The Failed Coward (38 page)

Zach was face down in the middle of the parking lot, unconscious. Ryan had gotten worried after an hour of waiting. He became considerably bothered when he heard gunshots nearby. 

Ryan’s first clear thought after hearing the rapid succession of gunfire was that Biggie and Tupac had died too young. They were stolen from the world before they had a chance to truly flourish. Once he shook the drunk moron moment off, he suddenly became aware that his best friend, his homeboy, his fellow Jackson Street posse founding father Zach McDonald was still outside getting their sour diesel from the truck.

Ryan half walked-half crawled to the door, fighting the immense power of the booze from the scorpion bowl he had downed through the evil red straw earlier. He threw it up along with what was probably three or four pounds of poorly chewed Chinese food all over a fake bamboo tree in a plastic pot right near the door. Once he purged, the world came into sharp focus, and he opened the door to holler at his collapsed friend.

Zach’s dented weed and liquor filled skull responded sluggishly to his friend’s calls. For a dim moment he had a vision that Ryan was getting shot in a drive by reminiscent of one he had heard about from someone who may or may not have actually been a real thug. The stabbing, stinging pain in his face snapped him to reality before he had a chance to draw his dream “gat” and whup up on some bitches.

Ryan stopped screaming his name when Zach rolled over onto his back. He felt the sharp prod of the keys jab into the small of his back right through the XXL hoodie he was wearing. His face and head felt like the time he tripped over his bong and face planted against his entertainment system. 

It felt, “fucked, yo.”

“Yo Zach, get the fuck up man, someone is shooting out there!” Ryan screamed.

In response Zach slowly sat up, and snagged his keys from the ground behind him. He slouched his shoulders and rubbed the tender spots on his forehead and cheekbone. They stung something fierce. It won’t make you smart, but there’s nothing quite like pain to sober the mind.

“Ryan what the fuck happened to me man? I get jumped?” He shook his head as he hollered out to his friend inside the restaurant.

“I dunno man, you been out here for like an hour bro! Get the fuck in here 'fore you get shot up! Mothafuckas be shooting it up like… like a mothafucka!”

As if on some ironic cue, a trio of pistol shots rang out from across the street, only a hundred feet away at most. Ryan looked up as Zach spun on his ass to face the source of the loud pops.

Walking backwards away from the gas pumps at a small convenience store was a tall man wearing a flannel shirt, and jeans. He had a large black handgun that looked to Zach like something Seagal would use in one of his movies. The tall man grimaced as he stuck the gun in the front of his pants. He rolled up the sleeve on his left arm, revealing a circular, ragged bite wound. Crimson streams of fresh blood ran down towards his wrist as he made a fist, testing the wounded arm’s strength. He gritted his teeth in agony.

Approaching him from the pumps was another man, also dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. The other man staggered, bent over and only barely staying upright. Losing his balance, he careened forward and slammed his shoulder into the corner of a large metal gas pump, and from across the street both Zach and Ryan heard his collar bone crack wetly. They flinched.

“Darryl you get the fuck away from me now. I already shot you once, I’ll shoot you again goddamn it,” the tall man hollered out as he aimed the large black pistol again. 

Ryan and Zach had never seen anything like this before. Boyz N the Hood, New Jack City, Steven Seagal movies, and Chuck Norris had nothing on the sheer terror of watching a man draw a weapon on a maniac within shouting distance.

Zach peed a little.

“Answer me goddamn it!” The tall man hollered out, leveling the gun at the chest of the man with the newly busted shoulder. Seconds painfully ticked by with the two punks watching, fixated on reality for a change. The broken and bleeding man took another step, threatening the tall man.

“God forgive me,” the tall man muttered softly.

His pistol boomed twice, sending two lead missiles into the chest of the other man. His forward progress halted with the impact of the heavy slugs, he staggered back and pressed against the same pump he broke himself on just seconds before. When the beaten, bloodied, and now shot man regained his forward angle, he took one plodding step forward, and the tall man pulled the trigger a final time.

The massive pistol round exploded the man’s head just like the time Zach and Ryan put a M80 in a cantaloupe. Well to be honest, this was a hell of a lot bloodier, and a shitload more bowel wrenching. 

Ryan peed some.

