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Chapter 82


The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.

I forget where the fuck I heard that from, but it's probably the truest statement ever made.

Dying, that's easy. I never thought I'd say that shit, but it's true. Dying is letting go. Dying is giving up, instead of fighting whatever the fuck the world wants to toss your way. It took me a long time to learn that shit, but I did learn it. I mean, I could give up, let the world win. But where the hell’s the fun in that? I have my dark days, the days where throwing in the towel looks tempting as shit. It's why I fell off the wagon.

It may be why Jo died.

The thought kills me, but there are others suffering more than me. It's about time I get my head back out of my ass and see that.



Friday, October 26, 2012
Week Twenty-Seven

In his old life, AJ had spent Friday nights the same way he spent most other nights: drinking in the bar, or maybe just at home in the dark, until he got so shitfaced he couldn’t think straight or simply blacked out.

It had been a long time since he’d partaken in that nightly ritual, but even so, it still felt strange to be sitting around a dining room table with four other people, completely sober, eating dinner like a normal person. Of course, it seemed strange because nothing else in the world was normal, but even before the zombie apocalypse, family dinners were not something to which AJ was accustomed. He’d been raised in a small, unconventional family, by his single mother and grandparents, and although they were tight, they hadn’t exactly been traditional. But he could tell that the others – Howie, Brian, Gretchen, and Gabby – had all grown up in the sort of homes where sit-down family dinners like this happened every night, and as the world died around them, they were fighting to keep that tradition alive.

Gretchen, in particular, had insisted on eating dinner together every night since she and Brian had gotten back, mostly for poor Gabby’s sake. The sullen teenager hardly ate and barely said a word, but Gretchen made her come to the table each night, anyway. AJ would have just left her to mope; she certainly had a reason to. But who was he to say anything? He probably would have made a crappy dad.

Gretchen, Brian, and Howie did most of the talking at these family dinners. AJ found he didn’t have much to say. He pulled his wheelchair up to the table, bad leg stretched out underneath it, and listened to the conversation, occasionally putting in a comment or two, but mostly just observing everyone else. He caught things this way, things the others didn’t even notice. Like how hard Gretchen was trying to hold it together, to fill the gaping hole Jo had left behind as the matriarch, the happy homemaker. And how much Gabby resented her for it. He didn’t miss the spiteful looks the teen shot her when she wasn’t looking, the rolled eyes, the jutted chin. Neither did he miss the way Brian looked at Gretchen lately – a much different kind of look, a tender sort of gaze that lit up his whole face whenever he watched Gretchen at work.

He was doing it right then, staring across the table at Gretchen with a little smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, as she babbled something about planting a garden. “I don’t know if there’s enough time now,” she was saying, “but it’s something we should definitely plan for. We have to be able to grow our own food, for when the canned stuff runs out. Do any of you know much about gardening?”

AJ snorted out loud as he looked over at Howie, picturing him the way he’d first met him, in an expensive suit and silk tie. Even now, he couldn’t picture the former businessman in anything resembling gardening attire, though he snickered to himself at the thought of the little Latino wearing a big straw hat and overalls, spreading manure in the hot sun.

“Is something funny, AJ?”

At that, AJ just laughed harder. It was so obvious that Gretchen had been a teacher in her former life. All she had to do was use that voice and give him that look, with her eyebrows raised, and he could see her in the classroom, in a polka-dotted dress, scolding some poor kid whose dog ate his homework. If she was going to use the teacher voice on him, he was going to play the smartass student. “Not at all,” he replied smoothly. “It’s a good idea, Gretch. I dunno how much good I’ll be gettin’ down and dirty on this leg, but I do know how to work a hoe.” He flashed her a devilish smirk, waiting for her to get the pun.

She got it, alright, and gave him the other teacher look, the disapproving one with the knitted brow, her eyes darting in Gabby’s direction. He glanced over at the kid; she was staring down at the table, oblivious. He doubted she’d even been listening.

“I’ve got a bit of a green thumb,” Brian put in, quick to ease the tension. “I can help you with the garden.”

Gretchen smiled at him in gratitude, her forehead smoothing out. “Really? Great! I can grow a mean bean plant in a styrofoam cup, but I’ve never tried a whole garden.”

“Leighanne and I had a garden,” Brian said, and AJ noticed that he smiled as he spoke of his wife, instead of looking sad. It was a sign of time gone by, wounds that had started to heal. He hoped Gabby would reach the same place of acceptance someday, just as he hoped to heal himself. “We grew tomatoes and beans and different greens – lettuce and spinach and that sort of stuff. Good salad fixin’s.” Brian grinned wider, looking and sounding every bit the good ol’ country boy he was, and the way Gretchen beamed back at him was almost sickening… though in a sickeningly sweet way.

