Dust Collectors

"Zombic Radio"
Doc ID Number: #5050
Class: Paranormal Object

Rather disappointingly, today my research wasn't as eventful as it was yesterday. I've accomplished nothing. The only plan I've got (concerning the progression of this case) is to continue flipping through these channels, in the hopes that perchance I may receive another signal.

I'm yet to crack down on the cause of the successful signal I intervened last time, and I've concluded to commit the entirety of tomorrow to solving that conundrum.

As for the moment, I've got one idea as to what the cause may have been. My bedroom is situated underground, perhaps locations beneath the surface receive a stronger signal? The underground is closer to the dead after all. 

This conclusion is but a hypothesis, I will need to investigate further.

I'm being rather dramatic, my apologies to the readers of the future, today has not been quite as horrid as I may make it seem. Even in all my wisdom I am not immune to overreacting (curse these human emotions).

In truth, I had quite a lovely evening with my wife today, we had snacks while I was overseeing the radios. It's hard to muster a temper over your dwindling progress when you have such a sweetheart by your side.

Bailey Fraser, Day X5
Hideout 199

"Hazel, stop pacing"

This happened every time, always the same. A cycle. Bailey would disappear, Hazel would panic, Bailey would come back the next day, they would yell at her, she would learn nothing, and then she would disappear again.

"She's not coming back this time is she? Goodness, does Rob always spend this long looking for her..? What if Rob's dead too???"

Her voice was sporadic and twitchy, almost to the point where it was cartoonish. It gets harder and harder to take her seriously every time this happens. How could somebody be this paranoid this consistently?

"Your husband is going to be fine, Hazel" I clasped her shoulders to keep her still, "now please, stop pacing, you're just gonna get more stressed."

Thea scratched both her cheeks. "But she isn't dead... Haha right? Right?"

"Not you too."

"I can't be a widow with a dead child, I'd never forgive myself."

Tears and snot were flowing from Hazel's face like a waterfall, her sleeves crusty and wet. Each minute that passed she somehow conjured an even worse hypothetical than the last.

"Hey, you're way stronger than this. Bailey was raised in the apocalypse, she's a tough kid. She always comes back without a scratch."

"You always say that..."

(Because it's true damn it!)

"There was that one time she came home with a bite... And we had to hurry to The Keepers... And they were out of disinfectant... And the only reason she's still with us is because we got lucky and somehow found a full bottle on the walk home..." Rambled Thea, slowly being overcome by Hazel's mindset.

I sighed, then sat Hazel down on the couch, doubting that might even slightly relax her nerves. I took a breath again. "Yeah! And now we keep stocked up on disinfectant all the time, so Bailey is gonna be one hundo percent fine."

Thea distracted the logical half of her brain from everything I'd said prior. "One hundo percent?", "she means one hundred percent, she's just trying to lighten the mood."

"That's just how I talk but whatever..."

"Bailey used to hate the way you talk..." Hazel started pacing again.

"Why are you saying 'used to'? Is this motherly senses? Is she GONE??? OH GOD..."

"Thea."

"Goodness me- What if- What if this is motherly senses? I didn't mean it like that. Oh God, what if I just killed my own daughter?!"

"Hun, please be logical for a sec here. You're better than this."

Her cheeks had gotten so wet that they squeaked as I rubbed the moisture from her eyes, "I'm so scared..."

"What if there was a blood moon- And we didn't notice- And now Bailey's dead because of us?!" (Thea is really good at not taking breaths between her sentences...) "With all respect, if there was a blood moon you definitely would've noticed."

She miserably clawed her forehead with her hand, tears dripping onto her jeans. "We wouldn't have heard it over the radios! This is all my fault, if I hadn't had mentioned it Bailey would've never left home, and then Rob wouldn't have died looking for her, and we'd all be better for it!"

(Even over those radios, believe me, you would've known it was a blood moon... And can we stop assuming everyone is dead already!?)

I don't enjoy this, and just as much as everyone I try my best to keep Bailey from straying away, but I don't like having to play the mature one while everyone else does whatever and ignores my help. It's stupid.

I worry about the poor girl too, but it's so easy not to get yourself this worked up. Why would anyone willing let themselves get this worried?

"Thea, please, you really need sleep. This stress isn't good for you-"

Hazel shot up from her seat. "I'm going out there!"

"I don't think you are... Because it's like... Yeah I think it might be midnight guys? I think it's bed time?"

A loud crash came from right outside Hideout199.

Hazel and Thea jumped into each other like gophers, shivering, staring at the doorway. 

"Rob, hedgehog, mouse, Felix, some other cat... It's not undead Bailey, or whatever you're thinking."

Footsteps scuffled outside.

(Oh never mind I think it's Rob... Probably with Bailey, because why would he come home without Bailey?)

A deep Suffolk accent meandered from behind the wall between us and him. "Hun, I'm back."

(Yup. Rob.)

He nudged the door with the tip of his boot to crack it open, it always gets stuck when the cold creeps in. "Torch died. Can't see a damn thing out there."

I held his crying wife and Thea in my arms, "so no Bailey for now?"

He nodded. "No Bailey."

I coughed. "For now?"

...

"Rob..? For now..?"

He ignored me, prioritizing the people who were visibly distraught. "It's awfully late Thea, you ought to be off to bed."

She sighed, don't know what for though. "I know, I know..."

(No one listens to me...)

...

(Where are you, Bailey?)

Headquarters017 was far from a comfortable place to spend the night, but it was certainly better than spending a second longer with my family. Skittle wasn't keen to share a bed with me, she never quite was, but as a lady myself I respect a woman's needs.

I believe my secret headquarters was some sort of small public space before the bomb claimed it. A gym or a library. It was not something that was built to be slept in, that much I'm aware of. Over the years I have done my best to make it my own: work desks, stationary, pillows, 3000 page book on human innards with pictures, soft blankets and such, just the way a girl likes it.