The Failed Coward

by Chris Philbrook

  Just like their last visit, we got the hoses running into the truck, and we chilled out for a few hours while it filled. We completed a trade that was pretty awesome in my opinion. Lenny had been baking bread this week I guess, and Mike brought over four fresh loaves of it. He also brought a fairly substantial amount of medical supplies which was fucking rad. (trying to bring back the word rad as well here Mr. Journal) I guess there was a small medical supply company over in Westfield that somehow had been overlooked by them. Mike said on a routine patrol they went inside, and found a bunch of awesome stuff.

  He had crutches, canes, splint materials, casting materials, bandages, scalpels, forceps, additional medications, lotions, ointments, and all different kinds of surgical gear that would be great in the event of a medical emergency. He said there was a ton of it, and there was a lot to spare. Mike also traded us a chicken to eat, as well as two tires that will work as spares on the HRT should we get a flat. Like I said, that’s pretty awesome shit. I guess he found the tires at a construction site over there, locked away in the back of a large truck or something. Dunno for sure, I’m just glad they were found, and traded to us.

  Now for all that, he wanted the water, a couple dozen cans of various foods, something to drink (which translated to a canister of iced tea mix, a 12 pack of soda, and a half empty bottle of Bacardi), and two handguns, sans ammo. They needed guns for starter shooters, so we decided on .38 revolvers, of which we had two spare. They’ll work out well for them I believe. If not, they’ll figure something out.

  We told them about our Blake encounter, and his story of the farm. Mike threw his lot in with the Gilbert wait it out plan. Mike was pretty cut and dried on the matter of making town safe. He basically said that if they could clear their town of undead, then we could get our town safe as well. Not much sense in dragging ass on it, splitting the group up, or wasting resources investigating a farm that may or may not have anything sketchy happening at it.

  Once again I am overruled, and I guess I should just sit in my pile of rejection, and eat crow. I suppose I should take that as a sign that my initial reaction to investigate and/or launch a full scale attack immediately was a bad idea. Everyone else can’t be crazy, right?

  Although I love me an ass whupping… I could really go for some ass whupping too. Killing zombies isn’t satisfying like manhandling someone is. It’s my sincere hope I get to punch someone in the face soon. I never got to punch Sean, and I think I’m harboring repressed physical violence over that.

  Um. What else? I can’t think of much regarding our trade, or the meeting or whatever you want to call it. Oh yeah. Me getting laid. Lol. Speaking of repressed urges.

  As we were heading them out to go home, I pulled Mike aside, and straight up told him what was going on. I basically said it’d been a very long time since my you-know-what got stuck in a woman’s you-know-what, and it was high time I addressed the issue.

  He laughed. I think he knows exactly what I’m talking about. I went on and explained how there was no one around here that I could hook up with, and I wanted to know if he knew someone over there that may or may not be interested in me, that wasn’t bat shit crazy, and might be decent looking. I’m not looking for marriage, or babies, or even a second time around. I don’t even know what I’m looking for.

  Does that sound selfish? I think it does. “Hey, female. I’m interested in fucking. Nothing you have to offer me other than your vagina is of issue or interest to me. In fact, if you could not talk, or have any kind of emotional attachment to me, I’d be thrilled with that.”

  Yeah that’s selfish. Jesus I’m a dickhead. I am now slightly regretting having asked Mike to help me get laid at the expense of his female populace.

  I guess the lemons into lemonade part of this story is that Mike said I’d have the pick of the litter over at the school where they’re at. He said I was decent looking, cleaner than his guys, and as long as I wasn’t a totally awkward asshole, I shouldn’t have any trouble getting my dick wet.

  Of course now I’m all nervous about it. What if she doesn’t like me? What if she wants a commitment? What if I like her and she doesn’t want a commitment? What if she has herpes, or something worse? What if she wants to stick a finger in my ass unexpectedly? What if she’s into German poop porn and she wants to take a dump on my chest?

  So much worry to worry about. Maybe I should stick with beating my meat.

