The Failed Coward (36 page)

In fact, this whole process sucks so much fucking ass, I went inside the warehouse and grabbed a phonebook to see if there were any fencing companies anywhere that we could just pick the shit up from, and skip this whole affair. Sadly, there are not any nearby. Weirdly enough, there are several companies that offer fences or fencing supplies in the city, and I’d rather have sex with a garbage disposal than go into that fucking city.

More on that later Mr. Journal. Not the having sex with a garbage disposal part. Fucking weirdo.

So once we figured out that was how we could get them out reasonably fast, we went to work with the halligans, a pickaxe from the HRT, and a couple of shovels we brought just for the occasion. Gilbert plopped his ass on the roof of the truck, and we yanked out about 25 of the fence posts, and something along the lines of 250 feet of fencing. It’ll be a hardcore bitch to install it in the next few days/weeks, but it needs to be done.

When we returned to campus, we parked the truck filled with pallets in the road, creating our official Auburn Lake road block. The way the road is set up, there’s no way around the truck in a vehicle, or any way to get in front of it, or behind it to tow it out of the way. Someone would have to cut down trees, fill a culvert, etc etc. The point is, it ain’t happening without a shitload of work, and us hearing it. Obviously we took the keys out too. Hopefully that’ll cut down on the chances of anyone driving right up here and straight to the bridge. Incidentally, we are still leaving one van parked on the bridge as a secondary road block. Defenses need to be layered. These might be paper thin, but we’re working on it.

We told Ollie we checked the phone book, and he suggested we hit up the garden supply store in town. The same one I got the seeds from “that day.” He said those businesses almost always have raw materials somewhere to build fences. After all, what sense is it planting a garden if the animals can get to it at night? Sage advice Ollie, you’re worth your weight in green beans. Or bullets. And that’s really valuable. 

We slept very, very well last night.

Today’s op was of a different nature. Remember that unfinished development I saw back when I scouted this side of town? The one with all the bricks under tarps, and concrete blocks and cement mix and stuff? We returned there bright and early with a reduced crew size. Gilbert said he was tired last night, and needed a break, so he took today off. I can’t blame him, it’s silly of us to expect a guy his age to keep up with our pace.

Patty also asked to bow out, due to requiring a mental health day. She said that she wanted to spend some time with Melissa, and that’s a great idea. I think we should all spend some time with Ollie and Melissa as we move forward. When the fuck we’ll find that time is someone else’s guess, cuz I’m a little short of spare time lately.

Bright and motherfucking early we rolled out once more. I guess the early wakeup wasn’t that harsh, because we all pretty much ate pillow right after chow. Nothing puts you to sleep like physical and mental exhaustion. I’m happy to report, no weird dreams either.

The construction site is/was in an area we haven’t reached yet in terms of clearing the area. It’s about a quarter mile out from where we’ve been so far, so it stands to reason that the undead presence there would be slightly reduced. After all, we’re making noise as we clear, and as we’ve learned, noise draws them in. 

I think there might’ve been a grand total of a dozen undead over the course of the morning and early afternoon to contend with, and Abby was Johnny on the spot dealing with them as Gavin and I loaded everything into the back of the trucks. Oh, that reminds me, the damn Tundra was sputtering kind of like when Gilbert’s old Chevy died. I think it might have something to do with specific fuel we’re using. I’m thinking on it. 

So there were two whole pallets stacked waist high filled with bricks. There was a third pallet filled with cement blocks as well. We loaded those onto the two trucks brick by fucking brick as well as twelve bags of cement mix. 

Downside of the apocalypse: physical labor is a motherfucker.

Upside of the apocalypse: by the end of summer, we will all be jacked up like a home run hitter from the steroid era. Strong like bull.

We also hitched up a small portable power gas powered generator, which is great because the key to it was still in it, and that means as long as we can keep it running, we have electricity on the go. There was also a fair amount of pressure treated lumber as well as some waist high chainlink fencing, but we left that behind after throwing a tarp on the lumber. It looked surprisingly good on inspection, and I think it’ll be usable for us somewhere on campus. 

