The Failed Coward (17 page)

I can hear mice in the walls now. They scratch all damn night trying to get near my food. There isn’t anything for them to get at though. I’ve got all the food locked up in an elevated, dry cabinet that’s sealed. Joke’s on them.

APPROXIMATELY ONE MONTH LATER

The mice got into my dry food supply. I may have underestimated their rodent resolve. They’ve managed to eat or poop in all my pasta, and eat holes in the bottom of my bags of flour. That’s how I found the food was tainted. I lifted a five pound bag of flour out of the cupboard, and it ripped open and dumped all over me and the floor.

Fucking mice. That’s right mom. I said FUCKING. Nothing you can do about it now.

The dynamite tripwires have been triggered twice this month due to falling snow. We’ve had a few warm days, and on those days the icicles fall, and even though the tripwires are buried under snow now, they’ve managed to trip the bombs. The resulting explosions have caused me to ruin my pants twice now. The bombs also managed to destroy large portions of my stockade fence, which has allowed the asshole Zeds to march right into my yard. I had set them to blow together, and they didn’t. They went off separately, which makes me wonder if I am an idiot, or if someone has messed with the wiring on the explosives.

I suspect someone is out to get me.

I’m getting low on gasoline again as well. The cold weather is causing me to piss through fuel like there’s no tomorrow. I’ve switched to using primarily wood heat, but with the majority of my wood supplies stored outside under an awning along the back of the house, getting additional wood now doesn’t seem all that awesome.

I am now looking at enacting a foolproof plan to blast out large numbers of the undead using some of my remaining dynamite so I can get more gasoline to stay warm. If I can’t get more gasoline, then I will freeze to death here in this old shithole house. 

I’m starting to wonder why I decided that a house near town was a good idea. I know my mom needed help doing stuff around the house, but a home further out of town would’ve been much more sensible for surviving the apocalypse. I wish I hadn’t shot that girl. I’m very lonely.

APPROXIMATELY ONE MONTH LATER

I lost most of my foot to dynamite a few weeks ago. 

I am not very smart.

I had enough of being cold only running the heat a few hours a day and I opted to use three sticks of my dynamite to clear a path to my truck in the driveway. I made it to the truck, shot the handful of Zeds still hanging around, and loaded up four empty gasoline barrels into the bed of the truck.

I lost a fingernail when it got pinched by a barrel. Wow did that hurt. I made it to the same gas station and managed to run over a bunch of the Zeds that were hanging out near there. I don’t know why Zeds would hang out at the gas station. It’s not like they drive anywhere anymore. Maybe it’s because they were sad about the pretty girl I shot there before? I can almost sense their jealousy when I think about it.

As I was pumping the gas using my little hand crank on reverse. I looked into the crashed car at her body. I started to talk to it. I apologized for not seeing that she was as pretty as she was that day and shooting her. I told her how much I regretted that she didn’t come and live with me in my old shitty house, and I told her all about how awesome my house was, and how great my DVD collection was. I didn’t want to over nerd her and tell her about my Hustler collection. I’m so glad my mom never found my boxes in the basement.

She seemed to like me, and she even told me that my arms were big and strong. I guess cranking the gas over and over for all that time really showed off my bulging biceps. She gave me the sexy eyes, and I told her she was pretty, and right before I left the gas station I made sure I left her my phone number. I wrote it down on a McDonald’s receipt and put it in her hand with a wink. She had such soft skin.

When I got back to the house I had a half stick of dynamite still in the truck with me, so I lit it and threw it out the window at a few Zeds near my garage as I pulled in. The damn thing didn’t go off though, so I went over to make sure the Zeds were dead, and wouldn’t ya know it? The damn half stick blew up, and blasted off all the toes on my left foot.

My mom has now taken to calling me Ilene. Man she pisses me off. I wish she’d just leave and wander out into the pile of Zeds outside. She’s always telling me to grow up, and stop watching cartoons, and to ask girls to the dance, and to get her cigarettes from the parlor. What a bitch. If she asks me to get her cigarettes once more, by golly, I’ll stick a half stick of dynamite right down her gullet and show her who the boss is now.

