Cassie (Adrian's Undead Diary Book 8) (2 page)

I guess that’s progress. Michelle and I have had lengthy conversations about her over dinners or lunches, and whether or not she’s a project worth working on. Michella maintains there’s no choice in the matter. We HAVE to help her. I maintain that she is a lot of work, and she is taking away from the greater good. Most of the people guarding her want to break her jaw. Hell, I already tried. In the interest of full disclosure, I'm talking about Sylvia, not Michelle. I just re-read the last few sentences and realized it could've been taken either way.

Michelle is back to teaching, which is funny, because we gave the kids a few days off for the holiday. I think it’s Hanukah right now too, so we decided to give the kids a week off. So yeah, she’s back to teaching, and yeah, she just sent the kids on break. Two steps forward, and all that jazz.

We are planning some light festivities for Christmas. A breakfast and early dinner spread for everyone. Some of the folks went out and cut down a few trees to decorate for the different dorms, and a really big tree for the cafeteria where we are gathering for the actual day. We got some toys and age appropriate gifts that the youngins should appreciate, so it should be fairly normal. Well, what passes for normal now.
 

Should be fun for the kids. I'm somewhat impressed and saddened by the fact that we have no practicing Jewish folks here, or practicing Buddhists, or Kwanzaans. Literally all we seem to have for folks who are interested in actively pursuing their faith is Christians. I don't like that. It's too one-flavor. Not enough variety.

No violence to speak of on or off campus. The Factory is doing okay. With all this rain they have plenty of water in storage, and despite their relative proximity to the city, there have been precious few undead. So few undead in fact, that they are actually reporting it as being “creepy.” I've made an active effort as well to stay off the inter-site internet, and avoid watching their cameras. I feel dirty when I do it, and that's not good for anyone.
 

MGR has been the same. We’re rotating staff regularly now to give people breaks. The only people living there permanently are Renee and Mallory. They’ve chosen the tower as the home they want to stay at permanently. Mike and Patty, previously in charge of MGR have essentially relocated back here since I got shot. I think they wanted a fresh start away from all of this, and once they were gone realized they actually want to stay here. A lot more resources here I suppose, as well as real estate. I wonder how much of it is them wanting to be closer to Abby. Their short amount of time together at the Factory was a huge step forward in gelling the three of them. Mom and daughter are back in the swing of things, and Mike is no longer the enemy. All is well in Williams-burg.

Speaking of which, tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of the arrival of the Williams family. Only Abby and Patty are left. A good batting average. Wish I was only playing baseball.

We haven’t seen a single undead near campus or on any of the video feeds in days. We are all thinking about how Sylvia may have been leading undead to us all this time. It makes sense. If she was coming and going, and not putting any undead that saw her down, then she was likely just leading them to us the entire time. I think we were lucky that she didn’t lead more to us prior to when the walls went up. Although, it does make sense that she was leading them to us all along. How else were they getting up here?

Well, I guess the whole “led and powered by evil” argument could be thrown into the mix.

But that’s depressing as shit. I don’t want to think about that just hours from Christmas, on the first Christmas Eve in some time that seems even remotely normal. I didn’t get anyone any gifts. I feel weird about that. I feel like this year, there are people I should’ve done something for. I can’t really hit the mall or anything, but I guess I could’ve gone old school and drawn a cute sleigh on some construction paper and made some cards for people. Ghetto gifts, courtesy of Adrian Ring.

I’ll wish people some Merry Christmas tomorrow, thank them for all they’ve done for me, and do my level best to show them how much I appreciate them. Maybe that’s what this is all about after all. Less about gifts, and more about showing people you care. I’m like Bob fucking Ross, only for wisdom. Getting back to basics, with Adrian Ring. Public access channels, and hopefully, if I go big, I could make it onto the PBS stations too. Maybe even the BBC.

I could be famous.

I want to write more. Nothing is stirring, except for some mice, and I am not quite tired yet. I saw a few kids running around in head to toe snowsuits the other day when we had an inch of snow, and it made me think of the last time I ever wore a snowsuit. It’s a funny and horrible story.

