The Failed Coward Page 2

  Gilbert was never attacked. He also never attacked the undead near his house. Here’s the weird part… the undead that were near his house never left when we started shooting, which just trashes the idea that they are all drawn to noise. I have no idea what to think about that. They were clearly watching him to make sure he didn’t leave to interfere with what was going on here. Which tells me they are either far more intelligent than we’ve been giving them credit for, or someone, somewhere, somehow, is controlling them. Not fucking cool.

  Gilbert laid low with his AK and remained ready in the event we suddenly were overwhelmed. Fortunately, we never got to the point where running away was our only option. The door held, and the barricades I built for the windows cracked, but held out until our reinforcements arrived.

  Speaking of which… This morning a few hours after dawn rolled in the campus apparently fully repopulated itself. A few hours prior to dawn we declared a cease fire because the campus had more or less been cleared out. We figured if we kept low, and didn’t show ourselves through the windows, we might get a few hours of rest. I’m happy to report we got about four hours of sleep.

  When I poked my head up high enough to look outside, there were at least another hundred undead moving about in the area of the campus. I had this odd feeling that I was watching hound dogs sniff out their prey. I was just busted and broken, because I knew we’d have to blow through a ton of ammo to get the damn campus clear, and I knew the Westfield folks were enroute.

  We got Gilbert on the radio and went over what to do. We agreed that starting at about eleven am we’d start calling for the Westfield folks over the radio. Our radios probably had a five mile reach or maybe more, so we hoped we’d get them and alert them to the situation before they just drove in and got mauled. Gilbert made a transmission every thirty seconds or so for about half an hour until Mike finally came back.

  I won’t go into the whole conversation, but between all of us, we formulated a reasonable plan that wound up working out fairly good. Mike only came with one humvee, but he had Gavin and another one of his soldiers, a kid named LaFrenz. All three had full combat loads and their M4’s, which meant they had plenty of firepower. Despite a whole bunch of crossed fingers, the Westfield armory had no up-armored humvees with .50’s in a turret. Or M109 grenade launchers. Shit that would’ve been sweet as hell. Nonetheless…

  The two vans were still obstructing the bridge, so driving onto campus was out of the question. We decided that it would be best to lure some of the zombies away, and divide and conquer. Mike and company rolled into Gilbert’s place, and the four men managed to wipe out all the undead up Auburn Lake Road and around Prospect Circle in just a few minutes. Apparently there were very few still walking up the road.

  Gilbert loaded his old ass into the humvee, and the men came down the remainder of Auburn Lake Road and stopped short of the bridge. They engaged the small number of undead on their side of the bridge, and proceeded to light up the undead near admissions and the staff offices. Now from our perspective we saw the undead turn and start moving instantly. They immediately went to the source of the noise, and that was our cue to start shooting. Once the crowd was halfway to the humvee or so, we started firing, and then the undead were lost as to what to do. Monkey in the middle.

  Half kept moving towards the other guys, and half stopped and came back towards us. The monkey in the middle tactic bought the soldiers and Gilbert about thirty extra seconds, and they piled into the humvee and backed up fifty yards, and out of our site. They stopped, and continued firing on the advancing crowd. They had to do a retreat like that two more times, and by then, we had eliminated almost all of the zombies that had been surrounding Hall E.

  I radioed to them we were all clear, and they could return, and after a handful of shots, they said they were returning. For the first time in… four days? Patty, Abby and I left Hall E. We had to go out the side door where the deck was because the front fire door where big blue was stored had bodies piled up four feet deep. The smell outside was bizarre and horrible to say the least.

  So much blood, gore, and brains and fucking nastiness, but the cold wet weather puts a weird spin on it. It’s like the smell is there, but it’s faded or something. Not sure how to describe it. We moved through the campus trying to see if any of the downed bodies were still “alive” and once we had taken care of everything still twitching (with bat and sword and halligan btw), we moved the vans out of the way and let Mike and company onto campus.