We returned back here, trucks bottoming out the entire way, enlisted the labor force that had remained behind to unload the trucks, and made the no huddle offense call to go to the garden center. Gilbert wasn’t around to call us idiots, and Gavin and Abby were 100% with the idea, so we grabbed a decent late lunch, and headed out to cross town.

I’ll be the first person to raise my hand from the corner of the room whilst wearing the dunce cap and say this was not my best idea. Last second plans like these are never, ever bright, and really should only be attempted under dire circumstances. This was a “Hey, we have time, and we should get something cool done” situation, which is not particularly dire.

The trip across town in the trucks was eerily quiet. I had fully expected to see a lot of undead milling about, but in actuality there were very few. Unnerving. With all our noise it made all the sense in the world that they would be moving across town towards our general direction, but I guess that’s not the case. To me, that means there’s something else making noise, or drawing their attention. More on that later.

The garden center is set back in a decent sized parking lot. Right next to the land the garden center is on there is a small strip mall with a Chinese restaurant (awesome dumplings), and a few small businesses. There is a check cashing place, a thrift store, etc. We should think about hitting the restaurant soon, I wonder if there are cooking supplies left in there. Or cats. Kitty on stick!

I’d guess and say the building is perhaps the size of a gymnasium with some extra fat on the sides. It’s big, but not like Kmart or Walmart big. It’s a small town garden center. On one side of the place is an outdoor lawn center type dealio where they stored the trees and shrubs and shit they sold. Some of those were still behind. I guess stealing plants that don’t produce food just wasn’t a high priority for anyone.

I know, weird, right? I was just thinking campus needed a few hedges. Because hedges are awesome. (Sadly, a hedge might be some serious anti zombie technology. If it was a good, thick hedge, they’d eat shit trying to walk over it, then spend a retarded amount of time trying to right themselves with their asses hung up in the air. File hedges under: to be considered)

Anyway. The parking lot of the place had an unreasonably large amount of undead in it, which was troubling. It definitely led us all to think that there was some kind of reason for them to be there, and we were correct.

About a third of the undead were at the double glass doors, banging away trying to get inside. To prevent us from shattering the doors, we parked the trucks at the end of the building on the corner, and started shooting across the front of the place. On the outside chance there were survivors inside, we really wanted to protect the doors.

As soon as we started unloading at them, the entire crowd wheeled on us, and surged. It was without a doubt a pants wrecking moment. It was almost like they were in unison, hive mind thinking-esque or something. Creepy once again. Recurring theme lately.

At one point they were getting so close, Gavin and I went cyclic at head level to buy us time to load into the trucks and back away out into the road. Bodies were piling up as we backed away, and once we got out into the road we noticed that there were a few dozen more approaching down the street from both sides. I called for an ammo count, and once we all confirmed that we still had a good amount, we opened up again.

Sweaty balls Mr. Journal. Sweaty balls. Sphincter tightening to say the least. Abby and Gavin are both nearly deaf tonight, and the only reason why I’m not saying I’m nearly deaf tonight is because I was already nearly deaf going into today. Daily fucking gunfire with no hearing protection will be the death of our eardrums.

I know I know. I never stop bitching. 

We got inside the garden center by smashing out the glass doors that we tried so hard to not to shoot. Oh, the irony. Someone had locked the double doors, and all the exterior entrances were zipped up tight. Inside, right at the same counter where the young girl barely paid attention to me “that day” was a man with a huge bite mark on his arm, and an obliterated head. There was a double barrel scattergun on the floor between his feet.

Do the math on what happened there. The blood was still slick and gooey, which meant he’d died damn recently. Not sure on the coagulation rate of human blood, but he couldn’t have been dead for more than a day or two at most.

Gavin watched the front door and took out the slow stream of stragglers that were headed into our AO. He called them out over the radio as they approached, then smashed in their heads with the halligan. Luckily, once we’d dealt with that fat rush of the dead, the crowd never got overwhelming again. We only had to stop to assist him once, and that was a piece of cake. Maybe eight of them roaming towards us in a small pack. Shoot a few to thin it out, smash the rest of the heads once it’s safer. It’s all about managing threat density with these assholes.

