Dark Recollections (20 page)

I bundled up, grabbed my shit, and headed down the road. There was way more trees down in the road this time. So many down in fact I had to turn back and get the little chainsaw from the grounds keeping shed. As much as I absolutely loathe making noise, it was needed to get through. I had to stop three times to cut trees out of the way in just the few miles from school to the station. I didn’t see any activity anywhere during my stops, and I didn’t pass any zombies that I saw on the drive either.

So I crept up to the stop sign just like last time, and scoped the joint out. I could see from where I was the body of the young dad near the gas pumps as well as the feet of the dead mechanic I saw before. I waited a solid minute or two before I decided it was safe, and pulled the truck up to the pumps again. This time I pulled the truck in the right way so I didn’t have to park it twice.

Same place, same methods. I cleared the garage first, made sure it was empty, and then cleared the store again. Once again, all clear. I did a quick visual inspection and saw pretty much all the stuff that I left there was still there. There were some missing items, like the baby food jars, but I knew the guy had taken some stuff that day. Then I pumped my gas. Truck first, then the small cans. I paid extra special attention to the road this time in the event a car came, but none did. I also was a clever bastard and took the manual crank off the pump. No one would be able to access the gas without it. Heh.

So after that I slipped back into the store and gathered up everything else that I could. Most of it was total shit. However, on the outside chance I needed car fresheners, I figured it was better to be safe than sorry. The biggest haul I got out of there was beer. I didn’t grab any on my first trip, so I grabbed ALL of it this time. I like beer. I just need to make sure I don’t get sad some night and drink it all and streak through campus butt nekkid and get eaten alive. Moderation, right? Oh! I also grabbed motor oil, WD40 and some things of dry gas.

I did however decide to check the back room where I found the locked door last time. I had assumed that it led upstairs to an office or apartment, and I wasn’t interested in checking it out last time so I left it be. Now was as good a time as any to check it out.

Turns out it was locked, and locked pretty damn good at that. Solid deadbolt on a solid door. Luckily I brought the 12 gauge master key. I leveled the Mossberg at the spot where the deadbolt would’ve met the frame and squeezed a round off. Ka boom! Loud as hell inside that closet. My ears were ringing so bad I thought I’d shot a church bell not a door. The deadbolt did give way to the shotgun round though, which was to be expected. However, I nearly shit myself when the door swung open and a fucking zombie fell down the stairs on the other side and on top of me.

Fortunately the shotgun blast must’ve gotten him a little bit through the door, because once the door opened, he went down in a pile and only fell on me by happenstance. He smelled horrible. It was an old man, and even in my struggle to crawl and kick him off I instantly recognized him as the guy who owned the station. His momentum falling on top of me sent his rotting body sidewise so we were lying in sort of a t shape with him across my legs. I kicked him so that he was off me and I pinned his neck to the metal racking in the closet with my foot. I put the shotgun right to his face as he wordlessly tried to chew at my shoe. I looked away and pulled the trigger. His head was vaporized by the blast but his body twitched for a few seconds more.

Once I caught my breath I totally made a resolution: all locked doors that were going to be opened in this manner would have an additional step added to the process. One shotgun round through the door, at chest level. It’d blast any zombies back, plus make a hole for me to see what was going on inside. Reconnaissance by buckshot.

I peeled myself off the floor, opened the door with the barrel of the shotgun, and headed up the stairs to the apartment slowly. Remember the sniff test thing? Place smelled terrible. I knew something bad had happened long before I got to the top of the stairs. I actually had to leave the stairwell and go back down into the store to get a rag to tie around my face, the smell was so bad. I headed up after that and it was still just bearable.

The stairwell opened into a single big room at the top. To one side of the stairs was a small kitchen, and opposite that was a little living room. There were three doors all shut going off those two rooms. In the living room I could clearly see a desiccated woman’s body on the couch. Most of the head was missing, only a few clumps of grey hair left, so I felt comfortable with it being dead. Must’ve been his wife. You could clearly tell too that the stench was coming from that direction.
 