  I can’t pussy out on this. I need to get some, and deal with the consequences later. I’m sure it’ll go fine, and I am just being weird about it because I’m nervous. I’m sure I’ll march into there like the pimp I am, and within no time I’ll have three chicks all swinging from my dick like chimpanzees on an enormous banana.

  Lol. Sure.

  I’m headed there on the 17th to begin phase 1 of Operation Snatch.

  Wish me luck.

  -Adrian

  April 17th

  Westfield women are horny and nutty as squirrel turds. I can’t think of any other way to say it. I mean on one hand, they’re horny. On the other hand, they’re nutty as squirrel turds. Normally I’d be all excited about finding a bunch of women just itching to get it on, but this isn’t really a “normal” situation we’re all living in.

  Well. I guess this is what passes for normal now. Might as well make do as best I can.

  That means I might get laid soon! Cassie forgive me and my hormones. Love ya babe, but I… Need to get laid in the worst way. In fact, the closer I get to getting laid, the worse off I get about it.

  Have you ever been in a situation where you pretty much KNOW you’re going to get some, but there’s like this, disconnect of time or distance where you have to twiddle your thumbs, and you just sit in anticipation until that proscribed time passes for it to happen?

  Like, a long drive to the significant other? Or for example, they’re at work and you have to wait until their shift ends? And you know, you just fucking KNOW that when that time is up, or that distance is traveled, sensual, nasty, dirty-filthy-sex is there for you? You know that waiting period Mr. Journal? Oh man it’s horrid in the best way. That anticipation is killer.

  Nice tangent huh? I’m fucking hardcore loony for vagina right now. I guess flirting will do that to you.

  So anyway.

  Stuff happened yesterday. It isn’t as interesting to me as me talking about women, so Mr. Journal, you get squat. Sufficed to say, no one was hurt, no one died, and we managed to get the solar panels off of crazy Walt's roof. Nothing more important than my quest for vagina occurred. Back to the subject at hand.

  Today was much more interesting to me than clearing houses on a personal level. I went to Westfield to hang out for the day under the false auspices of a social meeting with Mike and Lisa Goldman. I didn’t feel like driving the plow all the way over there, so I borrowed Gavin’s truck. I told all the folks on campus that Mike and I were talking about things and I he wanted me to go over and he was going to show me some stuff at the school. Nothing serious of course, just social things and whatnot. I also said we needed to set a firm date for their next visit.

  Apparently I am a terrible liar. Abby gave me the, “You’re full of shit, I know it, and I’m judging you” look the whole time I was spinning my yarn. Maybe it’s because she’s still young, and she’s in a sexual relationship herself at the moment. (well, I think it’s sexual. If Gavin hasn’t managed to hit that yet, he needs more help with his penis than we realize)

  Anyway, I skidaddled over to Westfield in what felt like record time, and I made it to the school with no problems. The zombie population between here and there has more or less disappeared. I guess hitting them with the plow over and over going back and forth all winter has actually paid dividends. I radioed Mike that I was enroute when I was a mile or two out. There weren’t any undead surrounding the car barriers at the school, so they let me right in. I said hi to everyone as I went inside. Mike met me in the parking lot and we went inside to sit down with Lisa for a bit.
/>   The school seems nicer and friendlier than when we first visited, I should say that. Everyone has a much more positive outlook and it’s palpable in the environment there now. Lisa herself seems a little weary of having the lead role, but she strikes me as a strong lady, and I think she’ll be fine. She might want to retire after her first year in ‘office’ though. However, I think her first term has served to bring a much needed stability to their constituency.

  Constituency. That’s a big word for me huh? I deserve a fucking snack for that one.

  So things in the school are good. Very good actually. They have damn little to complain about all things considered. They have two very, very pregnant ladies that are both about to pop. Megan is due in late May, and I think she’s about 25, and she’s kinda pretty. She’s huge. Lisa said Megan’s got just one baby on board, but judging by the size of her belly, I think the kid is coming out the size of a fourth grader. Poor woman. I get the impression her junk will be destroyed when she gives birth.

