09.06.202X - 11.06.202X - Peace and Quiet

10:00 09/06/202X 13°C - FORT M



Fog's still here, but looks thinner.
Thunderstorm's over.

Not much else to add.



Still thinking way too much, still looping the same things over and over...

You know, the irony about "tunnel vision" hit me earlier, when I was walking through the fog, checking the fortifications.
We're in this mess because of tunnel vision, yeah, but not the tunnel vision I'd blamed.

Fort Redstone is still unlooted. The drive over there is shorter, as well, and much safer.
So why do I constantly fucking refuse to even think about going there?


Izzy. That's why.


It's a bit morbid, but...
I wonder if the bloodstains have faded yet.
I don't really even remember whe

23.05.
Just over two weeks ago.

I don't want to go back there, I really don't, but with just me and Mishka around, trying to get through Bedford feels more and more like a pointless endeavor.
But no matter what - going back to Redstone still feels distasteful.

Like I'd rather get maimed again than go back.

Like I'd rather get Mishka killed than go back because I'm a selfish, scared piece of shit who can't deal with a few dried bloodstains and some bad memor

Radio just came on.
"Exclusion Zone 15", light toxic fog, the weather.


Mishka is up and about, at least. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.


If she would have just stayed in bed and nursed her wounds, I could have been halfway to Bedford Falls by now.

I know I should rest - I really should.
But I fucking can't.

I don't give a shit about the stitches or the scars or the fog, I want dead rotters, stacked sky high, I want a clear fucking path through the city, I want to put down every single one of those fucking animals





I took a look at the hazmat suit I pulled off a rotter. He was fresher than most others we come across.
"Drägerwerk AG", "PROPERTY OF U.S. DOD", abbreviations and lettering and a barcode, none of which I can make any sense of.

But there's a few conclusions to draw, at least:

First, the rotter being fresher than the others means they were sent here after the outbreak started.
Ergo, they were not behind the outbreak, and "Zomboxivir" is an antidote, not a means to spread the infection.
(That is, if they aren't behind the mutations...)

Second, the text looks hastily slapped on, the suit is different from the normal military protective suits, and the manufacturer is European, from what I can tell.
German, I think - never took that class, so the only German I know is scattered song lyrics.

So - stockpiles were running low enough for the DOD to quickly subcontract more protective suits, which means this thing might be country-wide, at the very least.


Fog has cleared. Gonna take off my mask. Smoke a cigarette.


Third, usually containing situations like this would be the job of the CDC (unsure, never read up much on US government agencies), but it's evidently serious enough for the military to be involved in more than just cordoning off the area.

Well, duh.



So, answers, I guess.
Not the kind of answers I'd have hoped for, and I have a feeling they'll just lead to more questions, but answers, still.

Mishka is finishing up the fence.
Even after all the shit I put her through, even after I nearly got us both killed, despite her looking like a fucking lobster with sunburns all over her body...


She's still out there, welding.



Meanwhile, what am I doing?


Waxing lyrical in an air-conditioned Humvee, writing down thoughts that don't matter and will never matter, constantly fighting the urge to just rack the SPAS and blow my brains out and fucking get it over with.

She's been trained for this kind of stuff, I'm just a lucky amateur. I'm supposed to study for end-of-term exams, get ready for summer vacation, drink ramune and try to carve my arms open once again when everything gets too much.

I'm a student. I'm not a mechanic, I'm not a carpenter, I'm not a farmer, welder, chauffeur, or fisherman.

I'm not a soldier.

Not a leader.

I'm just. A. Student.


I don't want this.

Mish deserves better.






i took the scalpel from my kit and opened up something beautiful
on my chest the bloodstain is almost like a blooming rose






Mish came knocking on the window, says we need more steel wire. Good thing I managed to get the scalpel tucked away before that.

Let's see what we find.