I’m going soft here, thought AJ, wrinkling his nose at them. I need to get my ass outta this chair and shoot some zombies soon.

It was getting harder and harder to be wheelchair-bound. At first, his leg had hurt so bad that he hadn’t really minded sitting or lying around all day, but now that he was on the mend, it had become much more frustrating. The wound on his shin where the bones had broken through the skin had finally healed over, though he would always have an ugly scar there, and the threat of infection seemed to have passed. Now their worry was that the broken bones beneath the skin wouldn’t fuse together the right way. His leg was kept stiffly splinted, unable to bend, let alone bear weight. Though he wasn’t in agony anymore, it still throbbed constantly, and he worried he would never be able to walk right again. Still, he longed to be back on his feet.

He felt so worthless in the wheelchair, unable to do much of anything except stand – or rather, sit – guard while the others worked on the wall. He wasn’t even very good at that. If he hadn’t nodded off that day, he might have spotted the zombies sooner, and Jo would still be alive. He felt guilty about that, though not nearly as guilty as he knew Gabby felt.

“Can I be excused?” the teen mumbled, standing up abruptly in the midst of this conversation about gardening.

Gretchen looked over at her plate. She had really just pushed the food around on it, but she’d done a good job of making it look like she’d eaten some. “Okay,” Gretchen said, nodding. AJ was proud of her for not saying, “You mean, may I be excused?”

Gabby shoved in her chair and slouched off without another word. After a few seconds, they heard her bedroom door close. No click of the lock followed – Howie had taken it off, the day after Jo’s death. That had been AJ’s bright idea; he remembered his own dark depression, following his beloved grandmother’s death, and knew how dramatic teenage girls could be. It didn’t seem wise to let Gabby mourn alone behind a locked door.

After she was gone, the others went on making plans for a garden – where they would put it, what they would plant, which kind of crops would grow best in which season, and so on. AJ quickly grew bored of the conversation and decided to spice it up a little. “You know, I bet we could grow some good weed in this garden.” This comment earned him three dirty looks, which only inspired him to keep going. “The Florida climate’s just about perfect for a cannabis crop,” he added, smirking. “Not that I’m an expert – smoked it, never grown it – but maybe Nick can give us some advice when he gets back. He seems like the kind of kid that would know a thing or two about pot.”

As soon as Nick’s name was mentioned, the looks changed. AJ watched their faces fall and didn’t miss the wary glances they gave each other. He knew what they were thinking: that he was delusional for believing Nick – and Kevin and Riley – would come back. He remembered thinking the same thing about Gretchen whenever she talked about finding her husband. It had been over a month since the other group had left. With each passing day, the odds of their survival grew slimmer, and the hope for their return dwindled further.

Deep down, AJ knew something must have happened to them – the plane had crashed; the zombies had swarmed them – but on the surface, he maintained a certain level of denial, refusing to acknowledge this grim reality. He hadn’t been praying for their return, like he knew the others had, because he didn’t believe in prayer, but he was somewhat surprised at how hard he’d been hoping, at how much he’d come to care. Kevin was a warrior, strong and resourceful. Nick was a goofball, but a good fighter and a hell of a lot of fun. Riley was a badass bitch, in the best sense of the word. It was hard to accept that any of them could have fallen to the undead, and it hurt worse than his leg to think he would never see them again. He tried not to think about it.

But he’d opened a can of worms that night, because Gretchen said, “God, I hope they do come back. Do you think there’s still a chance?”

“There’s always a chance,” Brian said firmly, even though his eyes told a different story. “Miracles happen.”

Howie didn’t say anything. His silence told AJ that he, too, believed they were goners.

AJ wished he hadn’t brought it up.

“I’m gonna go check on Gabs,” he announced suddenly, pushing his wheelchair back from the table. It had been awhile since she’d left, and he hadn’t heard a sound from her room. That was better than the sobbing they’d had to listen to for days after Jo died, but the sometimes the silence unnerved him, too. Maybe it was just due to the depressing turn the conversation had taken, but he felt a sick sort of churning sensation in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with what Gretchen had served them for dinner. He was anxious to get away from the others for a few minutes and make sure Gabby was okay.

“Okay. We’ll start clearing the table,” said Brian, volunteering himself and Howie for clean-up duty. “Thanks for making dinner, Gretch; it was great.”