  The other preggo chick is Jeannette. Jeanette looks about my age, maybe a little older, and she’s due at any moment. She reminds me a lot of my little sister. Well, if my sister were a few years older. Pretty brown eyes and hair, and a cute face. I guess Lisa is more excited for the births than anything. I’d be shitting bullets having to give birth without a full medical staff in a hospital on hand, but I guess she’ll make it work.

  After meeting them, Mike and I took the grand tour of the school, yet again. This tour, unlike the other one, was specifically designed by Mike so I could meet a bunch of the women, rather than see what the school offered in terms of defenses, and survivability. Oh, he did show me how they’re putting the water we’re trading them to work. They’ve got the water truck parked right next to the building, and they’ve got a manual pump set up connected to fire hoses, and when they get the water back here, they pump it to a tank on the roof where it feeds downward into the water system of the building somehow. It’s a lot of work, but it seems pretty slick from what I gleaned.

  Overall, the women of Westfield are decent looking, and pleasant enough. The older ladies are as you’d expect, some good looking for their age, some not. The younger women are all fairly good looking. One upside to the end of the world: dieting. Everyone is much thinner than we were before the dead stopped staying that way. The biggest person I’ve seen in some time was Melissa, and she’s nowhere even near what I’d call fat. Just, curvy I guess.

  My normal type for women would be the curvy ones I guess. I like butts, and boobs. I also like short chicks. Shit. I pretty much just described myself as Sir Mix-A-Lot, didn’t I? Goddamn it. I do like a nice butt, I am unable to lie. I guess there’s no denying it.

  There’s some irony that Cassie was taller than I normally would be attracted to, and thinner than I normally would like. I guess maybe I don’t have a type. Maybe my type is whatever is currently available. Females preferably. Males in a pinch. Don’t judge me. I’m fucking desperate.

  Like, literally.

  I shouldn’t be fussy. I’ve always said low standards makes for a more interesting sex life. It might not be top shelf ass, but there’s something to be said for quantity.

  The more I talk, the more I realize that I am probably a terrible person. I bet the devil has a Lay Z Boy right next to some lava waiting for me.

  I arrived so that when we were done with our stupid little meeting, we’d have time to wander about, then go to lunch with the folks there. I chummed a bit with Hector and LaFrenz, who I’ve gotten to know reasonably well through our little trade meetings, but after saying hi to them, I wandered over to a table filled with younger girls. Don’t be a fucking perv Mr. Journal. They’re legal. I’m not that terrible a person.

  I think they were mostly mid twenties. Maybe one or two at my age. It’s so hard to tell now. These younger people are survivors, and they carry themselves like it. They’re harder, wiser, more skeptical, and it’s just harder to gauge their age. The end of the world is an accelerated maturation process so it would seem.

  I ate lunch with them, and I’d say within maybe five minutes I was the most unpopular man there, amongst the other guys I mean. Seething hatred was coming my way from the men. It actually got a little uncomfortable when a couple of the dudes came over to strike up conversation with the girls, basically to cock block me. They were pleasantly talking to the girls, and staring at me the entire time. Almost saying, “Fuck you buddy, this is our harem…” Or maybe I’m just reading too much into it.

  I played dumb, and shot the shit with everyone, but Mike swept in like a cock enabling superhero, and got them whisked away to do something menial. Once the lunch kind of ended, I chilled out at the table, and three of the girls remained behind to talk.

  This is gonna sound bad, but I can’t remember two of their names. I know one of them was called Siobhan, and I can only remember her name, because it’s kind of cool name. The other girls had fairly common names, and they were also nice, but in that forgettable, uncompelling way.

  I still wanted to have sex with at least one of them though. Let me make that perfectly clear. Any port in a storm Mr. Journal.

  So I sat with them for the better part of a half hour, and we shot the shit, flirted some, and if I’m not an entire moron, I’m pretty sure they were all doing the delicate jockeying of position to get my interest. I left them kinda high and dry (pun not really intended, I would’ve preferred to have left them high and… wet) and wandered back towards Mike’s office/room to check in with him and see what he thought of the two girls.