Zach threw up on his lap.

The tall man took a few steps back and came to a rest against the back of the station wagon parked at the pump. He clutched suddenly at his wounded arm. Even the two stoners were with it enough to realize he was in pain. They were far too self absorbed to go help the man however.

The tall man surveyed the area around him, and made eye contact with Zach, then with Ryan. He drew the handgun again, swapped out the magazine deftly even with his hurt arm, and walked around to the driver’s side of the wagon. He started it, and frozen in shock Zach and Ryan watched as he pulled out of the gas station, and drove straight up to where Zach sat in the parking lot.

Both of the boys licked their lips in sync as the tall man got out of the seat of the car, wincing as he tried to use his damaged arm. Once he reached his full height, he towered over the sitting form of Zach.

Zach stared at the grip of the gun in the man’s waistband as he slowly walked right up to his feet. The gun looked big enough to take down an elephant this close.

The man stood silently for a moment, then in a calm, resonating voice, addressed the vomit and pee soaked idiot slouched in lazy fear on the ground in front of him, “you saw that huh?”

All Zach could manage was a weak nod. From the restaurant door Ryan watched in abject horror, expecting the tall man to blow his friend’s head off at any moment.

“He was dead already you see. You saw me shoot him in the chest right? And he didn’t die. I had to blow Darryl’s gourd off to do him proper.” The tall man’s lip trembled slightly at the thought of having just shot someone he obviously knew well.

Once again Zach’s chemically damaged brain only allowed him to nod in agreement.

“We just got back from Moore’s down the way there, getting more guns and ammo to last through all this shit. Of course some assholes had to get uppity and try and take what we already had. Things got ugly and Darryl took one to the belly. Killed him too, but it took a bit. I got those fuckers though. Gave it to them good.” The tall man slid the smooth black pistol menacingly from his belt and gripped it tightly in anger. He noticed the fear on Zach’s face immediately, and put the pistol away with a faint look of regret.

“You boys ain’t hurt right? You ain’t gonna be dying right?” The tall man asked them impulsively, fearfully. Had they any sense they would’ve realized an answer of yes would’ve fetched them one of the tall man’s bullets to the forehead. Fortunately they had no wounds, and their shaking heads saved them from a fast end at the tall man’s hand.

“Well good. You got food in that restaurant?” He asked in as close to a friendly tone as he could manage.

“Yeah, we got plenty of Chinese food,” Zach answered him meekly.

“No shit Sherlock. It’s The Golden Palace. It’s a fucking Chinese restaurant.” The tall man shook his head at Zach in disbelief.

Zach was too afraid to act indignant, as he normally would.

“You’ve pissed yourself son.” The tall man pointed at Zach’s wet crotch.

Zach looked down at the dark wet stain, and nodded meekly.

“I’m hungry. I’m going in.” 

After the tall man pushed his way past Ryan to get inside, Zach got to his feet and schlepped slowly to the door where his friend held it open for him. The sudden disappearance of the gun wielding man allowed Zach’s true asshole nature to return in force.

“Dude you’re a bitch, where were you? I was gonna blast that fool when he rolled up on us.” Zach menaced Ryan with a sneer.

“I had your back from here homie, death before dishonor.” Ryan could not have looked more serious.

“Let’s see what this tall bitch has to say for hisself. Walking up into our restaurant like he owns the place. Bitch please.”

*****

Zach and Ryan sat there until midnight, saying nothing, watching the tall man eat, then bandage his arm, then eat some more, then drink a few stiff cocktails, and then sit down in a half circle booth to finally relax. 

The tall man assessed their value, and immediately told them how he felt, “You two are worthless fucks aren’t you?”

Zach and Ryan were sitting on a table across from the booth when he said it. They looked sheepishly at each other, then back at the grip of the big pistol in the man’s waistband. There was an almost moment when Zach sort of had the courage to say something smart assed back, but the heavy pistol stopped that cold.

“Yep,” they said in defeated unison. 

“Thought so. You don’t even have guns do you?” The tall man used a teriyaki skewer to pick at something lodged in his teeth.

The boys shook their heads, obviously ashamed at their lack of proper gangsta accoutrement. The tall man shook his head, clearly disappointed at the two.

