16.06.202X - Catatonia

 

11:40 16/06/202X 25°C – FORT MULDRAUGH

Got back home just an hour ago. Christ, what a fucking mess that was.

Had been pretty much carrying Mish the most of the way after we lost the Hummer and had to retreat.
Movement was slow, at best, and I was pretty banged up as well. Stitches, bandages, hemostate, the works.

Lost my new rifle and my journal when running through the forest, doubt I'll ever see them again.

We thought we'd take it easy once we got clear of the rotters. Mish picked some mushrooms and berries, I managed to catch a couple fish that I filleted right then and there, we just got a proper campfire started when the fucking fog rolled in. Saved what we could of the food, put it in ziplocs. Still don't know if it was safe to eat, but we scarfed it down, cold, after the fog disappeared.

Just sat there the rest of the time, watching the fire grow and burn brighter, like a beacon in the greenish fucking pea soup we lived in.

I think we both slept, took turns, not sure.

It's all a bit of a haze.

I had Adderall and go-pills, enough to share, so we could have marched all the way to Muldraugh, if not for one thing: blood loss.

I don't know how Mish managed to look even paler than usual, but there she was, almost translucent, lips blue, breathing shallow. I checked her blood pressure and her pulse, the former was way too low, the latter was way too high.

Would have written them down, but with the journal went my last bits of writing material, so fuck me, I guess.

I wasn't too peachy either, did a couple cursory checks and pressure and pulse were both out of whack. Probably looked as pale as Mish at that point, fucking rotter got me in the neck AGAIN and my arms and legs looked like they'd been through a wood chipper.

Mish lost Izz her FAL. Dunno if that's what was on her mind. We rarely chat that much, at least when out on a raid, but she was pretty much dead silent this entire time.

I would have welcomed some talk, just to keep my mind off this fucking mess, but I'm not sure if I can start being selfish right after getting us both killed.

I know it sounds stupid, I know it sounds ridiculous, but... I have to do some kind of penance.

Something to make up for this. Mish doesn't deserve a fucking idiot like me on her team – she was there with the Naloxone when I OD'd, she watched over me when I slept and fed me pie while I laid in bed, she covered my ass better than I could ever ask for, and in return I almost get her killed.

I repay her by taking away the last memento she had of her sister.

If I wasn't a worthless scumbag before, I definitely am now.

I don't know what she was thinking about back there – the thousand-yard-stare was back – but I can hazard a few guesses.

That it's no wonder Izzy died with a fuckup like me leading the team.

That I probably got her killed in the same way I almost got us two killed.

That coming here was a mistake. She should have just marched away from Muldraugh after she got her supplies topped up and gone back to rejoin her old squad.

I tried starting conversations, now and then, but I rarely got more than monosyllabic answers, even after the fog lifted and we got our masks off. Couldn't blame her then, can't blame her now. After everything I've done to her I'm surprised she didn't just shoot me on the spot instead.

-Sayori Takahashi

 

15:00 16/06/202X 25°C – FORT MULDRAUGH

Helo appeared, loudspeakers blaring. I think something's up with Mish, she wasn't looking too good earlier, but now she looked almost panicked – not that I could see much through the mask visor, it was fogged up – but I could at least hazard a guess from how she backed into the corner and cowered there.

I guess something just snapped in me and before I knew it I was running through the fog, M60 in tow, loading in a belt of 7.62 NATO all the while, dripping sweat from the fatigues and the mask and the Viper hood... egh.

I got the bipod set up on the watchtower, took aim, and started blasting.

The first few bursts missed, which might have actually been a good thing, because the next thing I heard on their loudspeakers kind of stopped me in my tracks.

They said "Don't trust the Army! They'll shoot everyone on sight!"

I still kept firing, though.
Just tried not to hit anything.
Something to scare them off, you know.

It seemed to work – as soon as the first tracers started homing in the pilot decided to fuck off. Later noticed that one of the jets flying overhead had dropped quarantine pamphlets on our base.