I think I was in third grade, and the weather had gone south during the winter. It was the last school day before Christmas break, and it had been raining and sleeting all day while we were in class. My entire family was home sick except for me, so I had to walk home from school on my own, without my brothers and sister. I don’t think Becca was in school then either, so I think she would’ve been at home already. When the weather was crappy my mom made me wear an old snowsuit that had been passed down to me. It belonged to Caleb. The feet had been worn out from years of sledding, so my mom cut them off, and I wore classy black moon boots instead. Those were also hand me downs, and had some pretty sweet duct tape patching. You remember moon boots? Later in life my brothers and I called them 'virginity guard boots.'

Anyway, the elementary school I went to at the time was at the top of a hill, and with the cold temperatures, and sleet, walking down the hill all alone (Caleb had run ahead, as he always did, and the younger brothers walked in a pack behind me) in my head to almost toe snowsuit complete with worn-down moon boots was a real motherfucker. I remember taking inch steps for the entire mile long walk trying to stay upright.

When I was about two thirds of the way home I suddenly felt my stomach lurch, and I knew instantly I had a case of the ninja shits coming on, and in a hurry. I was puckering like a fucking Olympian trying to keep back the brown tide while still making forward progress on the sidewalk that was more skating rink than anything.

Our house was on Main Street, across the road from the school geographically, and when traffic stopped to let me cross I booked it as best I could across the way. Of course Mr. Journal if you have ever tried to run while squinching up to keep from shitting yourself, you know it’s a stiff legged process. You’re more or less walking on stilts while keeping every muscle below your nose taut as hell to prevent slippage into your fucking drawers. Terrible to do, fun to watch.

Anyhoo, as I cross the street and start up the walk way to the front door I see that the entire way is covered in solid ice. It was smooth, and glassy, and the snow on both sides in the yard was far too deep to trudge through while I was so close to shitting myself. I couldn't risk bending my legs, not even an inch. Just as I took the first the step onto the surface, my mother opened the front door, and waved to me.
 

It was a tease and I knew it. I was so close to the safety of wooden, ice free floors, and yet the final twenty feet were clearly the most treacherous of them all. I slid my moon boots inch by inch on the glassy ice all the while yelling to my Mom, “Open the screen door! Open the screen door! Get out of the way Mom, I gotta GO!”

Of course my Mom had no damn idea what I was yelling through the storm door, and when I finally made it to that door, she opened it for me, and I started through it, trying to get past her to the blessed bathroom where I could purge the pressure that was still building behind my asshole.

But by now Mr. Journal… you already know something goes horribly wrong.

As I stepped over the threshold of the house past my mom, both of my feet slipped on the last few inches of ice. I remember distinctly the sensation of soaring up into the air, my legs straight out in front of me as my sphincter gave in to the poop. I literally can remember seeing both vertical tips of my toes against the screen of the television. I think GI Joe was on. As I dropped down onto my back I felt the shit squirt powerfully into my snowsuit, past the back of my thighs, down my calves, and all the way down into the torn feet into my moon boots. Right after that wonderful sensation I slammed my snow hat covered skull into the icy walkway, and the tears came.

I bawled like a bitch.

I stood up, completely ignoring my mother’s attempts to pick me up and find out what was wrong. At the moment, all my crap was contained by the suit, so all she knew was that I'd fallen. I pushed her out of the way, still screaming and crying and ran directly into the shower, where I stripped out of the snowsuit, and revealed my shit covered lower half. My mom saw the wreckage, snorted something halfway between a sob of grief, and cackle of laughter, and pulled the bathroom door shut so I could clean myself off.

Yeah so I don’t like snowsuits anymore. Or moon boots for that matter.
 

Funny story now. Not as funny back then. Especially when all my brothers and Dad made fun of me for shitting myself in a snowsuit. Every Christmas one of those assholes remembers to bring it up. I think every one of them asked Cassie if she'd heard that story every Christmas.

Fuckers.

