The Failed Coward (14 page)

He’s pretty much off the booze now. He’s only taking half a pain pill at a time as well, which is good. He’s hard as a railroad spike and seeing him struggle with the pain of having several smashed toes was tough to watch. It was pretty funny watching him drunk, but as we know, drugs, booze, and firearms almost always leads down the road to ruin. Accidents happen. Around me they seem to happen often. 

I’m like an unlucky rabbit’s foot that gets you pwned often, and usually anally, sans lube or reach-around. I am a walking colon examination.

It took me almost all of yesterday to get the guns cleaned. Abby and Patty chilled out and emotionally decompressed after the stress of visiting where their family was ripped apart. I’m not sure how they are mentally today after going back out into town with me, but they seem stronger today than ever. They’re… harder.

I know this sounds bad as a general statement, but I’ve ragged on the girls a lot for being emotional wrecks, and I don’t think that’s entirely fair to them. I know the stereotype is that women are emotionally weak, and I want to dispel that right now.

Patty and Abby are as strong as me, and likely even stronger. I am only holding on to my sanity by the slimmest of margins. They’ve been through hell, lost everything, and they’re still here, right by my side, still standing, still strong. Granted, they both have moments when their core is revealed, and they become emotional, but honestly, I’m no different. I just hide it from them. They break down in public where they can get supported. I break down in private so I can hide it, and protect my foolish pride.

It’s like I need to stay strong in front of them to protect my own self image of the strong, able man I think I am. If I feel like they doubt me, I will doubt myself, and then I might hesitate, or question myself when it matters most that I do not. I can’t afford to panic. Panic will get us killed.

I don’t know Mr. Journal. I spend so much time and thought attempting to think about what I need to do next, and I think I need to let someone else do some planning here so I can focus on putting my own head together. All the King’s men need to get to work on this or poor Adrian will go mental eventually. Maybe I should start building a padded room here on campus.

I think getting into my old place will help a LOT. Ever since we’ve started down the path of exploring and thinking about clearing out that area of town, I’ve been obsessed with getting home. I didn’t even really like that fucking condo, but it represents something much more to me now. I can’t help but think about how Patty lost her shit when she and I stopped at their family home in Westfield. I wonder if I’ll do the same when I see my bedroom again. When I see the pictures of Cassie and I on the wall.

When I realize the life I lost when the world started dying.

I dreamt of Steve last night. I can’t help but think about how we’ve only dreamt of the dead since June. I keep telling myself that this is just my mind playing tricks on me. I keep telling myself that the power of suggestion is at work here. I convince myself that I am only remembering the dreams of the people that I think are dead because that’s what we’ve talked about.

Then I remember that every night before I go to bed I sit and tell myself a hundred times or more to dream about playing basketball with Abby, or to dream about sipping Scotch with Gilbert, or cooking a bad dinner with Patty.

A hundred times a night I tell myself to dream those dreams, and every morning I wake up and there are no dreams of the such to recall. My nights are empty of dreams of the living. I dream of the dead, or I dream nightmares where I am alone. I am always alone it seems. 

I think about The White Room dream as well. I don’t know what to make of it. I am genuinely befuddled by it. I am also at a loss regarding the texts the undead brought here. I know it was a message to me. I can’t fathom what the message was. It’s beyond me right now, and I hope I can figure it out before it’s too late.

Today we ventured out into the town again to explore the area where my condo is. On one hand, I am glad we went, but the other hand is wishing we hadn’t. 

Have you ever gone out early in the morning, just as the sun has started to rise, but before the world has woken up? It seems to be this way mostly during the summer. There are no pedestrians anywhere, and the cars have yet to start their work bringing their owners off to wherever it is they need to spend their day. The world is cool, and dimly lit by the sun that’s yet to peek fully over the horizon.

