I’m sorry I took so long to write an entry. Things have been so different around here at Bastion, and with all that was up in the air I’ve had precious little time to sit down in front of the laptop and bang out the details of how life is right now.
Again Mr. Journal, I apologize.
The dead are gone. Well, the dead bodies are still here, but they are no longer animated, hateful, and violent towards the living. They have simply fallen where they were on March 3rd, and that has been the end of them. Somewhat anti-climactic I think. That’s not to take anything away from the events of March 3rd. I think we all came out of that alive only by the grace of… something much larger than us.
Since then, nine days ago now, things have been eerily quiet. The folks at MGR haven’t seen a single threatening thing since then. Nothing, not even another living soul. The folks at the Factory though have heard and seen some folks moving around the city area near them, though there hasn’t been any contact just yet.
We haven’t seen anything here at Bastion either. In fact, the weather has been beautiful for the most part, and we’re spending a lot of time outside, getting some fresh air. We’re still building that last guard tower at the water, and we’re still keeping both gates locked tight. As much as I love my fellow man, far too many of them have tried to take my life these past… nineteen months for me to just forgive and forget entirely.
Trust is earned, and right now, I don’t trust this new and strange world yet.
We’ve made three trips into the city. We have seen no one on our trips out, but we project a fairly massive presence with two humvees and the deuce. One good look at the turrets on the trucks and I’m sure anyone watching changes their mind. I’m frankly surprised no one has come out to talk to us expecting us to be the National Guard returned or something. It’s odd. I wonder if that’s an indication of the behavior of the Guard in the waning days of society, or a general indication of paranoia on the survivor’s part? Or something else entirely, I’m fricking spitballing here.
Our trips out were to, in the following order: Three large grocery stores on day one, a large gun store on day two, and a series of gas stations on day three. The grocery stores were complete dry holes for us. No food of use whatsoever. I guess that can’t be a surprise to anyone. Everyone hit the stores hard before it all shit the bed, and I’m sure since then folks were sneaking in and out as they could to take what was left.
The gun store was a much better trip. The doors were reinforced with heavy duty steel bars, and we were able to winch the thing right off the front of the building. Inside we found several bodies that had all died from what appeared to be self inflicted gunshot wounds. They were scary thin, and the back of the business outside was piled up with MRE wrappers, so I’m guessing the folks there that day simply locked up shop, and ate MREs until they ran out. Rather than face the world outside (which was also littered with a LOT of bodies on the ground, some long since dead) they decided to take care of themselves all on their own.
They left us a treasure trove of weapons and ammunition. There were also plentiful reloading supplies, as well as holsters, slings, hunting equipment and the such. Kevin sported an erection three feet long for days while he inventoried everything. It was a pretty big store. I’m glad we got to it before anyone else.
The gas stations were also largely good news. We can’t verify the quality of the small amount of remaining gasoline that’s still there just yet, but Martin and Blake are guessing there could be around 400 to 500 gallons spread out amongst them. We’re thinking fuel treatments and additives might be a solution to stale gas, but that’s beyond my pay grade. We also found a LOT of diesel, which is great news. Again, I’ve no goddamn idea if it’s any good, but other people are going to make that call, or make that happen, so I’m incredibly hopeful. We could use some good news on the fuel front. I’d like to bankroll security in our vehicles operating for the foreseeable future.
We don’t really…. Have any horses. Or any meaningful alternatives at the moment.
What else? What am I forgetting?
Um… old age is a bitch, I’ll tell you that.
Moving forward? Well that’s a great question. Collectively, and by collectively I mean the big decision making folks here, we’ve decided that we are going to be active in the world. Active means helping those that need it. Active means protecting those that need it. Active means feeding those that are hungry, and liberating those that are oppressed.
I think Gilbert would be proud of us.
I have had many dreams of my friends lately. The living ones. Not just the dead people. That tells me an awful lot. That tells me the poor souls that were hung up on the other side… have moved on. I don’t know where they went, or if it’s a comfy cloud or hot as hell in a lake of fire… but I think they’ve gone on to where they were supposed to.
I could not be happier about this. If I am proud of anything… I think I am most proud of that. I am happy that all the people hung up in limbo, waiting, watching, are now where they belong. I guess I am also proud of the fact that it appears that I was part of the group of people that gave this world peace from the dead, and a second chance to do it all over again, hopefully correctly.
