Chapter 7: Friends in Low Places
“Edible undies. Now there’s an invention that, in theory, should have panned out a lot better than how it did in practice.”
“Seriously, I can’t take it anymore, Russ. Just—”
“Boy, did I have some misadventures with those things over the years,” Russ interrupted Marquell, continuing on without pause as they went down yet another seemingly endless tunnel. “One pair almost killed me twice. You see, this gal and I were snacking on one of the tasty treats when I went into ana-pha, ana… I went into shock. I’m allergic to strawberries, and of course, they were lip-smacking, all-natural strawberry flavored panties. I stopped breathing and my lady friend had to call an ambulance and everything.”
Trent quit shuffling along, his interest piqued. “And the second time it almost killed you?”
“The gal was my wife’s sister. So, as you can imagine, the old lady had some conflicting emotions upon her arrival at the hospital. That was my first wife, and she had—”
Now it was Marquell’s turn to interrupt. “Shut the fuck up. You’re driving me insane with this nonsense. You talk more than a prison bitch cutting hair.”
“All righty then, why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself then, friend?” Russ suggested and took a quick sip of whiskey before twisting the cap back on the bottle. “We’ve got nothing but time down here.”
“I ain’t your friend. Just shut up and keep your eyes peeled. Whoever wasted my cookers might still be around.” Indeed, the one surprise they had so far was coming upon the smashed glass and bullet-riddled bodies of what appeared to be Marquell’s methamphetamine operation. From the looks of it, they had been dead for quite some time.
“If there is somebody down here I’ll hear ‘em from a ways off. Did I tell you about my superpowers since I got turned into a zombie? It’s like I’m a Cherokee tracker,” Russ said.
“You got the drinking part down anyways,” Trent said under his breath.
Russ pointed his flashlight towards Marquell. “I heard Mr. Personality here squeak out a silent but deadly about a minute ago.”
Marquell shrugged. “I guess he can hear pretty well. He’s still an idiot.”
Russ continued chatting about his similarities to various famous Native American heroes while Marquell bit his tongue and tried in vain to ignore him. But if the former truck driver kept it up, the violent reckoning Marquell planned would happen sooner rather than later.
They continued on, their flashlights casting long shadows down the even longer tunnel while the echoes of their footsteps bounced around the humid, musty air. The underground system was as vast as Marquell had promised, and luckily for them, the safety stations were located in regular intervals as well. This meant extra batteries, expired energy bars, and bottles of water were found every couple miles, stored away in containers directly below each handy map. Other than Russ’s nonstop verbal diarrhea, the trip through the labyrinth had gone as smoothly as possible. Compared to the hell aboveground, the tomb-like tunnels were a welcome respite… even if it did smell like an old person’s basement, which Trent reminded Marquell of numerous times during the hike.
Trent let Russ take the lead for once and fell back to walk by Marquell, deciding to pick the gang leader’s brain a bit. “So you had some guys down here making meth? Kind of an odd location. I mean, how did you even know about this place?”
Marquell’s face brightened. “Sometimes, when I got bored with the drug game, I thought about becoming an architect. I started with studying building plans and such. Then I got into making models of Frank Lloyd Wright houses with Popsicle sticks. From there I moved on to bigger venues, and that’s where I got my motherfuckin’ interest in civil construction projects. Anyways, I studied up on these tunnels and realized they’d be a bomb ass area for my operations. At least until they were up and running. But with government delays I knew that wouldn’t be for a long time. And having a secret escape route from the city was a goal, too. Never thought I’d be down here like this, though.”
Russ’s flashlight flickered out and he tapped it a few times to no avail. He quickly swapped out some batteries. They didn’t work, and the next batteries Russ put in failed as well. “The whole damned batch is bad. Typical government horseshit. They spend billions on these tunnels and then buy generic batteries. “
Trent’s flashlight also went out, and the situation immediately turned tense as he and Russ surrounded Marquell. “All right bro, why don’t you let us have the light until we find some more working batteries?”
“Hell no. End of discussion,” Marquell said, his gravelly voice showing grim determination. He wasn’t about to lose his newfound leverage.
Trent sighed. “Let’s not turn this into a thing, okay? Don’t forget that we have the guns. Now, are you picking up what I’m putting down or not?” Trent was trying his hardest to be nice, but his old d-bag self was starting to bubble up under the surface. It always did.
Marquell stood in silence as Russ got into his face. “Come on man, hand it over. It’s not like we’re gonna ditch you.”
“I don’t take orders from cops, and I definitively don’t take them from hillbilly zombies dressed like motherfuckin’ Captain Jack Sparrow.”
“Oh hell yes, that’s just what I was going for. I already had the hair, and then I found this costume after I—”
Marquell clicked his flashlight off and the tunnel was immediately as dark as the far side of the moon. So dark, in fact, that Russ didn’t see Marquell’s fist before it plowed into his forehead, knocking him sideways into the solid pipe wall.
It hurt Marquell’s hand like crazy, but the truck driver popped back up unaffected. “Now you did it,” Russ said, and prepared to shoot his Chinese assault rifle in Marquell’s general direction – which also happened to be where Trent was standing.