I’ll make an already ridiculously long story short. The garden center did indeed have fencing materials. They had a dozen or so rolls of waist high chainlink, and the uprights to match. They had fertilizer still, as well as potting soil, more seeds, pots, bird feeders (which Ollie requested, oddly enough), and blah blah blah. They also had more bricks, patio stones, concrete blocks, and farming oriented tools, which we actually didn’t grab, as there’s a small farm nearby, and Ollie hadn’t mentioned needing anything tool oriented. With any luck, we won’t have to return here.

We took all of what I’ve already mentioned, and then some. Both truck beds were full to the top, and we actually had to use rope to get it secured for the trip home. Good thing too, because we had to evade a rather large scale increase of the zombie population on the roads heading back too. I think the noise that had attracted them away had abated, and our much more interesting noise had lured them in our general direction. 

Noise is like Zombie-pong. Zombie in the middle. Or maybe even keep away, but we’re living bait.

I hope Blake is okay. When we were coming back through town I caught the smell of fresh wood smoke, which I haven’t smelled in a very long time in that area. Someone is staying warm with a fire, or their house is burning down. Either way, it strikes me as signs of life where there were none recently. 

Oh, and I also realized while we were loading shit at the garden center that dumpsters might be great barricades or obstacles. One in the middle of a road would do wonders to stop traffic. If we can find a trash truck to pick them up, we could totally line them up to create some serious barrier action.

I’ll add that to my list of shit to do. Right after I scratch my balls.

I’m dead. Just flat out exhausted. I just inhaled a half dozen ibuprofen and an allergy pill. My poor fucking liver. Drifting off into the sweet realm of sleep as Otis circles my feet, waiting for me to get finalized on my sleeping position. I’m putting some soft music on to rest to as well. I think tonight I’ll opt for some Frank Sinatra. 

Ole blue eyes can lull me to sleep.

Peace out Mr. Journal.

-Adrian

The Golden Palace

“Yo bitch get in the car!” Zach hollered out the window of the SUV as he turned down the stereo. The thumping bass beat of Kanye’s latest hit was far too loud, even for his 20 year old, rap damaged ears. The late afternoon heat of June was almost enough to make him roll up the windows of the big black truck. That wasn’t going to happen though, there were far too many people around that might hear his stereo, too loud or not, and the air conditioning would cock block that from happening. Pimps gotta roll strong, as Zach often said to anyone who would listen.

Zach’s friend Ryan grinned ear to ear and hiked up his drooping pants as he jogged across the lawn to the car. He caught himself at the dead last moment before they dropped too low and sent him sprawling. The pimp’s uniform was dangerous to those uninitiated to its secret ways. If the pants were too high, you weren’t gangsta enough. Too low, and you ran the risk of falling on your face. Ryan covered his pasty white ass with his three sizes too large jeans and shuffled around the big 4x4 and hopped in.

Zach leaned back in an exaggerated gangsta pose and bumped knuckles with his longtime homeboy. They’d been “running the streets” here in town for almost nine months, which is as close to a lifetime friendship as these two would ever get.

“Sup bitch?” Ryan asked as he slammed the door of the truck and reclined the seat so far it was practically horizontal. He adjusted his cock eyed Atlanta Falcons hat so it was slightly more off center, and crossed his arms. He had never even been to Atlanta. Or watched a Falcons game.

“Chinese food yo.” Zach slid the shifter into reverse and the truck lurched backwards like a drunk elephant. Zach’s primary source of driving instruction was Steven Seagal movies and the Fast and the Furious franchise. He was a public menace on the streets, and his parent’s insurance bill was the bleeding truth of it.

“Awwww shit. Golden Palace in da HOUSE!” Ryan laughed in his tinny way and fished a small pipe from his enormous jean pockets. He proceeded to pack the bowl for the two of them as Zach put the truck into drive and sped off, leaving the echo of screeching tires, and a wake of black skid marks behind them.

Kanye’s music made a thumping reappearance as the two boys began their trip to the home of the world’s greatest Peking Dumplings.