Pretty handy, won't have to go all the way to Bedford Falls when we run out of toilet paper.

 

 

I have to say, I've really missed skin contact. Mish seemed to be doing better – physically, at least – so she helped me with my bandages before the fog rolled in. Undressed as much as I could while still staying appropriate (I doubt Mish is the skinship type) and went back downstairs. We had a couple blood bags (naturally sourced from yours truly) defrosting, and Mish changed out my dirty bandages for some sterile ones.

Maybe it was a good thing she wasn't wearing latex gloves. I usually do when I'm doing this kind of stuff, but that's just me.

The first time I felt her hands on me I almost yelped a bit – they were cold. Comfortingly cold, though, the day had been a total scorcher so far.

It was nice. Reminded me of when I'd get my hair cut somewhere, just closing my eyes and enjoying the sensation of someone pamper taking care of me. It got kinda awkward, though – I had a slight scratch on my chest and didn't really think Mish would be OK with me just taking everything off, considering how she reacted when she walked in on me in the sauna, so I told her I'd take care of it myself. Offered to change her bandages as well, but she said she was fine. She's pretty laconic, I'll have to try to talk a bit to her.

When I got up, though, she... Just stood there. Asked her if she wanted some water, something, anything, no response.

So it turned out she might have needed help changing her bandages after all. I told her to stay put – not like she looked like she'd be moving anywhere, anyway – and went and got my boo-boo bag from upstairs.

Managed to get Mish on the bed – it wasn't much of a struggle. She just needed a couple nudges and some gentle coaxing.

Tried to talk to her, best I could, but she seemed completely gone.

No wonder – that fucking march back from the Hummer (fuck I'm still pissed about losing it) would have sapped anyone's strength, wounded or healthy.

No neck wounds, thank God, but her legs were pretty much covered in bites and scratches – seems like a rotter pulled her down – or maybe she tripped running through the forest – and got bit as a result. Right arm was largely good, left arm less so. Don't want to go into too much detail, but if we ever survive this she'll have some stories to tell.

As will I, I suppose – my throat and neck feel like they're covered in scar tissue, and the rest of my body looks like some sort of Frankenstein patchwork quilt.

Anyway, I undressed her, best I could. Preserved some modesty, at least.

Maybe Harris being gone was a good thing – I know we've gone on raids together before, but I wouldn't put it past him to take a chance when he sees it. I don't trust him.

Would give me a good excuse to put a fucking hole in his head. 

I don't appreciate being lied to.

Either way, the procedure was largely painless, although I was surprised at how docile she was. It's like she was barely there. She didn't even react when I hiked up her shirt a bit, just to check that nothing had happened to her stomach, just stared at me. Constantly.

Christ, I hope she didn't get the wrong idea.

Changed out bandages, restitched some old wounds, disinfected what I could. Tried talking to her but she wouldn't respond, except when I told her that she'd be fine, which she seemed to agree on.

Poor girl was completely out of whack, though, could barely get half a word out.

After that was done and I dressed her in a fresh set of fatigues, I tried to get her to drink a bit of water – didn't want another heatstroke situation on our hands.

That's when I realized we might have a bit of a problem.

The poor girl was practically blue – I'm used to her being ghostly pale by now, but this... this was something else.

I tried to hand her a water bottle and she just stared. Tried unscrewing it and putting it to her mouth, tried grabbing one of her hands and forcing her to grasp it, eventually even poured water into her mouth.

Big fucking mistake.  

I could hear the inhale, and then the coughing, and I knew I'd fucked up again.

That seemed to wake her up, though.

She bolted upright, coughing and hacking, wiping her mouth, looking around with confusion written all over her face.

So, she did come around – eventually. I told her to just stay on the bed, and went and grabbed the blood bags, a couple catheters and a few bottles of water.

We didn't really have an IV stand ready, so I just hung the bags on a couple nails I pried out with my knife. I'd always wanted to remove that plank barricade on the inside, but it seemed to come in pretty handy now.