-Sayori Takahashi



02:20 10/06/202X 19°C - FORT M



Went out for wire, drove a bit around Muldraugh.
Little wire, lots of other stuff.
Disassembled a bunch of crates with Mish, had a bit of comfy chatting, but nothing really particularly deep.

Feels like we're two ballerinas, the way we dance around the actual issue.

Or, well, I don't know what her issue is, but she's definitely got something on her mind.

She's a bit meek, socially speaking (not that I'm much of a firestarter, either), so it might be she's trying to muster up the courage to tear me a new one over the Bedford Falls incident.

She knows who led her sister into that death trap.

She knows who got Izzy killed.




Enough about that. Keep thinking about it enough already.


Taught Mish how to use the scraps we find in phones, watches, TV's, etc. to fix up a generator.
"Jury-rig" it, if you will.

So, this time she did the rounds while I organized our stocks and cooked up something for us.
Nothing special, just fried eggs and different sausages. Had to use them up, they were kind of going off.
Maybe would have gone down even better with some sauerkraut, I don't know.

Still, it seemed to taste pretty alright to her. Not that I disliked it, quite the opposite.
Splashed some ketchup on my eggs.
Mish looked vaguely horrified.
Would have used hot sauce but don't know how well Mish handles heat.

Judging by how she gets in the sun, not very well.

Did a bit of cleaning up around the place, too. Lots of small jobs.
Switched out a bigger gas tank for the old Datsun and also managed to get the engine running.

About to do the same to my baby, and install a slightly better muffler, as well.



It's morning now, 6 AM.
Been slowly working all night.

Left some gifts for Rufus near his camp in case he ever comes back.
Found a nice piece of body armor for Harris and left it on his bed, as well.


I really hope they come back.



Also, Mish wants to go fishing, and a thought struck me - I haven't checked my traps in weeks.
Best case scenario, there's something bigger than that Louisville scumbag's little dick in there.
Worst case scenario, the trap is broken and I'll get some wire for Mish out of that.

Logging off now, probably going to keep updating throughout the day.




-Sayori Takahashi, jackoff of all trades




Took Mish fishing (hehe). Got to talking a bit.
Seems she had a tough childhood, mentioned growing up in an "academy" that was essentially a military boarding school for kids.

Feels kind of sickening to write about, but there you go.

It explains a lot - how she's as quiet as she is, how she seems kind of unused to civilian "work" (cooking, arranging furniture, doing laundry, oil changes, the like), and how she instantly took to that sniper rifle I gave her.

I've managed a couple lucky "two birds with one stone" shots here and there, but she seems to pull them off CONSISTENTLY.

Also explains the toughness, the "grit your teeth and push onward" thing, how she seems so cold at times, how it's so hard for her to open up...


I wonder what she's been through at that "academy".
What the instructors did to her.
What the other kids did to her.

If it's anything like my school life so far...

I'll be expecting her to break down completely some day.
Fingers crossed.

Or maybe not.
She's strong, stronger than I am.

I'm fucking pathetic in comparison. A bit of bullying and a rape and I'm constantly on the brink of collapse.


I think I'm becoming a liability to us both.
Maybe it would be better if I just left.
Mish is great with the stick welder, she knows how to keep generators running, how to build walls and treat wounds and...

I feel superfluous.

Can't help shaking that feeling.
Want to cut all the time, want to blow my brains out, want to overdose and choke to death, want to leave and hit the county lines and get shot by the National Guard at the cordon.




why am i like this




Mish mentioned some of her old orders, as well.
The cordon around the "exclusion zone" is a KOS area. Whoever's manning the guns is supposed to kill anything that moves, alive or not.

And of course, she's killed people before.
Actual human beings.
Took part in WWIII when she was still a teenager, my age.
Served as a sniper.

I can't imagine that.
Imagine looking at someone through a scope from miles away with your finger on the trigger, knowing that you can end their life whenever you please...

Almost makes me sick.

