Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time

by Richard Johnson

  Heather rubbed her teacup yorkie’s tiny head and spoke as if she were addressing a child. “Toby’s a special little boy, so no generic stuff. He won’t touch it if it’s not organic.”

  “You heard her, Toby gets the good shit. Now don’t fuck this up or you’ll be headed right back out. Remember, this ain’t vacation, so don’t be getting high or drunk. Oh, and if someone gets bit, blast ‘em. Now roll out.”

  Marquell looked to his dangerous protégé as the ragtag band of rapists, thieves and murderers shuffled out of the room to an uncertain fate. “Think they’ll make it back?”

  “I doubt it. They seem dumber than the first ones.”

  Marquell nodded. “Less mouths to feed.” He looked at Heather and added hastily, “But if they don’t come back, I’ll get the food myself, baby girl.” He smiled widely. “The things we niggas do for white women.”

  Heather rolled her eyes while Fausto chuckled. “Si.”

  “But back to earlier, I still don’t know about half of these guards. I don’t want to get blindsided.” Marquell’s blanket amnesty had held up so far, but friction between the jailors and inmates was growing by the day. Several assaults on guards’ wives had gone unsolved and unpunished, and their complaints had grown louder.

  “They’ll do as they’re told. We have favorite saying in Colombia. Plata o plomo. It means you can take the silver or take the lead.”

  Marquell nodded. “True that. But I think we should bring girls in after we get supplies tightened up. Otherwise this shit’s gonna get worse. Nothin’ more dangerous than a brother with a hard-on. Speaking of,” he said and grabbed Heather’s well-formed backside. She smacked him hard across the face in response. Marquell grinned. “That’s how I like it.”

  Chapter 25

  Pillow Talk

  Charlie crept into the bedroom and found Jim sprawled on a dirty mattress, covered with Star Wars bed sheets and a wet rag. Two coat hangers and the ever-ubiquitous duct tape held his head stable to avoid any further damage — not that it mattered.

  Jim’s papery skin was practically translucent and an overpowering stench of the dying filled the room. Charlie mustered a brave face as every instinct told him to turn and run out. “Hey, bud,” he said casually.

  “Hey, Charlie,” Jim answered, slowly and with effort.

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Dizzy… and I can’t move.”

  Charlie grabbed Jim’s worthless hand. It was cold and clammy and made him want to puke, but he held it tightly just the same. “Are you in much pain?”

  “No, I can’t really feel anything. Smokey said I made a mess of my legs?”

  “You busted ‘em up good. But let’s not talk about that. Let’s relax and talk about something a little more… nice.”

  Jim nodded. “Here’s something nobody’s mentioned in a while, but do you remember that time Vidu kicked a girl?”

  “I’m the one that yanked her off him. He was screaming, ‘I kill you bitch! I kill you bitch!’ And the girl was waving a handful of his hair around like she’d scalped him.”

  “God, his English was horrible back then,” Jim said and cracked a smile.

  “It didn’t get much better. Vidu never could remember what to call nachos. Dumbass kept calling them Cheetos for some reason. And of course, that wasn’t the last beat-down he got from a girl,” Charlie said, recalling the bachelor party prank that seemed to have happened in a different lifetime.

  “He had trouble adjusting over here… but we did make his life better, I think, even if we always busted his balls.”

  Vidu was probably wandering the streets of Chicago at that very moment, much like Jim’s wife had been, so Charlie moved on. “Hey, how about that time my mom caught Left-Nut jerking off into the campfire on the Fourth of July? What a creeper.”

  “Hah, that was awesome.” Jim paused to cough, and bloody foam trickled down his gaunt chin. “Those pool parties were great, weren’t they?”

  “Ice-cold kegs, a badminton court complete with dog-crap obstacles, a fire-pit, topless hour and teenage girls, yeah, they were legendary.” They’d also been Charlie’s high water mark, and everything had gone downhill since.

  “If you couldn’t get laid there, you just couldn’t get laid,” Jim said wistfully.

