One thing on my mind is this; if we do start finding survivors and our community grows, what the hell are we going to do with them if we start finding a few? This lodge is amazing, but it has limited size, and the more people we bring back here, the more of a drain on our food it will be. We eat well at the moment, really well considering the shit state of the world, and Norah is keeping a decent garden on the go to supplement our diet, but we still have to be careful with it as it is. Sooner or later, we’re going to need more space and ultimately, we need farming on the go. We can pull in all kinds of food from houses, shops, warehouses, and the like. But long term, if we want human society to continue, we need agriculture.
I have no idea why I’m thinking that far ahead. Pre-apocalypse, planning what to do next week was the way too distant future for me. The future didn’t tend to go past tomorrow for little old Erin Locke, and here I am, musing about the fate of human society and the need for renewable agriculture.
It’s like I don’t even know who I am anymore.
Okay, back to the drama. Sigh.
Stuck indoors as we all were, the showdown was inevitable. I could tell the moment I walked into the communal space there was tension in the air. I was greeted by my fellow lodgers, and as I got my various good mornings, eyes immediately flicked from me towards a grim-faced Isaac who was purposefully refusing to acknowledge my appearance. I guess the cat was well and truly out of the bag.
The negative vibes were strong in the room, like a preachy vegan had just turned up to a barbecue and was dragging everyone’s mojo down. There was no avoiding it any further, so I beckoned Isaac to me, said we probably needed to talk, and took him through to the bungalow as Nate was already in the lodge communal space chatting to Maria and Norah.
“Sit down,” I said, gesturing to the small dining table.
“I’d rather stand,” he replied tersely. The tone of our forthcoming discussion was clearly established by the petulant defiance, but I kept my cool.
“Whatever,” I sighed, seating myself. “Look, Isaac, I don’t know what you were expecting to happen afterwards, but I’m going to be blunt. We were drunk, in high spirits, it was a fun distraction, but ultimately it was just a one-time thing.”
“So that’s it? You just use me and throw me aside?”
“Um, I didn’t use you. It takes two to tango, and if you’d care to remember, it was you who kissed me.”
“And you responded.”
I nodded. “I did. I was drunk, I was happy, it had been a good day, and I’m a happy drunk and can be impulsive. Alcohol lowers inhibitions and decision making. It was just an in-the-moment thing, Isaac. There’s no ‘casting you aside’ here, as we were never ‘together’. It was two drunk, judgment-impaired consenting adults.”
“My judgment was not impaired. I’d been thinking about it for a while. I really like you.”
My heart sank. This was going to be harder than I imagined. This wasn’t just an ego hit after being spurned post-sex. Isaac had been sitting on hopes of us being a couple for a while it seemed, and that was just never in my thinking. I liked Isaac as a friend, we had a good laugh, and he had a decent sense of humour, but I’d never looked at him in a romantic fashion when I was sober. Our brief genital-collision had occurred because I was in a good mood, he wasn’t unattractive, he made the first move, and I just wanted to get laid. I didn’t have consequences in my head, just an itch I wanted scratching. A physical thirst that needed quenching.
I relayed all of this to him as gently as I could, but I think the line of, “I’ve never thought of you in a romantic way while I was sober,” was the killer. I probably should have worded that better, or maybe just omitted those last four words entirely, because his sulky, hurt expression hardened the moment those words left my mouth.
“So, do you always just put out when you’ve had a drink?”
And there it was, just as my prophecy had foretold. I was willing to stay calm for the most part, and try and do this gently, but that comment poked the bear.
“Fuck you,” I snapped, which made him blanch.
I don’t think he expected such a blunt and aggressive response, which shows he doesn’t really know me at all. I may get flowery and creative with my insults most of the time, but sometimes, the classics are all you really need to get your true feelings across.
He recovered his anger and responded with a snide, “Yeah, well you already did that.”
“And you’re making me fucking regret it, you whiny little bitch,” I hissed, making him blanch again. “It could have been something we both enjoyed, and moved on from like a pair of adults, but you’re acting like an obsessed teenager.” That one visibly stung him, I could see it on his face, but he’d poked the bear, and now the beast was awake.