Mish wondered what I'm going to do after the outbreak - mentioned I should join a mercenary outfit.

Yeah, right.

Putting down rotters is open-and-shut to me.
It's a service to them.
They're no longer human, and if nothing else, I'll be making the world a little safer, bit by bit.
Plus, I'll be protecting myself and Mish from getting killed as well.

Killing another person?

I don't think I could handle that.
I think the guilt would be too much.

I think I'd break on the spot.


Talked a bit about Mishka's old squad, as well, and her family, and phones, and stuff, and everything.

We came here around 07:00, it's 13:30 now.
Sure, we spent a bit of time fishing, but most of the time we've just been sitting at the Hummer, trading stories and chatting.

Still, I think we should head back soon. Don't want the fish to spoil in the heat.



-S



16:40

Back.
Mish said she's finally feeling sleepy, so I figured I might as well let her rest while I cruise around.
Maybe plant more crops.

Downed a Red Bull to wake me up a bit, prepped some of the pike for smoking, filleted the rest.
Borrowed a new, bigger fridge from our "neighbors", moved the old one to the trailer to the south.
Considering that's where I originally "borrowed" that exact same fridge from, I figured I might as well.

I think I'll stay in Muldraugh. Mish told me to be careful, but...
Point FUCK ALL is still kinda so-and-so, regarding safety.

Also an industrial area, so it might have some more wire.

Going to see what I can find.
I know I told Mish I wouldn't get into trouble, but it kind of feels like I have to do it.

Keep working, keep pushing, do something important.

Otherwise I'm just superfluous.


Going to do a bit of reorg, and then head out. Gotta remember to shut the stove off before I go.
Have to say, it was nice being out with Mish and not have to clean blood off your boots afterwards.


Still, she said it wasn't her group that strafed me and Izzy on the 23rd.
Yet she knew our base location.
Very convenient.
I don't think she would have recognized Iz from underneath the hood anyway.


Still, in her defense, the base IS very hard to miss.
I might have been a bit too sharp-tongued.
A bit too hasty in my assumptions.

Her diary (forgive me for my sins), if correct, indicates that she deserted way before the strafe happened.

I'll have to pry a bit.

Ask about the fog and orders regarding it, or how she didn't just choke and die on the spot after leaving.
Still, I don't know. Mishka Sokolov seems like a great friend, a bit reserved and quiet, but a great friend nonetheless.

It feels strange - I'm usually the quiet one. Now I'm the one talking the most, despite the stitches and raspy voice.
Laughing hurts a bit, but...
I'm still happy I found that out.

Mish also mentioned something about a father, apparently a total scumbag.
I never had time to ask Izzy about either of her parents, and she didn't mention much about her father, but from what little I heard I couldn't really hear much antipathy in her voice. She did seem to shirk back a little.

Logging off again, running out of space.



-S



22:50 10/06/202X 16°C  - FORT M



Still haven't left, had to harvest the strawberry crop, then figured that maybe I should plant a bit more crops, considering how many seeds we have, and...

Well, it kind of snowballed.
A pretty huge field of broccoli, some cabbage, planted more corn, set up some trellises for our tomatoes next to the old storage lot guard cabin.
Erja told me they liked being next to walls, and that girl was a dab hand at planting.

Also fixed up the tires on the Hummer a bit, did some reorg.

Ate strawberries, freshly picked. Don't want to dry these, might freeze part of them for later, make jam out of the rest.
Still have to fertilize the new stuff, though. Slowly running out of NPK, going to have to rely on compost more and more.

Christ, that shit stinks. I always change into something else before doing compost rounds, hate the smell.
At least we're not using the "produce" from the outhouse, like Rufus suggested.
I'd rather mulch corpses for plant growth than do that.

Mish is sound asleep - if you put your ear to the door you can hear her slowly breathing in and out, with occasional sniffles (probably due to the dust in the room).
...when did I start listening in on other people sleeping?

