about getting into a good fight. Especially a hugely one sided one. I am really glad I can say that. A few weeks ago, my tone about a fight would've been different.

  Fortunately for all involved, two passes with the HRT pushing bodies out of the way and the entire street was cleared out. I will say that all the noise had to have been heard by the survivors living at those fires we saw the other night though. When the group arrived I touched base with them and made sure we were pulling extra special guard if only for them. I wasn’t too worried about the undead presence, I was definitely more concerned with the living. Yet again the living are my concern.

  Once we felt everything was stable, we moved on to the tasks at hand. The primary task at MGR before I left was the installation of that stove Ethan and I brought. Martin and Blake, handy motherfuckers that they are, got the stove placed in an apartment lickety split, and got the hole put in the wall for the stovepipe within about two hours. Like we’d been doing, we built a backstop and floor in made out of bricks to catch and reflect the heat as well as prevent the walls from overheating from the stove itself. They were also kind enough to bring multiple stove loads of wood, which will hopefully get them through a week of slow burn. They’ve also got a pretty substantial amount of furniture from unused apartments they can burn, which is all spare really. We aren't going to need a hundred coffee tables for a very fucking long time.

  Mallory was the first person to toss a match onto the paper in the stove, starting a fire that hopefully will stay burning for some time. It felt like the lighting of the Olympic torch, or the returning of civilization to a savage land. Once they were up and running, we left, and returned back here to Bastion.

  What’s new here Mr. Journal? Well for starters, no undead shambling horde at the gates, which is a change of pace from the last couple of days at MGR. Speaking of which, it definitely feels to me like MGR is our FOB. You leave the rear here at Bastion and head out there, outside the wall for the action. Maybe I’m silly, but it certainly feels that way. 'Injun country,' was the old expression. Yes I know that's racially insensitive. Not MY expression Mr. Journal.<
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  Anyway, the largest accomplishment while I was gone was the road/path to the last tower construction site near the water being cleared out. All of the trees are down now, and all that remains for that is to have the last few stumps pulled with the backhoe. The ground is pretty well frozen hard by now though, and I guess they aren’t giving up the ghost all that easily. They should have the stumps up and out by the end of the day tomorrow, and the tower footings in process by the same time. We'll see how it goes.

  I touched base over lunch in Hall B with Michelle. She said school is going well, but Syl had a bit of a relapse with her violence. I guess at one point while she was being brought dinner, she kind of snapped on Harold, and charged at him. She slapped the plate of food away, straight out of his hand, and made a pretty decent effort at clawing his eyes out. I guess Abby was there helping him, and she punched Syl up side the head and sent her sprawling on the floor. They grabbed her hands and feet and held her until she calmed down. I guess she’s been on edge since then. This won't make me sound any more sensitive after the injun country remark, but how about my Abby? Punching kids like it ain't no thang.

  She hasn’t really talked at all, nor has she drawn any pictures that illuminate her mental state. We were hoping that she’d maybe drawn something about her Mom and Dad by now, but nothing yet. Michelle says she’s been very calm and almost affectionate towards her later in the afternoons after school closes down, and if she can stay safe for a few more days, she is thinking about letting her out of the dorm. So far, her entire life amounts to being kept inside a barred dorm room, and the four or five trips a day to the bathroom down the hall, complete with armed adult escort. Not much to be excited about I suppose, but at least she’s safe, warm, and fed. And we care. Dammit, we do care.