The whole world seems empty. No birds in the cloudless sky, and no sound of the shuffling feet of the undead. There were no noises other than the ones we made. That’s exactly how the area of town we explored seemed earlier today. Empty. We drove across town in our two vehicle convoy and encountered nothing. Not one zombie, nor one survivor. We saw no lights, no animals, and no movement. 

It was like the whole town had hit the “pause” button and we missed the memo. I wanted to use the complete void of activity to get inside Steve’s apartment to check to see if he’d returned, but I was voted down by the crew. Rightfully so. We really should not have made any noise, or stopped to attract attention unless we had a plan, or had a damn good reason, and looking for Steve with no notice was not a good enough reason.

The parking lot at his small apartment complex was pretty empty of vehicles, and as I said, it was totally empty of survivors and zombies. Very creepy.

If you recall Mr. Journal, not far from his apartment is my place. Cassie and I’s place. Otis’s normal stomping grounds. Home. Or what used to be home before this bullshit started.

We planned our driving so we would hit the condo on the way back, and that’s what we did. As I said there are two rows of condos in my complex. The two rows are perpendicular to the street, and my condo is on the left row, slightly below the row on the right. Essentially my place is downhill from the other row.

Our parking lots were flush to the front of the condos and were just barely large enough to fit all the resident’s cars, and have room for a few guest cars as well. In the whole complex there was something like 30 units of homes. My unit is nearest the street.

Parked directly in front of my unit, slightly cock-eyed was a Black BMW 7 series. A beautiful car. One that Steve would probably have stolen if he made it into the city to the only dealership I’m aware of. He could’ve done it too. He had the balls, and the smarts, and from the letter he read, he was serious about having some fun while the world burned.

Most of the snow had melted off the car. Our parking spots were out in the open, and got hit by sun almost all day normally. The fact that there was still snow on the car meant it had been there quite some time. We haven’t had any substantial accumulation in a long time it seems.

It has to be Steve’s car. Has to be. Why else would there be a luxury vehicle parked in front of MY place? He said he was going to steal a nice car. On his note he said a Benz I think. I’m sure he’d steal the best thing he saw though, or maybe he didn’t make it to the Mercedes dealership. I think the closest Mercedes dealership is right near the mall, and I can’t even imagine the fucking nightmare the area near the mall turned into. Too many people have already seen how THAT story ends.

Anyway, all of the windows in my place were intact. I couldn’t see through the curtains if there were barricades on the windows or door or anything, but I had a strong feeling that Steve was inside. Instinct maybe.

Tomorrow we lay out our plan for going back to my place. That is all we are intending to do on that trip out. From what Brian said before he died, he and his people had not reached my condo complex yet, and if I’m lucky, all of my original possessions will still be there. If that goes well, and I am not an emotional wreck, we will gather all my things, and come back here to my new home.

Tonight I hope to get a good night’s rest. I wish to dream of puppies and bunnies and pretty girls, and good friends, and good times.

I am fully prepared to be disappointed.

-Adrian

March 26
^th

We’re about to leave to go downtown to check out my place. I normally don’t get nervous, but right now, I’m so puckered only a dog could hear me fart.

Before I go, I wanted to mention that I’ve had some pretty fucked up dreams the past few days. I don’t know why, but I’ve dreamt of Steve. 

I’ve had almost the exact same dream two nights running now. The night of the 24
^th
, and the night of the 25
^th
. Yesterday morning and today I awoke with vivid memories of seeing Steve in my home. He was living off what I left behind in my place. It seemed like he survived several weeks sneaking from condo to condo at night, taking what he could, but he was limited because he was hurt somehow. Something wrong with his leg I think. Maybe it was his foot? At the end of the dream I saw Steve sitting on my couch, putting a weapon in his mouth, and killing himself. I don’t know why he did it, but I know he killed himself.

This morning’s dream went further than the night before. After Steve killed himself, there was a passage of time. I remember seeing the snow fall, and I can recall it piling up high enough to block all the windows on the first floor of my place. The interior of the condo turned bluish and muted from the light slipping through the snow, and I can remember… feeling Steve moving around in the condo. He was dead. Undead.