  I was stopped in the hall by a powerful whack to the back of the head. Damn near sent me flat out on my face, and I spun as soon as I righted myself expecting to defend myself from some jackass who felt I was encroaching on his territory.

  When I faced off with my attacker, it was fucking Mallory, the stylist chick who came to campus with Mike and Lisa back in.. February? She had a shit eating grin on her face, and I nearly smacked the snot out of her for jumping me like that. I gave her a rash of shit about hitting a man in the head that was carrying a gun, and she told me to hike up my skirt and drop a pair.

  What a dipshit.

  She told me I looked like hell, and it would be professionally unacceptable for her to allow me to leave the school today without giving me another haircut. It’s hard to believe it’s been what? Almost two months since my last trim? Time flies when you’re killing undead on the regular it seems.

  Mallory has a sweet classroom all to herself on the first floor that she has set up as a salon of sorts. Someone somehow got a stylist chair back to the school and placed in there, and she has a few mirrors set up. If you ignore the fact that she doesn’t have one of those fancy sinks to wash your head in, it looks and feels pretty much just like a normal place to get your haircut.

  She insisted I let her give me a haircut more fitting for me than the “high and tight” I got last time, and after she flicked my ear several times, I told her to do whatever it was she wanted. I was sick of her hitting me. Abusive chick Mr. Journal, sketchy.

  She gave me a Mohawk. Mind you my hair isn’t that long anyway, so it’s not like a Sid Vicious punk rock style two foot tall hawk, it’s just a quasi Mr. T on a white guy Mohawk, and even that’s a stretch. I’ve never had one before, and I gotta hand it to her, it was a cool idea. I can rock a Mohawk.

  I thanked her, gave her a quick hug, and made my way over to Mike. It was nice to see her. I dig her, she’s a hot shit.

  We sat down, and I asked him about the three chicks I talked to at lunch, and he said I’d be good to go with any of them. He said there were no claims on any of the three, which is one thing I wanted to make sure of. I really didn’t want to step on toes any more than I already did. It was bad enough I was already here, and basically had the sanction of Mike to pick through the women to try and get laid.

  God this is wretched. I feel like such a scumbag. However, Mike seemed to think that it was a fairly minor deal in the big sc
ope of things. He explained it all like this: 35 survivors, and of them, just 8 men. The odds of the remaining men getting some was pretty fucking good, and if I struck first, then good for me. Early bird gets the vagina.

  Shrug.

  Mike and I made permanent plans for them to come visit us on the 25th, which was chosen because that’s when he thought they’d be just about ready for water again. We went over basic supply needs, and I told him at the rate we were going, I’d need another crate of 5.56mm soon. He said they had a fair amount left, and that he’d bring one with him on the 25th.

  I got home just in time for dinner. Gilbert was absentee for chow, as he has been spending the nights back at his house lately. I think he’s sick of us, and plus at his age, I can’t help but think he needs relaxation time away from us youngins. We move obnoxiously quick compared to his plodding pace. I am pleased to announce as well that everyone thought that I can indeed, rock a Mohawk.

  Abby and Gavin had made this kind of vegetarian lasagna cheese casserole mess. It was actually... damn good. They took cans of that cheese soup, mixed it with canned carrots, green beans, peas etc, and added in layers of lasagna noodles making basically poor man’s veggie lasagna. They baked it in the oven to give it a little crust, sprinkled some of the remaining bread crumbs we have on it, and placed it in the middle of the table like it was a solemn offering to a collection of kings. I was skeptical at first, but it turned out good.

  Ollie and Melissa joined us in Hall E, and all is well. Ollie says he needs help tomorrow getting the tractor up and running, then moved here so he can start working the field. He’s actually working on prepping the land right now to make it more fertile so it’ll take to growing food faster. He’s assembled all the bags of fertilizer and potting soil type shit we have, and he’s getting ready to mix it and spread it. He keeps bitching about the field grass and the soil. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing, but he talks an awful lot about it, and he seems to know his shit. He seems really fixated on the grass. I don’t mean weed. He wants grass trimmings to use as compost or something.