Read Online The Failed Coward by Chris Philbrook - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chris Philbrook
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it didn’t appear that we had led any undead our way towards campus. Our first stop was big blue. We topped off big blue out of one of the barrels, and then topped off the other barrel we’d left behind on campus. That meant the one barrel in the truck was empty enough to get off the truck using the engine lift we’d used to move the stove. Once that was down, we topped it off with the barrel still in the truck. You get the idea. In the end we had all our gas cans full, and all our barrels topped off except for one that was about half full.
All in all, a laborious process, but very fruitful. I think this was totally worth it. I want to say we only had to fire maybe 20 to 40 rounds in total, and those were all kills, so in reality, we can’t say those rounds were wasted. We NEED fuel, we NEED trade supplies, and the zombies NEED to die eventually. If we’re going to do it, do it right I suppose. Plus all those drinks stashed in the cooler were a complete hardcore loot haul.
After all that I was a physical wreck. Everything was sore. Between the pounding from the damn rack I got courtesy of Patty, and the constant cranking from the sump pump, I was a done boy. I wound up taking a two hour nap until dinner. Patty was nice enough to crack open some cans of food and warm it up for us, and she brought me a plate on the couch where I passed out. Lol. I fell asleep with my body armor on too, which was funny. I haven’t done that since Baghdad. Incidentally, not particularly comfortable to sleep in. Exhaustion is a powerful sleep aid though.
Everyone has settled down for the night. Gilbert headed back to Casa De Donohue for the evening, and Abby and Patty both headed in early. I’m sitting in the recliner right now watching Voltron on DVD and typing this. Otis has taken up residence on top of my Glock, which is sitting in the holster on the end table an arm’s reach away. That cat loves guns. Can’t get enough of sleeping on them.
I’m not entirely sure what’s next on our agenda. Now that we’re fueled up for a few weeks or so, I’m thinking we either go hunting to bag some deer, or maybe start clearing houses, or both. I’m fairly comfortable telling the other three to go off and do shit on their own now. I’d really like to head off into the woods early, early tomorrow and get some nice quiet time in with the Savage. Even if I don’t kill anything, I’d be satisfied with some time away.
Mm. Yeah that sounds good. My alternative plan is to hit the daycare, but I’m far too sore to attempt to clear a building that size, especially one filled with pint sized abominations afoot inside. Fuck that noise Mr. Journal. Although it might be amusing to try and clear a building using only a weed whacker, or a 4 iron. I’m a sucker for a challenge.
Can you say suicide?
Anyhoo! I’m headed in. It’s an early night for Mr. Ring here. If I sleep well, I’ll be up with the chickens and out into the woods looking for a twelve point buck filled head to toe with yummy venison. Man I’d love a big fat bastard with extra meat to trade to Mike on it.
I’m gonna pop open a root beer. Or an orange soda.
Or both.
Fuck it, I earned it.
-Adrian
March 12 th
Fortune favors the bold. And the really quiet.
Bagged a deer today. Wasn’t the fat bastard I was hoping for, but it was a deer nonetheless. A small buck, maybe a hundred ten pounds. I can’t be certain of the weight because I didn’t get on a scale holding it.
I woke up early as I expected I would, and decided to head out early to get setup in a hide before too much light got into the sky. I warmed up a can of chicken noodle soup and put it in one of the thermos containers we’ve had here forever. I grabbed up a few granola bars as well, and after stogging down a can of corn and a can of peas, I layered myself up good and marched into the woods. I walked out past the athletics fields and the giant funeral pyre that still needed to be relit.
It
All in all, a laborious process, but very fruitful. I think this was totally worth it. I want to say we only had to fire maybe 20 to 40 rounds in total, and those were all kills, so in reality, we can’t say those rounds were wasted. We NEED fuel, we NEED trade supplies, and the zombies NEED to die eventually. If we’re going to do it, do it right I suppose. Plus all those drinks stashed in the cooler were a complete hardcore loot haul.
After all that I was a physical wreck. Everything was sore. Between the pounding from the damn rack I got courtesy of Patty, and the constant cranking from the sump pump, I was a done boy. I wound up taking a two hour nap until dinner. Patty was nice enough to crack open some cans of food and warm it up for us, and she brought me a plate on the couch where I passed out. Lol. I fell asleep with my body armor on too, which was funny. I haven’t done that since Baghdad. Incidentally, not particularly comfortable to sleep in. Exhaustion is a powerful sleep aid though.
Everyone has settled down for the night. Gilbert headed back to Casa De Donohue for the evening, and Abby and Patty both headed in early. I’m sitting in the recliner right now watching Voltron on DVD and typing this. Otis has taken up residence on top of my Glock, which is sitting in the holster on the end table an arm’s reach away. That cat loves guns. Can’t get enough of sleeping on them.
I’m not entirely sure what’s next on our agenda. Now that we’re fueled up for a few weeks or so, I’m thinking we either go hunting to bag some deer, or maybe start clearing houses, or both. I’m fairly comfortable telling the other three to go off and do shit on their own now. I’d really like to head off into the woods early, early tomorrow and get some nice quiet time in with the Savage. Even if I don’t kill anything, I’d be satisfied with some time away.
Mm. Yeah that sounds good. My alternative plan is to hit the daycare, but I’m far too sore to attempt to clear a building that size, especially one filled with pint sized abominations afoot inside. Fuck that noise Mr. Journal. Although it might be amusing to try and clear a building using only a weed whacker, or a 4 iron. I’m a sucker for a challenge.
Can you say suicide?
Anyhoo! I’m headed in. It’s an early night for Mr. Ring here. If I sleep well, I’ll be up with the chickens and out into the woods looking for a twelve point buck filled head to toe with yummy venison. Man I’d love a big fat bastard with extra meat to trade to Mike on it.
I’m gonna pop open a root beer. Or an orange soda.
Or both.
Fuck it, I earned it.
-Adrian
March 12 th
Fortune favors the bold. And the really quiet.
Bagged a deer today. Wasn’t the fat bastard I was hoping for, but it was a deer nonetheless. A small buck, maybe a hundred ten pounds. I can’t be certain of the weight because I didn’t get on a scale holding it.
I woke up early as I expected I would, and decided to head out early to get setup in a hide before too much light got into the sky. I warmed up a can of chicken noodle soup and put it in one of the thermos containers we’ve had here forever. I grabbed up a few granola bars as well, and after stogging down a can of corn and a can of peas, I layered myself up good and marched into the woods. I walked out past the athletics fields and the giant funeral pyre that still needed to be relit.
It
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