Suck-up, thought AJ, smirking, as he wheeled himself into the hallway. Dinner had sucked, as most of their meals did these days. They no longer had fresh food, and even the frozen stuff was now freezer-burnt and disgusting. Everything they ate came from a can or a box – dried, processed shit that could be mixed with water and heated up. He had to admit, Gretchen’s idea for the garden was a good one, though he wasn’t going to kiss her ass like Brian did.

He rolled away from the sounds of plates being scraped and rinsed and stacked, stopping outside Gabby’s closed door. There was silence on the other side. He paused for a second to listen, then reached out and knocked.

“Go away,” was Gabby’s muffled response.

“Make me,” AJ retorted, turning the knob and pushing the door open anyway. He’d only meant to tease her, but the sight that awaited him was anything but funny.

Gabby sat on the edge of her bed, her back to the door. Her right hand was raised to the side of her head. In it, she held a gun.

He froze, and so did she. He saw her shoulders stiffen and her spine go rigid, but she didn’t move, didn’t lower the pistol. Its barrel pressed into her temple. Her finger hovered near the trigger.

AJ’s mind raced, though he sat still in his chair. His instinct was to rush at her and make a mad grab for the gun, but he knew he’d never get there in time. If he spooked her, she might react and pull the trigger by accident. He would have to take it slow, give her time to think things through, and buy himself some time, as well.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” he said, as casually as he could. Gabby didn’t react, but he thought her saw her head twitch just a little to the side. She was listening. “If you shoot yourself in the side of the head, you’re only gonna blow half your brains out. You can live with half a brain, you know. People did it all the time in the olden days, when they used to perform lobotomies. It’s not much of a life, I’m sure, but still, alive is alive. If you really want to kill yourself, you have to take out the brain stem. That’s the part of your brain that controls all the vital stuff – heartbeat, breathing, and so on. If you want my advice, go through the mouth – direct path to the base of your skull.”

AJ had seen enough shrinks to know how reverse psychology worked. Gabby was a smart kid, but she was still just a kid. He could psych her out, he thought, by egging her on. Stall her, he hoped, by rambling long enough to make her realize this wasn’t really what she wanted.

“I doubt you’ll even taste the gunpowder,” he went on. “As soon as you pull that trigger, the bullet will rip through the back of your throat and explode out the back of your head so fast, you won’t even know what hit you. Just make sure you hold the gun straight. It might help to aim down a little, instead of up, so you don’t miss. God, that would hurt like hell if you did. So keep that hand steady.”

As soon as he said it, he could see her hand start to shake. She lowered her trigger finger, gripping the barrel with her whole fist. Her knuckles were white from clenching it so tightly. He could tell he was getting to her. What else could he say that would get her to put down the gun?

“I’m just glad your mom won’t have to see the aftermath of this – well, unless you believe what Brian does, that she’s up in Heaven watching you right now. Your mom was pretty religious, too, wasn’t she? Well, anyhow… at least she won’t have to scrape her daughter’s brains off the wall, or sweep up the skull fragments from the floor. I guess that’ll be Gretchen’s job. But you don’t care about that, do you? Gretchen’s annoying, isn’t she, trying to act like your mom? This is a good way to get back at her. Just think of how bad she’ll feel when she sees what you’ve done.”

He paused, watching Gabby closely. Her whole body was shaking now, and her arm seemed to have sagged with the weight of holding up the gun. He had almost broken her.

“Hey, did you write a note or anything in your journal?” he asked. “If you didn’t, it might be a good idea to take a few minutes and jot something down. It’d be a nice gesture, anyway, for the people here who care about you. They’ll want to try and understand what was going through your head, you know, before the bullet did.”

That did it. A strangled little sob, quickly stifled, slipped from the back of Gabby’s throat, and she dropped the gun onto the mattress as she whipped her head around to face AJ. Her eyes were full of tears, but they flashed angrily as she cried, “How could they understand?! No one understands!”

“No one understands?” AJ repeated scornfully. “Who in the hell do you think doesn’t understand? Everyone here understands, kid! We’ve all lost our families.”

“Well, you didn’t shoot your own mom!”

“No, but Brian killed his wife and kids. Nick had to beat down his baby brother.”

“They were zombies!”

“So? You think that made it any less traumatizing? Think again, Gabby. We’ve all been through hell here.”

Gabby hung her head, her whole body seeming to deflate as the fight went out of her. She slumped over sideways onto the bed, sobbing openly now.

Finally, AJ dared to move closer. He wheeled his chair slowly around the foot of the bed to the other side and, when she wasn’t looking, swept the gun out of her reach. “I know it sucks, kid,” he offered, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “I know it hurts like hell. It’s gonna hurt, for a long time, but eventually, the pain will get better, even if it never completely goes away. Life will get better.”