Christ, my mind feels like a mess sometimes...


I guess I'm just happy that she's finally asleep and getting proper rest. She deserves it, more than anyone else at this moment.

I hope she has nice dreams...



Headed off to point FUCK ALL soon. Hope 80 shells of buckshot is enough to clear the place.



23:50




On the road now. Iced a lone rotter near VIKERNES, the bastard seemed slower than normal, but trying to cut through his neck was like slicing through tanned leather.

Another mutation?

Also left Mish a note telling her not to be worried.
She'll never figure out how I grokked spelling my nickname in Cyrillic, heh.
Also wrote "FUCK THE ROT" in huge block letters on the wall of the storage lot.

Would have gone with "FUCK THE ROTTERS" but I ran out of space.

Ah well.



Oh yeah, figured I should do a bit of a planning list for more calm activities, so here goes:
1: Disassemble the Hummer on the road to Bedford. Tires, mufflers, everything. Alternatively, repair the engine (bleh).
2. Start road work from REST STOP towards the Bedford Falls military base, chop trees and pour concrete.
3. Fortify REST STOP and use it as a, well, rest stop.




-INTERMISSION - DIARY OF LT. MISHKA SOKOLOV, RUSSIAN REPUBLIC ARMED FORCES


10/06


I'm surprised I don't have a hangover - maybe I do but it's mixing in with the heatstroke aches and pains...

Decided today would be a little sort of rest day thing - does welding count as a rest day?
I mean I'm not shooting deadmen so as long as I'm not doing that, anything goes.

Ran out of wire for the fences - Only have about 5 meters to go before the compound is fully enclosed.
I was thinking - if I were approached a year ago and was told "you'll be welding fences around a survivor base with a high schooler in America" I would've looked at the person like they were insane.

I think I scared Sayori when I knocked on the car window - I do look a little bit like a corpse right now.

Sayori drove us to a few of the workshops around Muldragh (I still need to work on not rolling my R's when I say it)

Didn't really find much wire.

I'm starting to realise how much Sayori has taught me over the time I've been here - it doesn't feel like 18 days.

I deserted slightly more than a month and a half ago, leaving with only my pack, the remnants of my week ration and Fedir's Kalash (If I ever see him again, I'll thank him for the diversion).
I came into this base starved and unwell - now I'm on my way back to full strength again.

I'd never been taught much of anything practical apart from things to do with being a soldier. Kind of pathetic now I think about it.
All I talk about is military crap.
It's so set into how I think and behave.

I'm starting to hate it.

I've decided I'm going to try to veer away from things like this. I was thinking of what I would do if this turns out to be an exclusion zone. Maybe I'll live in the woods in some back country - maybe I'll suck up that this is how I think and become a mercenary - I know I couldn't go back - I'd be put to a firing squad or worse, thrown in a women's prison.

AAA why's everything got to be so hard

Caleb always joked about leaving - he used to watch a japanese cartoon about mercenaries - Roanapur or something...

Stop fucking thinking about them its all you ever fucking do


I'm not good at small talk - I'm a good stereotype.
I'm still learning phrases and bits - I'm getting the handle of English metaphors.

Sayori mentioned a lake - I'm surprised how excited I got - my grandparents used to live by the Ust'ya.

I don't know why I got so excited - It's just a river - probably in the forest where deadmen can just hide in the trees - the worst place to be.

Apparently the broken traps can be repurposed into wire - decided to shirk my fear and go along - it might be nice - Muldragh is pretty dead-free.

I'll pack the FAL and the Colt instead of the M24 just in case.



Had a bit of a talk with Sayori that triggered some bad memories.

The trip was lovely - not a deadman in sight - almost felt like we were on a hiking trip. I could've stayed there all day picking mushrooms and berries.
I didn't catch any fish.

We started talking and got on the topic of CREI and other things. Her expression was a bit strange when I told her what the acronym meant - It's just reminding me how abnormal my life has been - or maybe life in other countries is just a lot easier.