She drank water – maybe a bit reluctantly (or mechanically?) – didn't really answer any of my questions or reply to any of my statements, mostly just stared off into the distance. Didn't so much as wince when I put the IV catheter in. I was a bit pale as well – didn't need the Tonometer to tell me that I might need a bag too.

So I sat down next to her bed, taped down the IV drip, and held her hand.

She was still cold, still a bit limp, but maybe that helped bring her back a bit.

I hope it did.

 

-Sayori Takahashi

23:30 16/06/202X 17°C – FORT MULDRAUGH

Sitting upstairs at the table. I'm cleaning my rifle, although this beauty is pretty much spotless. Just a few sprays of WD-40 into the pinhole on the bolt carrier, a piece of rag to clean around the inside of the receiver, “jerking off” the aforementioned bolt carrier to get the carbon deposits out, a quick in-and-out down the barrel with a rod and some cotton... the usual.

Mishka and me had a bit of an argument over dinner. She told me I was a “good person”, whatever that entails.

So naturally I asked her “what makes a person good?”.

She said that good people care about others, and put their friends' needs above their own, and I just kind of lost it.

The issue is that I agree with her definitions, but...

How can I be a “good person” when I've repeatedly almost gotten us both killed, because I've been so fucking focused on the Bedford military base that I've forgotten about Fort Redstone, which is closer, safer, and is much easier to get to?

Or rather, I haven't forgotten about Redstone. It's on my mind constantly. Izzy gurgling and bleeding and begging me to help her, somehow, any way I can think of because it hurts so fucking much.

I'll never forget Redstone. Not for as long as I live.

I told Mishka as much, except that Izzy died painlessly.

I told her that if she thinks I'm a good person then she's fucking delusional because good people and good friends don't get their teammates killed just because they're too weak and too fucking scared of a few concrete bunkers and a helicopter landing pad to even think about taking the easier and safer route.

Good people don't get their friends killed because they're too fucking stubborn to even consider an alternate route.

Good people don't pour water down unconscious people's throats.

Good people face their fears head-on and don't wallow in useless self-pity that'll just get the rest of the team killed.

good people read bedtime stories for their sisters and help you change your bandages even when they can barely stand upright and keep you covered when you've reloading and cook good food for you when you're off doing something idiotic and

I'm not a good person. I should not be in charge. I should not be alive.

Mishka should have shot me in the back a long time ago.

She's done so much for me... I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay her.
But Mishka's probably not even thinking about that – she does these things because it's the right thing to do, not because she's expecting some kind of "reward".

After I OD'd, after I nearly died, when Mishka had gotten the Naloxone into my system and I was leaning on the fridge, sweating, head spinning, I asked her if we're still friends.

She said “of course”.

  she sa  

After we had our argument, after I'd stormed out of the trailer to “check the generators”, I came back and said “you might be delusional, but you're still my friend”.

The fucking gall.

The bitch who almost gets you killed and essentially waterboards you and makes you lose the last memento you have of your sister says “you're still my friend”.

Like I'd have the right to fucking decide that. Like I could just ride in all high-and-mighty and bequeath my friendship on her like it was some kind of royal fucking title.

No.

If anything, my “friendship” is a burden.

Fog cleared up around 21:00. Since then there's been a helo hovering around the area.

I wonder what they want...

Muldraugh's pretty much clear of rotters anyway.
They're just wasting fuel, probably trying to impress their superiors with pictures of the dead hordes that me and Jenny and Mishka mowed down.

Still, I'm keeping the curtains pulled, just in case they're military. I don't trust these government goons one bit, but it's too far for me to get my the M60 and I'd rather not waste any more 7.62x51.

Mishka needs it way more than I do.

Heard a shot. Maybe one of the rotters from up north wandered closer to base.

Ah well. Not like it has anything to do with me anyhow.

-Sayori Takahashi