  Charlie didn’t remember Jim landing anyone at the parties, but let it slide under the circumstances. He was about to kill the poor guy after all. “I wish that summer never ended. We were like kings or demi-gods or something. Not to sound gay, but it was magical.”

  “It had its time and place, but you can’t live in your mom’s basement forever. We all had to grow up. We all should have grown up,” Jim added pointedly.

  Charlie nodded, knowing his Peter-Pan Syndrome had made him miserable for the last decade. “I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t move forward.”

  Jim’s mood darkened. “I guess now it doesn’t matter who was successful or important. Who was happy…”

  “That’s not true. You had something special going with Cindy that most people never had, and that counts for something. I sure as hell didn’t have it. Trust me, we were all jealous.”

  Jim made a face. “What’s that smell anyways?”

  “I think Rob’s stinking up the place again,” Charlie said. “You know how he normally is, and now he’s eating cat food twice a day.”

  “The big oaf really saved me?”

  “He went over the roof like a banshee in a blender. I haven’t ever seen him move that fast when food or beer wasn’t involved.”

  “He’s always been a good guy. You need to take care of him for me.”

  “You can help me when you get better. It’s just gonna take some time for your bones to heal up. Mike has a rehab plan in place and we’re gonna have you kicking a soccer ball by the end of the year.” The white lies were getting ridiculous but Charlie didn’t know how to stop at this point. He made eye contact. “Jim, you were always my ace in the hole when I needed you, I’ll never forget what you did for me all these years.”

  Jim looked uneasy. “No, I was a pretty big scumbag at times. You should know I wasn’t always loyal.”

  Curious, Charlie leaned forward. “Okay, fill me in.” Jim had always been fairly milquetoast, so he assumed a bland tale of stolen beer was coming his way. He was wrong.

  “Do you remember that Halloween party sophomore year? We served hundreds of Jell-O shots to the sororities while that crappy cover band played.”

  “I remember some of it. Everything got hazy after I bonged a pitcher of rum and coke and snorted a bunch of Vivarin. I could have died that night.”

  “Carrie Evans and I took care of you after you streaked through the party and passed out in the shower,” Jim said.

  “I vaguely remember that.”

  “We kept you on your side and made sure you puked in the trash can all night.”

  Charlie wasn’t following him. “I had the hangover of the century after that. But how does taking care of me make you a bad friend?”

  “Look, despite how shitty you treated her, everyone knew you loved Carrie.”

  “True,” Charlie replied, arching an eyebrow. His complex relationship with the stunning girl had gone from drunk-dialing booty-calls to genuine feelings, but it eventually fizzled out due to Charlie’s fear of commitment. The two never reached closure, and Charlie still regretted how things merely faded away after graduation.

  “The thing is… she was dressed like a slutty racecar driver that night.”

  “I remember that outfit.” Charlie wondered if maybe Jim wasn’t so milquetoast after all. “Go on.”

  “We were both totally bombed and it got late, you know, and, and…”

  “And?”

  “I banged her,” Jim said quickly. “You slept right through the whole thing.” He looked like a dog that had been kicked by its owner.

  Charlie gazed at his paralyzed friend for a few awkward seconds. Jim had betrayed him and the revelation stung. He c
leared his throat and then chuckled softly. “You randy little turd.” Had the information come a few days earlier, Charlie would have taken him to the woodshed and not felt a bit sorry for it. As things were, he could only laugh it off.

  “You mean… you’re not mad?”

  “I’m trying to picture you two going at it with me lying in my own puke. How romantic.” Charlie knew Jim didn’t fully believe him, probably because it was bullshit. Still, he put up a good front. “Look, I wasn’t going out with her and that was my fault. I had years to ask her out and didn’t. I wanted the cake and some pie on the side. It’s the story of my life, I can’t step up.”

  “True, but I shouldn’t have done what I did. It was a tool move and—”

  “No you shouldn’t have, but at this point who really gives a shit? I know I don’t, and I know you shouldn’t. It’s water under the bridge Kemo Sabe, and besides, I need to come clean too. It isn’t quite the same kind of bombshell, but do you remember how your room always smelled horrible senior year?”