We managed to get onto the third war - her face really really changed when I told her I'd served at the time - I was just a teenager. I didn't say it but I hope she understands I didn't have any choice.
I was on the wrong side of history.

There's a picture of me out there somewhere, crying, wrapped in a foil blanket with a broken arm and a messed up face, being fed bread and tea by a NATO aid soldier - It didn't feel like I was coming up for my 18th birthday.

I spent my birthday in a ward of captured soldiers getting my knee fixed.

Horrible shitty memories.

I feel like I'm putting on the tough soldier act.
I wonder what I would have been like if I never told my family about the recruitment forms.
I wanted them to be happy.
Be a good child, succeed in life, be dependable - clean, tidy, close to God.
God never did anything for me.

If he existed, he'd smite the people making this happen.
Maybe he does exist and this world is his entertainment - like watching car accidents on dashcam.



But it was pretty nice today. Frosted the burns like a cake with E45, bandaged everything - wore the hoodie over the top.

Comfy.

Got back and unpacked - too drowsy to really do much - Sayori said she was going out again but I think the painkillers whacked me a bit too much - she agreed to stay in Muldragh.

I don't remember much - woke up at 8pm face down on the bed, hugging one of those weird orange squirrel toy things that I relocated to the top shelf - (no paranormal stuff - I threw them up there but one kept falling down so I decided he wanted to live on the bed).

Still in gear - it was one of those stone-cold-half-dead sleeps that you wake up from feeling like you're made from lead and haven't moved in 20 years. My eyes fuckin hurt - really dehydrated.

Got up and had a moment in the sauna - left a bucket near the sauna coals - might have washes like this from now on - wasn't freezing for once.
I'm getting feeling back on the really bad burns (is a sauna good for old burns? I swear I've seen it's good for blood flow), E45 cream - bandages - the usual.

Sayori left me a note on the door:
"Hey Mish,

I'm going to point FUCK ALL to look for wire and stuff for you. Also mixed some fertilizer in with your potatoes.

Don't worry, I'll be back safe and sound. Maybe I can find some sunscreen or cold gel on the way as well :P

<3
-Саюшка"

The letters caught me off guard.
I never meant for it to be in Cyrillic but alright, haha.
I'm gonna put it on my wall - I might grab a load of the guide books from the rest stop and cut the pictures out - I love looking though them whenever we fill the Humvee up.

Sayoshka has returned - she smells like a walking campfire - maybe now isn't a good time to ask about adventures.



01:00 11/06/202x 14°C - POINT  FUCK ALL

Dear diary,
As I'm writing this, the McCoy Logging Company sawmill north of Muldraugh is burning down, the fire started by a remote-detonated aerosol bomb and egged on by a liberal sprinkling of gasoline along the sawdust-covered floors.
I already took everything of value; door hinges, duct tape, water, cleaning supplies, nails, WD-40, the like.
Now, why did I burn down the McCoy Logging Company?

I've asked myself this a few times already, and still haven't figured out the answer.

Is it just indiscriminate vandalism, in the style of "I had the tools ready and just felt like it"?

Is there some deeper meaning behind this? After all, I could have chosen any building in Muldraugh - why go out of my way to an old sawmill, waste 80 shells of double-ought buckshot on the former employees, and then set fire to the place?

I'm not a local, I have no idea what wrongs McCoy may or may not have committed in their quest for profit - and I'll likely never find out.

I am completely, 100%, absolutely detached from this, on an emotional level.

I guess it's the same reason I decided to name it "Point FUCK ALL"; the drive alone felt like a promise of greater things, like there'd be some gold at the end of this winding asphalt rainbow.

Instead it's just rotters, planks and logs, the first of which I've spent a fair share of my waking hours eradicating, the latter two being in ample supply anywhere, as long as you possess an axe, a saw, and two arms to use.