The door off the kitchen was slightly ajar when I got to it, and I pushed it open with the shotgun and revealed the bathroom. Several pill bottles were on the sink counter and I saw that one of them was a sleeping pill bottle. It was empty. Bathroom was clear of danger.

The two other doors were shut but not locked. I listened intently before opening them and they were silent. I couldn’t smell anything over the stench the rotting wife was giving off so I had to rely on just that sense. I also knocked a few times. I figured if there were undead inside they’d make noise or respond to the knocking somehow. I got nothing either time, so I just opened the doors quietly.

Both rooms were bedrooms, one the master, the other looked like a guest room.
 
I checked the closets as well but they were filled with closet-y kinds of things. All clear for danger.

I snagged a suitcase from the master bedroom closet and started filling it with everything I could find that was useful. Most of it was just more of the same. There was a fair amount of canned goods, which was awesome, and they had two large tins of dry iced tea mix, which would help with the variety on drinking just water. I snagged all their pill bottles, all their cleaning supplies and soapy hygiene-y kinds of things, and I took the man’s clothing. He was close to my height so I figured something might fit. Unfortunately his shoes were too small for me. I take a 13, and all he had was an 11. It hadn’t occurred to me until right then that I eventually would need new shoes.
 
Where the fuck am I going to go to get those? There’s no shoe store here in town. Or major retailer really. Do I go house to house looking for a dude with size 13’s in his closet? I never get a fucking break.
 

OH! The total major score for the apartment was a pistol on the living room floor. It was a Colt M1911 which is one of the finer classic handguns. This one looked old, like from the war old. It shoots the .45 caliber round, which is a serious man stopper, but it only holds 7 bullets in the clip. Sort of a risk/reward situation with it. It’ll knockdown whatever I hit with it, but it needs frequent reloads. Either way I was happy to have a spare pistol finally plus the old man left his box of bullets on the end table next to the lounger.
 
There were 6 rounds in the clip when I checked it, and 13 rounds left in the box. I know, not much, but theoretically that’s 19 dead zombies.

I got the fuck out after that. Took my suitcase filled with loot, headed to the Tundra, and left to come back here. One thing that did strike me just as I was about to leave though were the houses all around the gas station. The last time I came down I could see movement in all the houses. There was still movement, and I was totally sure especially now that the movement was just dead people walking around inside. All of those houses potentially had more supplies I could use. I made a plan to come back down and scour them for goodies soon.

Drive back was fine too. Well, sort of. When I turned onto the road the school is on there was a zombie hanging out at the stop sign. Pretty much just… chilling out there. I slowed down when I saw him and watched. He hung on to the road sign for about 30 seconds and did this drunken spin in my direction. He either saw me in the truck, or heard the motor running because as soon as he turned, he let go of the sign post and started in my direction.

He was in near perfect shape. I couldn’t see a wound anywhere, and his clothing was basically spotless. It was a younger guy, about my age, maybe a little younger. Receding hairline, pasty white with a shade of bluish grey. He made pretty good time coming down the street towards me, but I had enough time to put the truck in park and get out.
 

I shot him in the head at 20 feet with the .45.
 
The impact sprawled him flat out on his back as well as punched an exit wound in him the size of a coffee can. I may only have 18 bullets left for that gun, but that is gonna be 18 moments of satisfaction. Guaranteed.

Drive back after that was fine. I stopped at the maintenance truck that died on me last time and poured one of the bottles of dry gas I just got in the tank. I figured it couldn’t hurt and it’s not like I paid for it anyway. That reminded of the cape again where I got the truck though. Right then I resolved to make a return trip there too someday soon. I remember seeing useful stuff in the garage. I don’t remember now what I saw then, but I remember thinking I should come and get it later.

Rest of the day was more of the same really. I got all the shit inside when I got back first off. I emptied the gas cans into my boy Blue, and returned one of the spare cans to the hiding spot I had it at before. I also siphoned about half the truck’s tank into Blue too. That capped it off for the most part. I’m debating making runs until all the car gas tanks are full again. That would mean the fuel is here on site instead of down the road. It was less likely to get stolen from here than taken from down there. Even with the crank gone, I think I’d feel better. But again, that’s just a shitload to work to do. I really need more gas cans.