APPROXIMATELY ONE MONTH LATER

Most of my foot has joined the dinosaurs. Mom told me over and over to put it in Epsom salts to make sure it didn’t get infected, but I ignored her because she’s a jerk. Plus I think she might be dead already, but I can’t remember anymore. I don’t even know what day of the week or month it is. I think it’s almost spring, because I can hear birds tweeting outside, and the snow isn’t falling as much anymore.

I can get around the house pretty good when I borrow mom’s wheelchair. Sometimes I take her out of it, and sometimes I just sit in her lap. It is far too painful to stand up now though, so when I take her out of the chair, I just put her on the floor. She yells and screams until she’s hoarse, but there was no other way for me to dynamite up the doors and windows. I just can’t walk around with high explosives on one good foot. I’m asking for trouble.

I think I have gangrene. The smell wafting up from my foot is a lot like the smell at the butcher’s shop right after they start gutting cattle. It also kind of smells like poop. That pretty girl I met at the gas station has been with me off and on, helping me string up the det cord and the dynamite.

She says I’m handsome, and that once my foot heals up she’d like to take me on a date. I’d like to go to Outback. I love their bread.

I don’t have the heart to tell her that I am a virgin still. I think I caught her in the basement looking at my Hustler collection the other day, so she might have already figured that out. I also don’t want to let her down because I think my foot will never heal. I think this is the injury that will do me in. 

I can’t get into the basement to refuel the generator. I’ve got drums and drums of gasoline and diesel sitting down there, but there’s no wheelchair ramp for the basement. I’m out of firewood to burn. I’ve started smashing apart furniture so I have something to burn, but without two good feet, and with your mom yelling at you to “shut the hell up” from the kitchen floor, it’s hard to get done. As you can imagine, it has gotten really chilly in the house here. 

The pretty girl and I have started to discuss the option of going out with a bang. Like I said, she’s helped me put the last few sticks of dynamite all over the house in the event someone tries to break in. If anyone opens a door, or breaks open a window, KABOOM. They’re wired to blow together too, so clever dinks won’t be able to get around my system.

Anyway, I’m getting tired. My fever makes me hot then cold off and on, and I’m now sitting in the front living room near the door. The pretty girl said she was going to her dormitory to get her sorority sisters to come back for a huge “rager.” I don’t drink liquor, just PBR, but I guess now is as good a time as any to start. I hope the infection in my foot doesn’t kill me before she gets back here with her friends.

I really like pretty girls. They’re so… pretty.

My mom is yelling at me from the floor in the kitchen again. Her voice hurts my soul. “WALTER! COME GET ME OFF THIS FLOOR! GET MY TAPIOCA PUDDING!”

Joke’s on you mom. I put dynamite in the pudding too.

I think I’ll just take a nap. I am very tired. The girls will wake me when they get back from college.

I hope they come back.

March 29
^th

I desperately needed a pleasant surprise today. 

I got one! If you can imagine that Mr. Journal. Melancholy Adrian takes a vacation with Negative Nancy, and reasonably optimistic Adrian moves in for a bit. We had been planning on making a trip to Westfield on the 31
^st
to do another one of our social trade days, but early this morning our radio lit up with traffic, and our plans have since changed.

Gavin was about five miles away, and was asking for permission to come onto campus. When the call came in, Patty, Abby and I were making a mediocre breakfast out of our mediocre breakfast supplies and we all exchanged wtf looks. Abby lit up like the sun busted through the roof directly onto her. You could feel her barely restrained joy.

Patty gave Gavin the green light to head onto campus, and we headed out to move the vans off the bridge so he could come in. Gavin drove onto campus a few minutes later in a beat up Dodge pickup truck. He waved at us, and parked the truck over near Hall A.

I instantly knew what he was here for the moment he got out of the truck. Guys can speak to this. Mr. Journal, if you’ve ever had a girl in your life you really liked, then you know what I’m talking about here.

Gavin got out of the truck and looked nervous, and sheepish. He looked quickly at Abby and smiled, then immediately walked over to Patty and I. I think patty knew what was up too, because out of the corner of my eye I caught her smiling. Gavin dragged both of his feet the entire twenty feet to us, and we waited for him to get to us. Abby stood frozen solid on the sidewalk near Hall A, and watched the whole thing go down.