-Adrian

December 26
^th

I’m kind of uncomfortable today. Not a whole lot makes me uncomfortable. I’m one of those, “I don’t give a fuck,” kind of people. Clearly I do give a fuck, but when I actually become uncomfortable, I do a damn good job of hiding it, thus keeping my true feelings hidden. Nature versus demeanor.

Why am I uncomfortable Mr. Journal? Because I got a LOT of Christmas presents yesterday. More than I deserve in my opinion, and quite a few more than I think is okay, and “normal,” especially considering the times we live in.

I can’t recall exactly who gave me what as I sit here writing this, but I received all manner of strange things. Obviously they are all homemade or scavenged, but I got a LOT of gifts. It was creepy.

I woke up fairly early Christmas morning because we were putting on a big breakfast for the kids in the cafeteria. I wanted to get down there early to help. I checked the video feeds out of habit, and radioed to Hal and Abby who were on graveyard shift last night to check in. Both said they saw nothing all night other than a few stray animals in the woods. Abby said she thought she saw an actual dog, but Hal thought it was a fox or coyote. I might check the tapes later to double check, but I have a case of the fuck-its right now.

Anyway, I took a quick shower after turning the generator on and letting it warm the hot water tank. I gave myself a celebratory morning beat-off session while that was going on (it IS a holiday after all), and once I was dressed up and ready, I left Hall E. When I got to the cafeteria, there were piles of wrapped presents piled under the large tree. I guess something should be said about the amazing amount of Christmas wrapping paper people had stored in their homes. A few of the team went house to house and picked up the rolls in closets to get this all done. Thanks to them, the kids got everything wrapped. It was a sight to see. Beautiful stuff.

Anyway, I smiled, and went about helping the fairly large group of people already there. The breakfast was pancakes with what turned out to be still good maple syrup, fresh eggs, fresh bread, fresh milk, stale coffee and tea, and some of the last of the orange juice concentrate we still had. The kids rolled in, excited as balls, and the remainder of the adults that weren’t committed to safety and security came in as well. Many of the folks brought more presents, and by the time we were all there, all accounted for, there had to be a hundred presents there.

After breakfast, the wrapping paper saw its demise. Melissa, Amanda and Michelle disseminated the presents to the people they were gifted to, and time and time again, presents were brought over to me. I took a seat far off to the side, out of the way, and they kept bringing them over to me, stacking them higher and higher.

When it was all said and done, I had presents stacked waist high, surrounding me.

Yeah, I felt a little uncomfortable. Of course everyone else there was super happy that I had so many presents, and I seriously think that they all sat there, waiting for me to start opening mine before they began to open theirs. I obliged them. Seemed like the things to do at the time.

In my presents I had jams and jellies made from the berries we’ve picked from the campus bushes. I had loaves of fresh baked bread, small sweet cakes made with the eggs from our chickens, and the little bit of flour we have left. I got gloves from the Air Force guys (Nomex, thank you very much dudes), and a pile of CDs to burn into the laptop here from Abby. Turns out while she was doing house searches she was collecting discs. I listen to a lot of music, and the new stuff will increase my overall level of musical culture.

I received homemade cards thanking me for giving people a safe place to live, and food to eat, as well as a nice new maglite, and a container of lotion from Kevin. Turns out, he really does know me well. I could've used that lotion earlier yesterday.

I feel like a major league dick for not getting anyone a gift.

I also feel… very weird about all the attention, and the gifts. It seemed like everyone felt the need to give to me to thank me for what’s happened here. I appreciate the sentiment and all, but it’s just… odd. I felt like these people were leaving offerings at my altar for Christ’s sake. It was fucked up. It boils down to me feeling uncomfortable with the attention.

I guess I’ll get over it. I left all the food downstairs in the kitchen here in Hall E so the other folks living in the building could reap the benefits. All I’ve smelt since yesterday is the scent of toast and jelly. It’s a nice smell.

Sigh. I wonder if this is how Kings got egos. When the people in charge have their asses kissed as much as I get mine kissed, you can’t help but get a little egotistical about things. It’s empowering. It’s a great feeling to have so many people look up to you. To feel like a success finally. To feel important just for being you.