I did my patrol in the afternoon and took an extra hour out of daylight to practice with the bow. I haven’t fired it in weeks I think so I knew I wanted to get some target work in. I was pretty rusty with it, but after a few dozen arrows downrange I felt pretty confident again.
 
I also grabbed the fishing pole and tackle kit and went fishing. I should actually re-phrase that. I went and stood by the shore of the lake holding a fishing pole, and a beer for an hour. Well I held the beer for much less than that, but you get the idea. I caught nothing but fresh air, and a can of cheap American lager.

And that leaves us here Mr. Journal. It’s almost bedtime for me, and Otis knows it. He’s down underneath the kitchen table here rubbing up on my legs like I’m made out of catnip. That’s Otis-speak for “go to bed so I can crawl up your ass.” He’s not subtle when he communicates. Tomorrow I am going to weatherize this place. I found some of the window plastic in a staff office the other day and I know somewhere in the girl’s dorm I can find a hair dryer. I’m also going to seal off a few of the rooms I don’t use and somehow block the heating vents so I’m not wasting heating oil.

I’m thinking there is some sense in trying to build some kind of refrigerator outside. It’ll be cold soon, and if I can find a way to keep the food away from the bears that are out there, and keep it dry, I can make ice finally. Plus I think I’m going to try and bag a deer here soon. I know they’re out there, I’ve seen them. If I do get one I can use the cold weather to freeze the meat, and I can smoke some too. Might satisfy my meat craving! That’d be….. AMAZING.
 

Until we speak again Mr. Journal, I wish you safe travels!

-Adrian

November 13
^th

I have had too much too drink today…. I wasn’t going to whrite an hournal entry either, but I can’t sleep and I just need to get everything off my chesticle.

I don’t know why I am doing what I’m doing anymore.
 

 
I don’t think that’s the beer I drabnk talking anymoe either. And yes, my grammar might be bad right now, I’m somewhat drunk still. Go fuck yourself if you can’t hack a few messed up words.

I am so lonely. I wake up alone, I am alone at breakfast, I am alone at lunch, I am alone at dinner. I write these journals all alone at this fucking kitchen table, and when I go to bed at night, I am still alone. Why the fuck do I keep doing this every Goddamn day? Why am I fighting so fucking hard to survive day in, and day out? I keep marching along the edge of the cliff like a confused Lemming, unsure of whether or not to jump over with his friends.

Why was I such a piece of shit that day? Why the fuck didn’t I get in my car and drive to her work and save her? I just don’t get it. I’m brave. I’m courageous. Nothing scares me. Why the fuck didn’t I go? I went everywhere else that goddamn day. I even went to a motherfucking garden center. It’s inexcusable, and unforgiveable.

Mr. Journal, or whoeverr the fuck is reading this after I die, if they still have music wherever you are, stop reading this and go listen to the song ‘nothin on you’ by B.o.B.
 
And like, really frigging listen to it. Don’t mail it in. Don’t take long though. I might not be here when you get back.

Do you understand now? Are you crying as hard as I am yet? Do you understand why I sit here every night and think about that one thing I didn’t do? My greatest sin, my greatest failure. You can’t understand. You never will. I’ll never be able to find the words to describe how empty and little I feel. I miss her so much it’s like all the air is gone from my world when I think of her.
 

I’ve had that song on repeat on my laptop for like 3 hours now. I’ve been doubled over here in the kitchen, face in my hands, unable to stop the tears. I am a broken man tonight, and all the King’s men can go fuck themselves. I don’t think there’s any way to put Adrian M. Ring back together.

What the fuck is my purpose here? I am alive, but what for? If I died right fucking now not one soul would miss me, or even know it. If I took that .45 I just got, and kissed the barrel, and squeezed the trigger, every single problem would just vanish, right? They say suicide isn’t the solution, and that all it does is hurt the ones you love.