Maybe I just wanted to see what it looked like on fire, roof beams collapsing and machinery melting.

Maybe there's no deeper meaning than that. Fires are pretty, and now I don't have to worry about anyone else being caught in the blaze - why not?

The talk I had with Mish yesterday at the lake brought forth an old habit of mine.

I call it "magpieing".

It sounds nicer than "robbing from the dead".
Essentially, I just ice rotters like normal, then take everything they're carrying that has - or had - conventional value.

Jewelry and valuable watches come first, of course, and are the bulk of what I grab.
I'm much more critical of what I grab nowadays, though, I rarely take anything made out of silver unless it's expertly engraved or detailed, inlaid with something more precious, or merely huge (like some of the bangles I've found - I could melt them down to make bullion bars if I wanted).

Next is stuff like expensive perfumes or cologne. I go more by personal taste here, but odds are that if a rotter is wearing an expensive dress, then the perfume in her handbag will also be quite expensive.
Last are wallets, credit cards and cash. I have no idea what the going rate of the US dollar is nowadays, but I'm betting it's closer to the Yen than the Euro.

Nevertheless, the course might return eventually.

As for credit cards, I know they might be a bad idea, but they take up virtually zero space and weigh next to nothing, so I've figured I might as well.

Of course there's car keys as well, but those are more for utility than anything else. A brand new hybrid or a legendary old muscle car might sell for a pretty penny, but that kind of requires it not being covered in rotter guts and dented to hell and back. In addition, delivery is always an issue - it would take decades for these "investments" to pay off, if they even do, and honestly I don't think I'll live that long.

Plus, I'm pretty sure that whatever provisional government that steps forward to fuck shit up even further when (if) the contagion ends is going to nationalize a lot of rotter "property", just to get their bills paid and some semblance of infrastructure rebuilt.

Anyway, I've developed a few nifty tricks now for reclaiming jewelry off dead rotters - when the outbreak started I'd just try to pull off a ring as carefully as I could, hoping I wouldn't accidentally tear off half of the skin on the bastard's hand.
Nowadays I carry a miniature branch clipper-like thing and just snip the fingers off.
Earlobes are easy to remove with a pair of scissors, and necklaces are by far the easiest, since lopping the head off is pretty much standard procedure at this point when you don't want to waste ammo or attract unnecessary attention. I've started getting it down to an art form now, takes just about a second to snip a finger on both ends and toss it in the ziploc. Depends on thickness and freshness, of course.



Now, I'm sorry if I'm getting too introspective, but...
Why the fuck did I even whine about the whole "morality of killing" earlier?
Was it me trying to convince myself that while Mish may be better at everything, at least I have the "moral high ground", in some sort of spiteful attempt at making myself feel even marginally better?

I rob from the dead, for Christ's sake! I cut off their fingers and pull out their earrings and steal their lockets with pictures of their wives and husbands, not sparing a single fucking moment to think about who that rotter person might have been.

If anything, I'm the worse character here - true, Mish may have killed, perhaps more than she'd like to admit, but she did so under orders, she did so because she was trained since her childhood to do so, she did so because her homeland was at war and she stood up to defend it, as was her duty.

She did that when she was 18.

What am I doing at 18?
Burning down police stations and churches, hotwiring cars, robbing jewelry from the dead, exterminating entire former families in seconds.
I am under no orders except my own, I am doing no duty to any homeland, all I have in mind is childish fucking revenge and personal gain.


When did I become like this?

Have I always been like this?


Someone who, if I was ever to feature in a story, would be criticized for being a one-dimensional villain with no redeeming qualities?



It's 2 AM now.

The fire is rising, higher and higher, flames licking the corrugated steel roof through doorways and broken windows, the heat inside shattering the last few intact panes of glass.

Maybe it's a good thing I promised Mish I'd be home safe.

I want to go inside. I want to finally become pure.