Here’s a basic account of the conversation:

“Mrs. Williams, Mr. Ring, I was wondering if I could talk to you today for a bit?” Gavin looked like he had stolen our bicycles, and then shit on our doorstep. Guilty, and nervous as balls.

I smiled and nodded, and Patty simply said, “Sure thing Gavin.”

He smiled again, and asked if we’d mind going somewhere private. I gestured to the foyer of the school building right near us. Gavin pulled open the big glass door and we ducked inside to escape the chilly morning air.

Gavin shuffled his feet for a bit and swallowed hard, then did his man’s deed. “I would like to move here to campus so I can ask Abigail to be my girlfriend.” He exhaled a deep sigh after saying it. His relief was palpable.

My heart damn near popped for joy. I’ve been there Mr. Journal. I’ve been the guy asking the dad for a date. I’ve been the guy who couldn’t sleep because he was worried his girlfriend’s dad wouldn’t let her go to the prom with you. I’ve had that nervous flutter in my chest as I wondered what would happen between me and the girl I thought I loved. The moment brought me back twenty years in the span of a breath. I could see that it did the same for Patty. Her eyes were glossy by the time Gavin was done talking. I wondered how Charles would have reacted were he standing in my place. I was a little honored to have been included in this exchange. Made me feel like family. I waited for Patty to gather herself while Gavin looked at her with eyes filled with the fear of rejection.

Gavin spoke before Patty did, “I really like her. And I know she really likes me. We’ve talked already, and we know we’re young, and living together would be weird, but we want to be close, and we want to try to make it work, and we understa-.” 

Patty cut him off, “Gavin shush. She’s head over heels for you.”

Gavin’s eyes almost filled with his own tears when she said that. His chest puffed up and he looked so much like the scared 20 year old he was. We’ve all become so hard that we forget how vulnerable we can be when our emotions are revealed again.

“Son, you seem like a good young man. And If Abby likes you as much as I think she does, I’m sure I’ll feel the same in short order. But you understand this, things aren’t the same as they were in high school. You can’t be causing drama and fighting. If you want to be in love, you need to work at it, and never give up.” Patty’s tone was serious, but gentle. She wanted her daughter to be happy, and she wanted Gavin to understand the seriousness of the matter. A broken heart in today’s world had much larger consequences than a year ago. Gavin nodded at her, intently listening.

Patty looked to me. “Adrian, Charles isn’t here to speak for his daughter. Do you have anything to say to our poor defenseless young man here?”

I seriously debated dropping the “I’ve got a shotgun son, and I’m not afraid to go back to jail” speech, but elected not to go that route. I kept it simple.

“Gavin, I’ve been your age before, and Patty’s been Abby’s age before, and did all the stuff you two want to do right now. Believe me, we understand exactly what’s going through your minds. I need to know that you two are going to be smart about this. We can’t have Abby pregnant. If you two are fooling around, you need to use protection. We’ve got plenty of it, no sense risking the alternative until we’re very ready. And also, if you two don’t work out, we need to keep the drama to a minimum.”

Gavin blushed something fierce and nodded emphatically. “Yessir. I understand. I’m sorry about all that too.”

“Sorry for what? For being human and wanting to spend the best kind of time you can with the girl you love? There’s nothing to apologize for there.”

Patty hit me in the arm, but she was smiling. She knew. Gavin looked pretty sheepish after the whole exchange, and wound up shuffling his feet some more. Obviously he had only thought his plan out this far. 

“So you’re saying you want to move here to campus Gavin?” I asked him.

“Oh yeah, totally. I’ll live wherever man.” Gavin was stoked at the question. His eyes lit up with excitement as soon as I asked him the question.

“Well, you’re certainly not gonna room with Abby just yet buster.” Patty pointed a finger at him with a sly smile. Gavin grinned, then made a sad face.

“We can stash you in one of the spare bedrooms on the top floor of Hall E I think. That way we’re all in the same building. Or if Ollie and Melissa wind up coming out here for sure, they can all shack up in Hall B that way he and Abby can have little dates.” I winked at him. He blushed some more.