  As I was greeting them with giant hugs and handshakes I noticed there were massive swathes of footprints through the snow on the frozen lake. It looked like they marched right down the embankment and across the ice, totally avoiding moving around the vans. Not that it was difficult, but it was single file to get past the vans on the bridge. The ice became a zombie freeway. Fucking winter. And?!?! How did the fucking things figure out the difference between single file and open space? Shit I hope they aren’t getting smarter. How do dead things learn? It makes no sense…

  Well. I guess it makes no sense that the dead have come back to life. Priorities, Adrian.

  Once we exchanged greetings we all took stock of the situation, and the place was a mess. Mike and his guys gave us a hand clearing out the bodies, and it took us all fucking afternoon straight to sundown to move them all back to staff housing. I was smarter this time and made sure to thrown some of the wood we’d gathered for the wood stove in Hall A so the flames would stay up. We lit the fires using gas as a little kick starter as the sun went down. The bodies are still burning, and thankfully the wind coming across the lake is moving away from us. Otherwise… the smell would be unbearable.

  Strangeness abounds. Not one zombie came up the road while we were getting everything done. You’d think we would’ve seen one or two, but nay. Not fucking one. Gilbert performed security for us while the rest of us threw up all over the place. It is vomit inducing labor moving that many dead bodies. They’re heavy as balls for one, and the smell is nasty, but when you pick up a body that has a popped head and the brains slide out onto your boot, it’s a pretty strong rough image to choke down. I know I threw up twice, and I’ve got a cast iron stomach.

  When we came back from lighting the fire Gilbert offered to make us food, and the men from Westfield agreed that staying the night here would make for the most amount of sense. I finally let them inside Hall E after all their help, and from what I saw, they could’ve given a shit what was inside. Most of our food was on display, and they didn’t seem to care. The guns are stored in a few different spots all over, so they didn’t get an eye on the arsenal, but like I said, exhaustion plus stress, plus a little vomit takes a lot out of you.

  We half assed a meal and ate it in the living room and kitchen together. It was a sort of nice moment. We didn’t talk much, but when we finally did, the news was interesting.

  Mike removed himself from the election in Westfield. He felt that it was important that there was a separation of military power and politics. He talked about it some, and it did make sense. It would’ve been easy for him as the most martially skilled and socially connected guy there to just take the damn school over and turn it into a military state. He felt a non military person should be in charge.

  Therefore, Lisa Goldman won in a landslide. Chad ran for office and managed two votes, which meant someone other than him voted for him. That fact was not lost on Mike or I. Two snakes in the grass to watch out for. I’m happy hearing that Lisa won the election. When I met her she was smart, funny, level headed, well educated, and struck me as a capable leader. What kind of scares me, is she is really important to everyone. She’s the most educated person when it comes to medical care, and if she decides she wants something done, she can simply refuse care to people to get her way. I don’t think she’s that kind of person, but I’ve seen small amounts of power ruin otherwise normal folks before.

  Patty dragged Abby upstairs and I’m fairly sure she put a padlock on her zipper somehow. I t
ook a nap. I woke up. Mike was passed the hell out on the couch, and Gavin was in my recliner with Otis balanced precariously on the armrest. It didn’t occur to me that I hadn’t seen my cat in days. All the noise from the gunfire must’ve driven him into hiding. I feel bad now when I think about the fact I more or less forgot about him, but I guess I had more things on my mind. I waved to LaFrenz who was awake and watching out the window, and got something to eat.

  I shot the shit with him for a bit, and he seems nice. I think he was from the Lieutenant’s school though. Very dry, and very military-esque in his mannerisms. Kept calling me sir and stuff. Kinda funny. Like I said, he struck me as a good guy. I’d say he’s about 25ish? Five and a half feet, short brown hair, reasonably normal fella. He’s pockmarked though. I suspect he had a bad case of acne in his teens.