“How do you know?” she mumbled, her face buried in the bedspread.

“’Cause I’ve been there,” he said simply. In his mind’s eye, he could see himself in the bathtub, his arms floating at his sides, palms up. He watched as the blood poured from the deep gashes in his wrists, dying the bathwater pink. It reminded him of washing his paintbrushes, watching red paint swirl down the drain. His life was headed the same way – down the drain. He could feel it leaving him, drop by crimson drop, and he marveled over the sense of calm he felt as it did. He slid lower into the water, until it was up to his neck, and tipped his head back. The faint, shivery feeling vanished, as the warm water wrapped around him like a blanket. He was so tired, but soon he would be able to sleep. He closed his eyes. His ears were underwater now, and he could hear his heart thumping crazily, pumping more of his blood into the tub with every beat. Soon, there would be nothing left, and it would stop, and he would just slip away…

Except that he hadn’t slipped away for good. His mother had come over to check on him, using the spare key he’d given her to get in, and pulled his naked, lifeless body out of the tub. He’d woken up in the hospital, where he’d been pumped full of blood and placed on a suicide hold until he could convince everyone he wasn’t going to try to off himself again the minute they discharged him. Remembering those dark days, he looked down at Gabby and added, “I tried to kill myself last year, for reasons that seem ridiculous compared to what you’re going through now.”

Gabby lifted her tearstained face from the bedspread to look up at him in surprise. “Really?” she asked, sniffling. “Why?”

He shook his head. “Drugs. Depression. Dumb shit. Doesn’t matter, really. I got drunk and slit my wrists. They had to replace half my blood volume to resuscitate me.” She stared in morbid curiosity as he showed her the long, thin scars on his forearms, cleverly camouflaged by his collage of tattoos. “At the time, I wished they’d just let me die. And you know something? It wasn’t until the rest of the world died that I was glad I didn’t. It took the fucking zombie apocalypse to make me appreciate being alive. But I do now. I’ve never felt more alive. For the first time in my life, I feel like I have a purpose in this fucked-up world. And so do you, Gabby.”

She turned her head away from him again. “No I don’t. You guys don’t need me here.”

“Yeah we do. Now more than ever. The other group’s gone. Your mom’s dead. I’m a fuckin’ gimp. Without you, it’s just Brian, Howie, and Gretchen. You think the three of them can keep this place going by themselves?” He snorted derisively. “Gretchen can plant her little garden, but have you seen her try to shoot a gun? And Howie… ha! You’re a way better shot than Howie! As for Brian… well, it’s a bad sign when the only capable fighter we’ve got is a preacher. Next to him, you’re the best shot on base. Trust me, kid, we need you.”

Gabby sniffled again and said nothing.

“I know it’s not gonna be easy,” AJ added, “but we need you to be strong. I’m sure your mom would want that, too. She wouldn’t want you to give up. She’d want you to keep surviving.”

To his surprise, Gabby looked up and nodded. “That was the last thing she said to me,” she told him, her eyes refilling with fresh tears. “She said, ‘Be strong, and survive.’”

Thank you, Jo, thought AJ. To Gabby, he said, “Then what are you doing in here with a gun to your head? Listen to your mom, Gabby. Even if you don’t listen to me or Gretchen or anyone else, listen to her. She was a smart lady. She always knew best. Keep her strength and spirit alive inside you, until you can pass it on to someone else.”

She nodded again. “Okay…” she agreed, in a small voice.

He picked up the gun and placed it in his lap, backing away from the bed.

Watching him, Gabby asked, “Are you going to tell them?”

AJ shrugged. “Do you want me to?”

She shook her head quickly.

“Then I won’t. But you keep this door open. And no more guns for awhile, okay?” She nodded. “And if you feel this bad again, come and talk to me. Trust me, kid; I’ve felt like putting a bullet in my brain plenty of times, especially since busting my leg. We can get through it together, alright?”

Gabby nodded one more time. “Thanks,” she whispered. That was all she said, but it was all that was needed right then. AJ knew she wouldn’t try it again. He had a feeling she wouldn’t have done it in the first place, but he would never tell her that.

“Sure, kid,” he replied shortly and wheeled himself out of the room, leaving her to think about the things he’d said. She was going to be one screwed up kid, but kids were resilient, and Gabby was strong, maybe stronger than she realized. She would go on surviving, and someday, she would be okay again. AJ had never been known for his optimism, but he felt reasonably sure about that much.

***
Chapter End Notes:
We're exactly one year away from Infernal Friday...are you ready?