And pissed.
“Do you think giving me shit about it is going to change my mind?” I demanded. “That acting like a spoiled brat that’s just had his Xbox confiscated is going to sway my opinion and make me see you in the way you want?” I snorted in derision and shook my head. “All you’re fucking doing is making sure it never happens again, in any fashion. We’ve got to live in each other’s pocket for the foreseeable future, so I suggest you put on your big boy pants and suck it up, Isaac. It was one time, we were drunk, and that’s it.” I banged my fist lightly on the table as I said, “that’s it,” just to punctuate the point.
The dickhead was too far gone though. I’d let him stew on it all night and all the things he’d conjured in his mind to say, no matter how fucking stupid, were coming out no matter what.
“So as usual it’s all about you then,” he huffed, not helping his whiny little bitch image in the slightest. “As long as you’re okay, fuck anybody else’s feelings?”
“For fuck’s sake, Isaac!” I stormed in response, my accent thickening as it always does when my temper goes. “Your perception of how things should be, and your personal feelings on the situation are entirely your fucking responsibility! I’ve told you my side, been honest about it, and all you keep doing is respond with childish fucking snapbacks! I’m fucking trying here, Isaac, but you’re making this impossible. This is an open and shut case, and I’m sorry if you’re hurt, but you need to get right with it because this?” I pointed a finger quickly between the two of us. “This is done. It was a one-time thing at a drunken party, and there was no invested emotion on my part. So, whatever you need to do in your own mind to get right with that, please do so, but stop fucking trying to take little malicious bites out of me, okay?”
“So why couldn’t you tell me this yesterday?” he said, his whole body in outraged mode as he folded his arms across his chest and stared back at me defiantly. “Why leave me sitting there for a whole day, avoiding me? Were you ever going to talk, or just hope I’d forget about it? Seems like everything always has to be on your terms.”
Some people don’t know when they’re beaten, and just keep walking back into the punches. I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes as I fought for calm, a habit I seem to have picked up from Nate. He does that when fighting for calm, usually when I’m saying words.
“Isaac,” I said slowly through clenched teeth. “We all had fucking hangovers. The last thing I wanted was a confrontation like this when I had a banging head and a mouth that felt like a zombie had taken a necrotic shit in it. This conversation would likely have gone much worse had we both done it when bone tired and hung over.”
“It would have saved me being ignored all day. Instead, you just avoided me…”
“FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” I screamed then, shocking him into silence as my anger boiled over. “Just shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up! I’ve had enough of this shit. I love a good debate as much as the next person, but this isn’t one, Isaac. This isn’t a debate. Stop fucking attacking me when I’ve been honest.” I jabbed an aggressive finger at him, and swear I was a heartbeat away from punching him in the face. “Acting like a dick doesn’t make yours any bigger, so stop trying to make
yourself feel better by tearing me down.”
I can’t do a tombstone voice anywhere near as chilling as Nate’s, but I was at the end of my rope now and I swear, if Isaac had tried just one more whiny snide comment at me, I was going to fucking deck him, right there in the bungalow.
“We’re done,” I hissed like an icy wind. “So, fuck off and leave me alone before I fucking hurt you.”
I think he realised it was no idle threat. He blinked a couple of times in shock, saw my bunching fists, jaw muscles locked, and flaring nostrils, before deciding retreat was now the only sensible option.
Of course, he had to have the last say in our little head-to-head by slamming the door in a huff on his way out.
Pffft. Men.
Actually, that’s not fair. A real man might have been hurt but he wouldn’t have whined and complained like a spurned teenager and thrown barbed comments just to try and “win” the argument. I was honest to a fault, and I can’t do any more than that. I’m not responsible for how someone chooses to feel about me, and certainly not to blame when I don’t meet their expectation. Different versions of us exist in the minds and opinions of everyone that’s ever met us. We can’t control what filter they choose to view us with, so Isaac needs to go away and take a look at himself, instead of wailing on me because the feelings he chose to have weren’t returned.
