Wow. One year of this writing bullshit.
I can’t believe I’ve stuck with it this long. I haven’t written this much in the entirety of my damn life, and to think I’ve done it all on this ratty, used laptop I got for work, after the world as I knew it shit the collective bed like an old lady on pentalax. I think it’s amusing that the end of the world has made me so damn chatty.
Going back and reading the first entry I wrote a year ago, I feel like I was so naïve when I started this. When I came here to campus to escape this lunacy and survive, I had no damn idea what I was going to do. I had no idea what I was getting myself into either. I had such a shit plan, and the fact that I’ve made it this far, and managed to document so much of it along the way just amuses the fuck out of me.
One whole year of writing this damn journal. Writing to you Mr. Journal. Ha, I remember when I talked about what if you were Mrs. Journal, and if that meant I was into trannies. Good times Mr. Journal. As it turns out, you’re still a dude in my mind, and I don’t have to deal with that strange internal conflict. Yay for consistency.
Instead, here I sit debating a frontal assault on a batch of asshole survivors that have endangered the people I have taken in here. Killed one of the people I have taken in here. They’ve taken supplies we need to make life easier. They’ve shot at us, and destroyed things we could’ve used to save lives or make our life more livable.
Mike and I infiltrated their part of the world yet again yesterday to get another good look. Mike came to the same assessment I had when we finally returned early this morning. Getting inside that place without killing the innocents in the process would be more or less impossible, unless we could get the good guys or the bad guys all outside. That seemed largely like a big old pipe dream.
Mike did suggest that one course of action we could take was to simply set up a team of shooters outside the place, and wait for them to leave to go… anywhere. Once enough of them step outside to mount their vehicles, we open up with half a dozen simultaneous shots, and then get the fuck out of dodge.
Mike’s line of logic on that is that if we torch the dealership, thus wrecking their cars, they might roll out of the Factory far more on edge, and far more ready to engage us should we shoot at them. If we simply wait until they leave the building under normal circumstances, their guard will be down, and we might catch them entirely unaware.
Our resident Sergeant also shared the idea that we could still blow the cars at the dealership after we shot at them, sending them into further disarray after hitting them via sniper fire. Imagine the complete chaos we could achieve in just seconds. A handful of shots, a handful of dead and dying, and seconds after that we trash their cars somehow.
I wish we had explosives, or a few crates of Javelins, or something that we could use to blow the dealership remotely. Of course if we had all that shit, our lives would be a bit better, and our safety would be a shitload more assured. But alas we do not have dynamite, or simtex, or LAW rocket launchers, or any of the other fun doodads our military has in spades sitting in warehouses all over the world, likely left unused. Left unloved.
So Mike and I planned another recon mission tomorrow night, only this time it will be just Mike and Blake going out. Blake is an industrious and clever guy, and Mike and I both want to get his eyes on the subject. I’d like to send Martin too, but he isn’t as good a shot as is needed yet, and I don’t want to risk losing both Blake and Martin should they get ambushed hard, or whatever else.
They’re heading out after about 8pm tomorrow night, and will be gone for about 24 hours to get some observation time on the far side of the Factory. With any luck they’ll find a new and interesting way to crack the nut that is the Factory.