  I left him downstairs to watch for more undead, and came up here to write this. And here I am, writing. Before I came up for my nap earlier I left it with Mike that we’d figure out a trade tomorrow, and he was in agreement. I know he said they wanted more water, and that we have. We desperately need 9mm now for Abby’s Beretta. We’re basically out. The ammo I left with the Sig would’ve come in handy. Next time we go to Westfield, I need to stop and pick up the shotgun and pistol I left there.

  I also need to get intelligent about finding a way to get more water moving back and forth so the trips are more worth it. At the rate we’re going, it’s almost a waste. I can’t imagine ten gallons of water a week is really worth it for them. I bet they’re melting a LOT of snow to get enough water to survive, otherwise, they’d be up shit’s creek. We really need some larger scale storage containers. What would rock... Would be a milk truck. I wonder if Lenny knows where we can find a milk truck, because diesel is aplenty right now, and that’d be an ass ton of water. We could fill that bitch once a month for them, and let them offload it as needed or into larger storage containers at the school.

  All this time shooting has sent my right ear back into the toilet. I can’t hear for shit out of it. I wish I could sue these asshole zombies. I could get a FAT settlement out of this. While I was going deaf, I also came up with a neat idea to get some gas. I want to talk to Mike and Gilbert about it first, but we might be able to get the gas out of the gas station a few miles away if my idea will work.

  I’ll deal with those problems later though. I’m far too goddamn tired to wrack my brain for solutions to complex problems. I kinda wished I could make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich right now. I don’t think Mike brought bread, otherwise he probably would’ve brought it in already.

  It’s funny what you miss when the world goes to shit.

  Sigh.

  -Adrian

  Sweetest Amy

  Amy pressed her head firmly back into the soft pillow as Jason gently eased his way inside her. Her whole body tingled as he began to thrust deeply into her with long tender strokes. He started slowly at first, but when she unconsciously let a guttural moan slip out, his speed began to pick up instinctively. Despite being a great lover, Amy had broken up with Jason a few weeks ago anyway. He was only in her bed and inside her this morning because she had a moment of weakness, and she hadn’t gotten laid since their breakup.

  Jason rested his body gently on top of her, pushing his heavily muscled chest into her soft breasts as he continued to slide in and out. Awkwardly he tried to force her into a passionate kiss, and she deftly avoided it by grabbing the back of his head and pulling his mouth down to her neck. She used her other hand to dig her nails into his ass, and pull him into her vigorously. She caught a sudden whiff of his sweat and her mind raced to darker and naughtier places. Amy wanted to get laid, not give him the impression she was in love with him. The faux passionate gesture caused him to pick up even more steam, and he began to drive his hips downward into her, sending her ass into the springs of the bed, and her pussy closer to the edge of a climax. Oh yes, she thought. It was going to be well worth having let him in.

  *****

  Amy listened to Jason get dressed in her apartment bedroom with her eyes closed. She could sense the growing light of the late June morning through her eyelids. With a stretch that elicited a crack in the center of her back, she yawned loudly, and opened her eyes to watch her ex-boyfriend put his uniform on. She was too late to see him shirtless (frankly, the only reason to watch him get dressed in her mind) but she did get to see him put his gun belt on. That also had some appeal. Strong man with a weapon? Sure, I’ll have a bite of that.

  Jason was a patrol officer for the police in her small town. He hadn’t been a cop long, but she’d heard from various sources he was popular with the other officers, and she knew he’d do well. He had a quiet confidence that was hard to miss. Despite being in his mid twenties (and thus a few years younger than her, but she’d never admit that to anyone) and very attractive, he and his situation was too much for her to handle. The danger of living night to night waiting for the phone to ring with bad news about him wasn’t the life she envisioned for herself. It didn’t stop her from wanting him inside her every once in a while though. She’d deal with the guilt of leading him on later. She really had to figure out a way to get laid without asking him over again. Other dicks in town needed to be made into a priority. It almost made her want to flirt with one of the seniors at the private school she worked at. She tingled and throbbed a little at the thought, then her conscience flared and she bit her lip. No Amy Gibson. Bad girl. No boy toy students again from work. She laughed at herself in her head at her own absurdity.