Harsh? Maybe. But still fucking true.
I’d probably have more sympathy if he hadn’t been such an arse about it, so instead, he gets the middle-finger treatment.
At least this is out in the open now and we can move on. Well, try and move on in Isaac’s case. He needs to get his shit together and quick, because if he starts being an asshole while we’re beyond the gate, Nate will bench him in an instant. Maybe that needs to happen so he can get his shit together.
Personally, I learned a valuable lesson from this whole experience.
I learned that everything happens for a reason.
And usually, that reason is you’re bloody stupid and make bad choices.
Okay, that’s enough for now. Next time I write, it’ll probably be after the surplus store, if this rain ever lets up.
NOVEMBER 1st, 2010
ALPHA AND OMEGA
It rained for another couple of days, and I tried to spend as much time as I could in my room. Isaac and I have largely been avoiding each other. He’s been in broody sulk mode and snappy with everyone. He’s largely ignored me which I was okay with, but that means his sarcastic little nips have been targeted at everyone else.
Today, he went too far, and cut Nate’s exceptionally long fuse too short. There had been a couple of times where Nate had cut Isaac short with a hard glare of warning, or a quipped, “Hey!” when Nate felt he was going too far with someone.
After a couple of days of it though, I could tell Nate was starting to get pissed by Isaac’s petulance. Childish pique is not something a man like Nate Carter will abide from a so-called adult. I have a childish sense of humour, but I never throw childish tantrums.
Isaac finally crossed the line today and oh mama, did he get put in his place.
He had a bit of a headache, and the rule we’ve set down in the lodge is that if anyone needs any form of medication, we go through Maria. She’s the trained medical professional as a highly experienced Senior Nurse Practitioner, so even if you want an ibuprofen, you go via Maria.
Isaac said he had, “a bit of a migraine,” and asked if he could have something for it.
Maria chuckled. “If you’d ever had an actual migraine, you’d know there’s no such thing as a ‘bit’ of one. I’ll get you some paracetamol and we’ll see how you fare.”
“That won’t touch it,” he complained with a huff. “I need something stronger.”
“Isaac, I’m not giving you prescription painkillers for a headache.”
Maria’s tone brooked no further argument. As far as she was concerned, the debate was over.
“How do you know how fucking bad it is, eh?” he snapped.
“Language,” warned Nate from his seat at the table, coffee cup in hand.
He has a thing about bad language round Maria, Norah, and especially Charlie. He’s proper old school like that. An accidental “shit” can slide by without incident, but the F-bomb is the big no-no around them. Even I watch my foul mouth when those three are around, as I know Nate doesn’t like it. He swears like a trooper when we’re out and about, but neither of us would ever drop the F-bomb when little Charlie was in earshot because he’s a kid, and I don’t swear like a fishwife in front of Maria and Norah anyway. It’d be like swearing in front of my mum and grandma. You just don’t do it.
Isaac, however, had decided today was going to be a special day. A day when he did what no sane person would even dream of doing.
“Fuck off, old man,” he quipped. “It’s a free country.”
Well, shit.
Nate didn’t explode into motion, or even get animated. He deftly placed his cup back on the table, stood, turned his dark eyes to Isaac, and ominously moved towards him, slow and deliberate.
I’m sure I heard Isaac’s spine turn to water as Nate closed on him. The old marine stopped about two inches from Isaac and looked down on him. Isaac is about five-nine in height, but Nate is a good six-two. He’s a big guy, but it’s not just his height. He’s thick and broad, a solid, aged powerhouse, but his presence is bigger than any physical size.
He filled Isaac’s vision so all our tech guy could see was Nate, and nothing but Nate, before that tombstone voice filled the lodge, as cold as an arctic gale. Even though he spoke softly, the whole place had gone still and quiet, like everyone knew what was going to happen the moment Isaac opened his stupid mouth.
“Say that to me again, boy,” he breathed. “Because men have died for less.”