  It was Jim’s turn to look puzzled. “Yeah, I had some maintenance workers there every week trying to figure out why. They thought maybe a dead mouse was in the walls.”

  “It wasn’t a mouse. I’d sneak in there and piss down the radiator vents when I was drunk. Sorry, I didn’t really have a reason. Just thought it was funny.”

  “I always thought it smelled like piss. Anyways, I’m glad I got that off my chest. Now on to the serious stuff. Will you pray for me?”

  “I’m not a religious man, and especially not after the past few months,” Charlie said.

  “It doesn’t matter. You know I was an altar boy right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But did you know I got molested?” Jim asked.

  “Oh man, I’m sorry to hear—”

  “Nah, I’m messin’ with you.” Jim laughed, and dark, thick blood ran out of his nose. Charlie wiped it off and Jim continued. “But seriously, I’m scared about going to hell. Suicide’s a mortal sin after all.”

  “If there’s a hell, you’re not going there. Even if you did nail Carrie Evans behind my back, you sneaky son of a bitch.” He squeezed Jim’s dead hand. “Besides, you didn’t kill yourself and you’re gonna be fine.”

  The two talked for hours until Jim’s voice grew soft and he wasn’t making much sense. Charlie had delayed the inevitable, but the charade was over. “I think it’s time you get some rest.” He grabbed the deadly cocktail. “This’ll help you doze off.” The twenty ground-up Triazolam tabs were enough to put a rhino to sleep.

  He poured the solution down Jim’s throat and was careful not to spill a drop. Still, after several minutes of sleep, Jim’s body shuddered and he puked most of it up. There were no more pills, and Charlie hoped it had been enough. Jim’s pulse slowed and his breathing drew shallow as the end seemed near. Then he snored. Loudly.

  “You gotta be shitting me,” Charlie said and grabbed a pillow. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and applied firm pressure to his friend’s motionless face. He held it there for a minute and then slumped to the floor amidst dirty socks and dust bunnies.

  Jim was finally at peace with his eyes closed, a relaxed jaw, and the faint hint of a smile on his resting face. “Phonebook!” he shouted out and gasped for air.

  Charlie panicked and pressed the pillow down so hard his arms trembled and cramped, and there would be no waking up this time. His tears saturated the Superman pillow as he used it to kill his best friend. Heartbroken, Charlie closed Jim’s vacant eyes and covered him with a sheet. Then he opened his dresser drawer and pulled out two items he’d hidden away for years.

  Chapter 26

  White Lightning

  Left-Nut adjusted his binoculars and leered at the once gorgeous but now mangled jogger. “That’s right, you dirty little gutter-zombie. Bend over and let Dr. Tucker take your temperature. Oh, it’s your first time? That’s okay, I’m a trained professional and I always—”

  Charlie burst through the door and interrupted the private moment on the roof. “That’ll make you go blind,” he said while walking to the edge and peering across the street.

  “I happen to have a medical condition that requires… hey what’s with the getup?” Left-Nut said when he noticed that Charlie sported an ill-fitting spandex track uniform and running shoes, circa 1998. “Going for a jog, are we?”

  “Actually, yes.” He struggled to lift the ladder.

  “I see.” Left-Nut ran to the door. “Guys, get up here, Charlie’s going Charlie Sheen on us.”

  Soon the whole gang came topside. Mike spoke first. “Care to explain yourself?”

  “Sure. Jim’s dead, and we’re all a bunch of pussies,” Charlie stated pointedly.

  Mike frowned. “Calm down and let’s talk it out.”

  “I can’t keep living like this. Cowering around, not even helping a child. We’re no better than the cannibals. Hell, we’re worse, because we should know better.”

  “What’re you gonna do, tough guy?” Trent asked.

  “I’m gonna be a man for once. Big Rob, a little help?”

  Rob hoisted the ladder over the side and gave a proud nod to his friend while Mike tried to intervene. “Okay, but we need a plan.”

  “The kid’s been up there too long already.” With that, he climbed down. Charlie’s adrenaline pumped furiously as he crouched towards the middle of the street, but what came next was surprisingly anti-climactic. There was no charging horde, no screaming ambush, nothing.

  “Big deal, I could’ve done that,” Left-Nut said.

  Charlie reached the tree, still unnoticed, and whispered up. “Kid, run to the ladder when I draw them away.” There was no reply and Charlie’s head sunk as a dull lump formed in his stomach. His own words haunted him. “Shut up and die!”

  “What’s he waiting on?” Russ said as Charlie slunk back towards the apartment.

  And then there was movement. Charlie turned to see the kid slowly making his way from the top of the tree. A feeling better than any drug he’d ever taken washed over him — hope.

  The former four hundred meter conference champion took a deep breath and made his move. “Fresh meat, come and get it!” A handful of the infected bolted in Charlie’s direction without hesitation, and he blasted off down the street as if coming out of starter’s blocks.

  “Holy crap, has he always been that fast?” Bruce said in disbelief as Charlie left the mob in his dust and easily maneuvered around several creatures coming from the opposite direction.

  “They called him White Lightning in college,” Blake said. "Before he started drinking every night, then they just called him Second String. It wasn’t as catchy though.”

  Charlie’s beer belly stretched the red singlet to its limit and he looked ridiculous, but it felt amazing to open up with the wind whipping through what remained of his once flowing mane. He was alive, dammit, even if only for a few more minutes.

  Soon Charlie had made it three-quarters of the way around the block, had dozens of bogeys on his tail and was getting tunnel vision. Unfortunately, a sedentary lifestyle and diet of beer and cat food did nothing to encourage long distance running. Though the zombies lacked Charlie’s speed, they didn’t feel the pain of burning lungs or lactic acid buildup, and began to close in.

  He made the final turn only to see the disheveled kid standing at the bottom of the tree, unwilling to cross the street without an adult. Charlie relaxed his muscles to avoid tightening up and pulled in for the last leg of his most important race. He’d simply scoop the kid up and carry him to safety. No big deal.

  Only it wasn’t that easy. Upon throwing the child over his shoulder firefighter style, Charlie blew out every muscle in his lower back and tumbled ass over elbows in the process. He heard footsteps and rolled over to buy the child time to escape. The lead zombie, a former cancer patient in a tattered hospital gown, dove for its meal. But it stopped in midair and Charlie blinked, utterly confused.

  The mystery was
solved as Big Rob spun and power-slammed the man onto a fire hydrant, impaling him in an instant. Blake helped Charlie to his feet while Rob carted the boy to safety.

  Meanwhile, Smokey aimed his pistol point blank at another charging man, but the safety was on. Swearing, he fumbled with the gun, only to be saved by a well-placed swing of a baseball bat courtesy of Gay Mike. Mike followed up with headshot after headshot and knocked several more attackers out of commission in seconds.

  Not to be outdone, Bruce tangled up two approaching zombies with a gladiator-like toss of a blanket. Even he was surprised it worked. The rescuers battled their way to the ladder as Trent gave semi-accurate cover fire from the roof. One by one they made it home until Rob pulled the ladder to the top.

  Charlie collapsed to the ground, overwhelmed and in pain. “Thanks, guys, I don’t know what else to say.”

  Bruce slapped him on the shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything. Seeing you take off like that, it was badass. I guess we got caught up in the moment.” He looked at Left-Nut. “Most of us did anyways.”

  “Somebody had to hold the ladder.”

  Mike beamed at Charlie. “Jim would have been proud of you. Proud of all of us, actually.”

  “Yeah, that was something else,” Russ said and struck a Marlboro Man pose while lighting a cigarette.

  Though it hurt, Charlie sat up and pointed. “Where the hell did you get that?”

  “This? Oh, I made a score,” Russ said and tossed a trash bag on the ground. “I raided that bar across the street. Great diversion, by the way.” The bag was full of cheap cigarettes and grain alcohol.

  Trent opened the bag and scowled. “Generics?”

  “It’s my brand.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake, did you grab anything to eat at least?” Blake asked.

  “Sure did. Food of the gods, beef jerky.”

  “I can’t believe we’re related, I really can’t,” Blake said and tore into a piece of the dehydrated heaven.