The dream this morning ended with the snow melting, and light outside my home gently growing in intensity until it was like a spring day. I can recall the distinct smell of death inside the condo. The very last moment of this morning’s dream was the front door opening, and Steve lurching to the door, trying to get at whatever had opened it.

We’re off in a few minutes. All the preparations are made, and the vehicles are running outside to warm up. I’m gonna hit save, and close the laptop, and finally go home.

I hope for once, my dreams don’t come true.

-Adrian

March 26
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(2
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entry)

I can’t sleep. I’m afraid to dream. I’m afraid they’ll come true on me again.

I don’t know how to wrap my feeble soldier brain around this bullshit anymore. I’m fucking done with trying to figure this out. I’m fucking done with cryptic messages, and indecipherable nightmares. I want to wake up tomorrow next to Cassie and realize this was all just the worst dream anyone has ever had.

But that’s not in the cards eh? Nope. Not for me.

It’s almost 11pm. Abby and Patty are downstairs, fighting to stay awake in case I do something stupid. Gilbert came back here to the campus with us to make sure I didn’t kill anyone, or myself. I’m not feeling suicidal, but I’m glad he’s here. I feel like if something happened, I could not give a shit, and still be okay for tonight. 

Not giving a shit is about all I’ve got left in me anyway tonight. I’m struggling enough to give a shit about writing this. I need to write this. I NEED to write this.

I’ve sat here for fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to write what happened today in a manner that does it justice. I’ve started it five times, and erased it five times. I’ve said nice things, I’ve said mean things, I’ve said some insulting things, but the more I think about it, I just need to say it as simply as possible, and then deal with whatever comes out of me.

Deep breath in. Enter. Tab. Type it.

I shot Steve in the face today.

Once more for the people in the back row.

My best friend Steve. I shot him in the face today. He was already dead. But I shot him anyway. He was going to eat me. I don’t think he wanted to either. 

That’s not fair. I KNOW he didn’t want to eat me. I’ll explain how I know that in a second.

Town was empty again today. I don’t know why. We’ve left plenty of undead behind on our previous jaunts. Just going by population there should still be thousands of them in the vicinity. There’s no rational reason for them to have disappeared, unless someone else, somewhere else is making a LOT of noise, and has attracted them away. I guess that’s a pretty fucking rational possibility.

I get the impression that’s not the case. I get the feeling the “powers that be” are orchestrating events every now and again. I think the past few days they’ve purposefully parted the “dead sea” for us to make this little pilgrimage. The more I think about it, the more that seems like the most rational thing that could be happening. The books? Gotta be something up above (or down below) that’s making this happen.

Why I am less scared of that reality, than I am of this being some virus, or radiation, or government experiment? Maybe it’s because knowing that there is some kind of higher power out there somewhere makes me think that there is some kind of real and true chance that we can pull out of this. We can appease a higher power, but can’t talk our way out of the plague.

I think today is the day I finally start believing in faith. Really. And here’s why;

We arrived at my house at about 9am. The sunlight was exactly like I envisioned in my dream last night. It was a sunny spring-esque day, and the air outside was cool and a little damp from all the melting snow. You know that faintly earthy smell of spring? When the grass starts digging down into the earth to grow? It smelled like that this morning. We backed the trucks into the parking lot and set them up so we could jump in and drive out in a hurry if need be.

All four of us got out of the vehicles and checked the lower level of buildings in the complex to ensure that there were no undead about. Abby and Patty checked the windows of the units on the lower level and spotted a few undead milling about inside here and there, but they were lucky enough to not get their attention. Well, at the time we thought we were lucky, but in retrospect, it’s pretty damn obvious that they should’ve noticed us pull the trucks in. Two large trucks running, the air brakes on the HRT, plus all the truck doors shutting… Zombies have heard that much noise from a tenth of a mile away, let alone fifty feet.