I wasn’t even the target, but I near shit myself. Hardly any oxygen was consumed in the lodge for a few dangerous seconds. Everyone held their collective breath and the whole place was charged with tension, as we all waited for Isaac’s response.
I felt kind of sorry for him. Sure, he was a dick, and he shouldn’t have spoken to Nate or Maria in that manner, but holy crap, the look of abject terror on his face was a sight to behold. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone that scared in my life. Even people fleeing the undead monstrosities could run, or scream, or wave their arms, or flail about like a lunatic. Isaac was frozen near catatonic by Nate’s statement and presence, and he’d hardly done fuck all.
Alpha and omega, side by side.
Now, I really did feel sorry for Isaac as a dark stain bloomed on the front of his trousers. Many would laugh at the thought of a grown man wetting himself in fear, but it’s nothing to laugh at. Not at all. Can you even imagine being so frozen with fear that you lose control of your bladder? How fucking terrified do you have to be for that to happen?
“Nate,” said Maria tenderly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “That’s enough.”
There was a near audible whoosh as everybody breathed in again, Maria’s soft words breaking the spell. Nate nodded and returned to the table, sipping at his coffee like nothing had happened.
“Go and get yourself cleaned up,” said Maria with a heartbreaking amount of compassion. Shit, once the threat was gone, you could see Isaac’s expression just crumble as he became aware of his lapse. Humiliated, he mumbled something like an apology to Maria and fled the room.
Everybody else turned away and went back to their business, as Maria sat at the table to have a quiet word with Nate.
A lion doesn’t care about a puppy yapping at its tail.
But woe to that fucking puppy if it forces the lion to turn.
HOPE
Dean took two steps back from Sarah, refitting the plugs into his ears. His eyes remained fixed on the young woman as she steadied her grip on the pistol.
“Remember, squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it,” he instructed.
Sarah acknowledged the instruction with a n
od, her features fixed in concentration. Auburn hair tied back from her face in a single tight braid, and both hands on the Glock, she aimed at the archery target thirty yards away. It was a tricky shot for an amateur, but Sarah had applied herself like she did to every lesson, proving herself a competent handler of the weapon. From short range she could hit the painted silhouette of a human torso and head every time, smacking the bullets into centre mass and the head without fail. The undead, however, were unaffected by centre mass, so accuracy was key.
With her ears plugged against the noise, Sarah’s fingertip squeezed the trigger. The handgun barked, and Dean grinned with pride as a puff exploded from the target’s painted head.
What a world we live in now, he thought with regret. Where I’m smiling at an eighteen-year old’s successful head shot.
“Nice,” he winked, one hand reaching to grip the girl’s shoulder for a light squeeze of congratulation.
For four months, Dean had been the de facto leader of the survivors at Crenshaw school. Both he and Sarah had birthdays in September, and it was now almost the end of October. Dean had turned forty-six on the 8th, and Sarah eighteen on the 19th. She was the eldest of the surviving students, and easily the smartest.
Academically adept, Sarah’s emotional intelligence was also more advanced than her peers, and probably beyond her years. Losing her mother when she was just thirteen, having such a strained relationship with her father, and living at the school during term time had combined to make Sarah Walsh supremely self-reliant. Though she had cried when Dean told her of his last conversation with her father, she then adapted, locking her grief away. Neither of them fooled themselves into thinking he made it out of Chester.
Sarah was a tough girl. Tough woman, Dean corrected himself. She was eighteen now. Barely an adult, but an adult none the less.
Despite the awful state of the world, Dean couldn’t abide the thought of putting firearms into the hands of children, but once Sarah turned eighteen – and shown she had the right mentality for it – he agreed. It was simple fact that supply runs outside the school walls were getting more difficult and doing anything alone was fraught with peril. As much as he hated the thought of endangering Sarah after promising her father to take care of her, this was the best way to protect her. She had to be able to survive in this new world, with an ability to protect herself and others.
Lockey vs. the Apocalypse | Book 2 | We Will Rise [Adrian's Undead Diary Novel] Page 14