  “Something funny?” Jason asked her quietly.

  “What? Oh, no, just thinking to myself about work and stupid stuff. Sorry.” Amy felt like an idiot for apparently laughing at herself out loud.

  Jason smiled at her and adjusted the holster on his hip. “I gotta go back to the station. Chief said there’s some weird shit going on and he needs me to pull an extra shift today.” He shrugged. “I can use the money, that’s for sure.”

  Amy nodded, feigning interest and concern. “Was that the call you got earlier? Well, be safe Jason. Your mom will never forgive you if you got hurt.”

  “Yeah. Hey uh, when can I see you again?” He sat on the edge of her bed and rested a hand softly on her thigh.

  Amy slowly and delicately removed his hand and sat it on the bed next to her. “Look Jason this was fun, but you know we can’t last doing anything more than this. You know… this?” She gestured to the crumpled sheets with the moist spot in the center.

  Jason nodded knowingly. He looked a little hurt, and she felt the sharp pang of guilt hit her like she’d been stabbed with an icicle. Her face twisted slightly into a frown. “I’m sorry.”

  Jason stood up slowly and took a deep breath to calm his emotions. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head in thinly veiled frustration. After a second he nodded several times, almost shaking off his feelings for her like they never existed in the first place. “No, yeah. I know what you mean. I get it. I’ll get going, darling Amy. Have a great day at school. Obey the speed limit.”

  Jason turned abruptly and left the small apartment bedroom. She heard the front door shut gently and she realized with finality she’d hurt him for the last time. He wasn’t even angry anymore, he was just gone. She shook her head at her own stupidity, and got up to get dressed for work.

  *****

  Some days you should not get out of bed. June 23rd, 2010 was one of those days for poor Amy Gibson. The worse her day got the more she realized she never should’ve answered Jason’s midnight text either. Booty call failure. Come to think of it, her bad day started even before she got out of bed. Three orgasms not withstanding Amy still felt like a giant bag of douche for sleeping with him, then sending him away like he was a rental.

  Her entire day had been fucking nightmare, and it proceeded to get worse when she got in the shower to get ready. Amy had fallen into the habit of listening to the morning radio shows in the shower to help her wake up. The idiots were always burpi
ng and farting and joking around, and their humor always kept her conscious long enough to wash and condition her auburn hair. The hair she could never, ever figure out what to do with. This morning the radio shows had nothing but weird, horrible news from around the world.

  The normally outrageous morning show was subdued and serious, and that woke her up far more than their standard raucous behavior. They were reporting hundreds, if not thousands of deaths worldwide due to random outbreaks of violence. They kept repeating over and over how scary and unnerving the videos rolling in were. Obviously she didn’t see them in the shower over the radio, but the descriptions chilled her to the bone, even under the steaming spray of the shower head.

  The main radio host kept saying the attackers were zombies. Zombies. Straight out of a late night horror movie. The hosts described their faces as passive, drained of life, they had strange white eyes, and they moved forward with limitless intensity, lashing out when they got close to the living. From the sounds of the radio hosts, Hollywood’s worst nightmare was spreading across the globe one shuffling undead foot after another. She hoped it would stay far from where she lived, and wherever Jason went that day.

  Amy listened to the morning show intently in her car as she drove up the rural roads to work. She watched the roads and houses around her with guarded anxiety, waiting for a mob of blood soaked neighbors to appear suddenly. It occurred to her she watched too much bad television. Naturally of course, after she put her tuna fish sandwich into the small fridge the first thing she did when she got into her office was head straight to the internet to search out every single video she could find. Her coworkers in the admissions department at the school she worked at flocked to her desk to watch the videos over her shoulder.