The Book of a Few (28 page)

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 bring 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.

Things to do:

1. Find some gas tanks or buckets and siphon some gas
   

    
   

2. Enough food (canned only, not at warehouse) and water to last two weeks (maybe ask the guys??)
   

    
   

3. Clean and oil guns
   

    
   

4. Road flares?
   

    
   

5. First aid kits,
   painkillers if possible
   

    
   

6. 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.

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.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say that would make her stay. Will shrugged his shoulders when I looked to him to say to something. I took one step forward when I thought that the right words had reached the tip of my tongue. But when I looked at her, walking away without any inclination of where she was going, I swallowed those words. I respected, admired, and envied her bravery to leave without a plan and search for heaven in this hell.

I will miss her greatly. She was always kind, at least to me. She hated Dana, and I already knew that. But now that I think about it, we were all assholes to her. She was always on the sidelines, and the last to be informed of anything. We should have taken more care to involve her and thank her for taking care of Joey while she did. I hope that she finds someplace safe.