Michelle and I are… moving forward. I asked her to move into Hall E sort of out of the blue the other day, and she took a day to think about it. She agreed to move in, and she does so tomorrow. I’m so… pleased to have her move closer. It’ll be nice to have at breakfast in the mornings with her, as well as just be able to see her later into the night.
I really want to kiss her.
I know I’m in deep emotional shit here because I’m not even thinking about sex. Talk about horrifying… Evil has nothing on love.
Our immediate plans here at Bastion is stability. Accumulate the resources we previously couldn’t because of the undead, and then see what happens. That group that attacked us in the city and killed Fitz is still out there, and one day, I’m sure we’ll cross paths with them. I don’t want to sound vindictive, but they owe several of us a pound of flesh for what they did, and I plan on collecting.
Maybe that’s a bad attitude, but I see it as justice. I’m not a perfect man.
I’ll end this with a summary of a conversation I had this very morning with Sylvia. Little Sylvia has come out of her shell like no other. She is bouncy, beautiful, and talkative. She has seemingly walked away from her behaviors and rejoined us as a largely normal young girl.
Why the sudden change you ask?
Interesting story. I was sitting over at Hall B, enjoying the warm sunshine and talking to little Shelby when the kids were on their lunch break from school. Shelby is doing well, thank you for asking Mr. Journal. Kevin and Becky are raising a good young lady.
As Shelby and I are talking, Sylvia comes over and has a seat on the ground in front of the bench we sat on, and patiently waited until Shelby and I were done talking. Shelby smiled at Syl, and after telling me all about how she finished some project in school, she left to go back inside.
Sylvia looks up at me, and smiled again, very warmly. Then she says this, “I’m so sorry I was so mean to everyone. I was just so scared about you guys, and wanted to be nearby, and I didn’t know how to make the dreams stop.”
I smiled and sort of brushed it off as some of the weirdness she’d spouted off before. The women in the school have said multiple times she can go off on these weird tangets…
Then she says this, “when I dreamt of how you and Michelle were surrounded by all those dead people, and then when I saw you, and then her, and then Kevin… I knew I had to stay around to help protect you. I don’t think I did in the end, but I’m sure happy Michelle did was she was supposed to do, and you and Kevin did too. A lot of people are now safe because of you guys.”
So apparently she had dreamt about the three of us. I questioned her softly, and she agreed to as much. She had been having detailed dreams about March 3rd going back for months. A year really. Dreams of the living. I guess they were White Room dreams too, which is strange. I don’t know quite what to make of all that, but it was amazing to hear.
Then, after our long ass conversation, she drops this atomic bomb on me…. “ I just hope the others make their decisions as well as you did.”
The others? What fucking others right? I was tweaking. Like, heart in my throat tweaking. I leaned down to her and asked, “What do you mean others? I’m confused.”
Sylvia stood up, brushed her jeans off of the grass she’d picked up, and looked up at the blue sky above us. Without looking back down to me she said, “Three is like… a perfect number. It’s got something to do with math. Michelle told me about it. A lot of religions use the number three to symbolize very important things. The third hour of the third day of the third month Adrian? Three is important.”
Then she looked down at me, still smiling, “The only number that could have more importance than three would be nine. Nine is perfect too. Nine is three threes. You were never the only Trinity Adrian. You think the force that runs all of creation would trust everything to just three people? Oh well. You saved millions. So many people will have a chance at happiness because of you three. I’d be really proud if I were you.”
I’m like, floored and shit. I have no idea if she’s right. I have no way of knowing, and after talking to Michelle and Kevin about it… they agree with her. It makes a lot of sense to all of us.
Is it our job to help these other, hypothetical Trinities?
I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it right now either.
I’m done writing this. I’ve been the Scribe for a very long time, and I’m weary. I’ve written so much I’ve forgotten how to live without trying to remember everything that happens. I’ve poured my heart, my soul, my life, and my sweat into this journal, and one day I’ll share it with people so they can understand what I went through, what we all went through to get to where we are today.
I am no longer the Scribe.
I am a man, trying to be the best man I can, and trying to lead other men and women to a better life the same as I.
Someone else can be the memory now.
Otis is profoundly happy. This means far more lap time for my homeboy.