“You have any fucking idea what’s happening out there now?” The tall man spat the fleck of food that had been stuck in his teeth. He seemed satisfied with it gone.

“We don’t know man. The television’s been out forever,” Ryan answered him.

The tall man nodded before replying, “The end of times boys. The dead walk the earth. Madness and insanity have set upon us, and we have been judged unworthy. I suspect you two will be the next to go from here.” 

The religious explanation flew so high over the two kid’s heads they literally had no response whatsoever. They waited for him to continue, as if that was just the prologue of a much longer story.

Seeing their obvious lost demeanor the tall man let slip a long frustrated sigh. “Boys we got zombies. Dead folk walking around eating living folk.”

“HOLY SHIT FOR REAL YO!?” Zach leapt from the table as if he’d been electrocuted in the anus forcefully. He dropped flat on his stomach and scuttled under the table that Ryan still sat on.

The tall man watched Zach’s behavior with a sad look on his face. He solemnly nodded, realizing he had to use the smallest words possible to convey anything that’d stick. “Yes. Shoot them in the head, eat you alive zombies.”

“HOLY SHIT FOR REAL YO!?” Ryan’s second shift brain responded to that. Just like his only slightly more gifted idiot friend he scrambled off the table with a nut busting thud and crawled underneath it next to Zach. Apparently hiding under a table was a surefire way to protect one’s self from the undead. That and idiots love company.

“Yes, for real, yo,” the tall man answered them sarcastically. He shook his head. Maybe the end of times had started when idiots like these two started being born in bulk.

“What the fuck are we gonna do? We can’t go out there. Them shits will bite us bro! I don’t wanna be bitten by no zombie and shit,” Zach blubbered.

“Son I’ve been bitten and I’m fine. That’s all movie garbage. We will be fine. Tomorrow morning we will take our cars, and we will head up and out of town to the hills where my house is, and we’ll hunker down until this all blows over, God willing,” the tall man assured the two men.

That seemed to appease them. 

“I’m taking last watch, you two watch that damn door, and don’t let no one inside, not your mom, not your pop, and certainly no one that looks deader than you two numb nuts. Wake me at four in the morning.” The tall man evaluated the cushions of the booth, and lay down in the circular seat, resting his head on his good arm. He scratched at the burning emanating from the oozing bite wound.

Much like the rest of reality that went over their heads, they missed out on his pale skin tone, clammy, sickly appearance, and sunken cheeks. 

He already looked dead.

*****

One thing that Zach and Ryan were infallibly reliable about was being entirely unreliable. Both of them were fast asleep on the floor next to the front door within an hour. They were woken up by the plastic bamboo tree toppling over, spilling stale vomit all over, and hitting Zach flush in the nose, breaking it cleanly with an audible pop.

“YEEOOOWWCHHH!” Zach blurted as he reached up to clutch his smashed nose. Blood flowed freely from the nostrils all over his enormous FUBU hoodie.

“Who fucking did that you cunt?” Zach punched Ryan in the arm, waking him. Zach was fully sure it was a prank, and he would show Ryan that shit wasn’t funny, mercilessly once he was awake like he was.

“What? Huh?” Ryan’s half asleep voice responded.

“Why’d you fucking deck me with this big fucking tree bitch?” Zach asked him, spitting and spattering blood all over his groggy friend’s face.

Ryan was shocked wide awake by the warm, wet spray. “Dude I didn’t fucking touch you. Get off my shit man. Where’s the fucking old dude? Maybe he did it?” Both of the young men sat up from the floor like a pair of moles in a whack-a-mole machine.

The tall man’s feet were gone from the booth. Behind them the dawn light illuminated the cluttered restaurant interior with an otherworldly faint blue glow. Ryan’s brain experienced a miracle, and he realized a shadow was being cast out over them, spilling out past their feet. He turned slowly, knowing full well the tall man stood behind them.

They heard the scrape of a man’s foot on the doormat before their heads turned. Much like the true cowards they were, they screamed like bitches, and dove out of the way just as the undead body of the tall man pounced on the space they had just occupied.

Ryan’s scream was a lot like his tinny laugh. It was shrill, and high pitched, reminiscent of a ten year old boy who might have been kicked square in his newly dropped balls. Imagine the most irritating way you can scream this: