He continued talking as if nothing had happened. “So I figured I could find something to wear in here. Maybe like a Johnny Depp pirate outfit or something. I already got the hair.” He ripped the tape from Trent’s mouth.
“Ouch. Wait, so are you a zombie or not? What the fuck’s going on?”
“I think so,” he said while licking his lips. “That bitch did taste like steak.” Russ didn’t know it, but he’d hit the genetic jackpot. Years of huffing paint combined with massive amounts of nitrates from a beef jerky and cat food diet had altered key brain cells drastically. The result was a partial immunity to the killer virus, making him the world’s only zombie-human hybrid. Russ had been dead drunk for years. Now it was official.
“Cut me loose. And put some clothes on, shit.”
Russ nodded and pointed to Sarah. “Yeah, I better. That hot little number’s giving me bit of a zom-boner if you know what I mean.”
Russ freed his friend and then found the pirate outfit he’d been looking for. While he changed, a bruised and battered Trent wrapped up his own bloodied hands and pondered the recent events. There was no reason he should have lived, and yet, here he was. The veteran cop believed strange coincidences simply didn’t happen in life, and that he must have survived for a reason.
He thought of that reason as they walked outside. “You know Russ, it’s possible your dumb ass might be the savior of the world.”
“I’m listening.”
“Maybe scientists can make a cure from your blood or something. Like in the movies.” Russ shrugged and Trent continued. “I’m gonna make sure we find out.”
They picked around the wreckage for anything useful and settled on two motorcycles in decent condition. While searching for the keys, Trent found a note stuck to the tire of a smoldering ATV. He read it aloud.
Dear Dickhead (Trent),
If you are reading this, it means you’re still alive. We’re going to Charlie’s mom and dad’s house, and hope to meet up with Brandon and the girls soon after. There is supposed to be a military base nearby. Come find us if you can. Or whatever,
Smokey
Spoiler Alert, Charlie’s pissed at you.
Trent laughed. “I really think the Lord’s telling me something.” Russ rolled his vacant, creepy eyes and Trent crumpled the paper and tossed it towards the gutter. It bounced off a raccoon.
“Come here, you little bugger,” Russ said. Elvis happily scampered up his back before settling on the zombie’s shoulder. He adjusted Little E’s tiny pirate costume. “Look at that, we match. I don’t have to get a parrot after all.”
Even though he was in extreme pain, Trent hadn’t felt this good in a long time. He now had a purpose. “We need a name for our group.”
Russ climbed onto his jet-black Harley and turned the engine on. The steel machine rumbled with power while he took a swig from a flask of whiskey and replaced the cap. “That’s easy. Bad Company.” Elvis chirped in approval.
“I like it,” Trent said and started his own motorcycle, a purple chopper with a naked woman painted on the side. But then something strange happened, as if strangeness even registered anymore with these guys. Like out of a dream, a group of giraffes came around the corner and wandered right towards them.
“That beautiful gay bastard pulled it off,” Trent said without a trace of malice. “Way to go, Mike!”
The odds of a born again cop, a raccoon, a drunk zombie and several giraffes meeting peacefully at the corner of Armitage and Damen were a trillion to one, but that’s exactly what happened. The gentle creatures nibbled on a few leaves and then moved on in search of greener pastures elsewhere. Like all survivors, they were going to have a long winter.
Trent took a deep breath. “Let’s go save the world,” he said. “And one more thing, you’re not gonna eat me, right?”
Russ pulled away as Elvis peeked over the handlebars. “No promises.”
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank all of the people who have helped me finish this project as well as those who have given me tons of encouragement along the way.
Big thanks go out to Derek Murphy of Creativindie Covers for creating such an eye-catching cover design, and to the crew at ManuscriptMagic.com for their excellent copyediting work.
Thank you to my friends and family for believing in me, thank you to my lovely wife Kristin and my boys Kevin and Ryan for being there for me, and thank you to my parents for allowing me to watch gory zombie movies at an inappropriately young age.
Most importantly, thank you for taking interest in my book.
About the Author
Richard Johnson is a writer and small business owner who grew up in Galesburg, Illinois during the 80’s. He graduated from Monmouth College as a double major in History and English and earned a Masters degree in History with a teaching certificate from Western Illinois University. He currently lives with his growing family in a small town outside of Chicago.
Richard is a self-acclaimed expert in the zombie genre after spending countless hours watching B-rated horror movies. He is a good friend, a bad cook and a terrible dancer. If a real zombie apocalypse strikes, seek him out for protection. But bring plenty of beer.
Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time Page 21