Trent guessed what Russ was about to do and hit the musty floor. “Don’t shoot, dumbass!”
Meanwhile Marquell began to tiptoe away in the darkness, trying to put some distance between himself and the others while at the same time attempting to avoid Russ’s superhuman hearing. It didn’t work.
“Gotcha!” Russ said as he drew a bead on the fleeing man’s footsteps. But as he prepared to pull the trigger, Marquell stumbled on something and fell to the ground.
The murky abyss of the tunnel was washed away as a mysterious light streamed towards them. Next, a neon red breakdancing reindeer appeared on the wall behind the trio while a wave of sound rolled down the empty corridor. The music was loud and piercing… and it was jovial. “Feliz Navidad,” to be precise.
“Laser. Fuckin. Light show,” Russ said with a smile. That smile quickly disappeared as swiftly moving forms darted out from a bend in the tunnel. They were many, and they were starving.
“Drop ‘em!” Trent shouted and opened up with his machine gun while Russ followed in kind. Soon out of ammo, they threw their rifles and grabbed Elvis while running towards the light, with Marquell a good distance ahead of them. The mob was slowed by the dead bodies now in their way, but undeterred all the same.
Marquell stopped ahead and the others soon caught up to him, their fight being all but forgotten. For now. He shined the remaining flashlight at the ground and revealed a gaping hole in the floor. Inside the pit were countless zombies in varying states of animation, driven mad by the festive music while squirming and jumping towards an opening that lay far from reach.
A mere fifteen-foot jump separated the men from the safety of the other side, so Marquell backed up before making the leap, and he made it look easy.
“Toss the coon over,” he said.
Russ did. Then he made the jump almost as easily, with his unkempt mullet flowing behind him. Out of shape and undernourished from a diet of cat food and alcohol, Trent was unsure of his jumping abilities and wavered momentarily as the hallway behind him filled with growing shadows. He turned around and saw the horde descending towards him. It was all the encouragement Trent needed
.
He took a deep breath and charged forward while letting out a mighty roar in midair. The shout was the only thing impressive about the jump, however, and he came nowhere near reaching the other side. He did manage to catch the edge of the pipe and now dangled precariously above the clawing cannibals.
Making matters worse, the zombies from behind him started tumbling into the pit at a rapid pace. As their numbers swelled, they formed a zombie ladder of sorts as those falling in stepped on each other for position, trampling the most dehydrated zombies underfoot.
Russ grabbed Trent’s wrists and tried to pull him up, but he just wasn’t strong enough to lift the portly officer from the deathtrap. Soon, hands tugged at Trent’s boots from below and threatened to pull him to his doom.
Marquell walked toward the others and hesitated. Here was his chance to rid himself of these bumbling morons, and it would take little more than a slight shove. His mind made up, Marquell moved towards them with purpose, chuckling to himself.
Then he reached down and effortlessly dragged Trent upwards as if lifting a child from a crib. Marquell was not ready to lose his pawns quite yet.
Trent spit at the zombies and then composed himself. “Thanks, I mean it. Keep the damned flashlight.”
Marquell nodded, then looked at Russ as his hand throbbed from his hard punch. “Damn, you got a hard head.”
“People been telling me that my entire life.”
Just then, the laser show stopped and a floodlight turned on. Several armed men crept from the pitch-black side tunnels and surrounded them. That’s when a pale man wearing a bowler hat and a necklace of hickeys came to the fore with an air of superiority and malevolence. “Hands up, fuck-sticks. You’re in Gutter Punk territory.”
Chapter 8: Sisters
Jackie’s expensive yacht powered through the choppy waters of Lake Michigan while absolute chaos erupted in the city behind them. Blaring sirens, gunfire, screams for help and explosions competed for the girls’ attention before it all faded away in the distance. The whole fiasco had been going on for only about fifteen minutes.
But to Jen, Padma, Jackie, and new arrival Mary, those minutes were a lifetime. They had lost friends and dodged sudden death, and even killed a man. And it wasn’t even lunchtime.
As they got some distance from the shoreline, Jen asked Jackie what they were all thinking. “Where are we going? Indiana? Michigan? Wisconsin? Just because this is your boat, it doesn’t mean we don’t have a say so.”
Jackie cast her friend a sideways glance and continued to pilot the boat without saying a word.
“Jackie, you need to—”
“Will you let me think? Jesus,” Jackie replied with a huff. She was the type that had her life in magnificent order with all going as planned since childhood, whether it was her education, career path, love life, you name it. But now that whole lifestyle was gone. There would be no more long-term plans, only reactions. Reactions based on what would keep her alive the longest. She veered left and Jen almost fell over.
“Well?”
Jackie pointed ahead at a large building rising above the water. “Here’s your answer.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“It’s a water pumping station for the city. We’ll dock here until we find out what’s going on, and we can always hop back in the boat and head to shore if we need to. Does that sound good?”
“All right,” Jen said and left to tell Padma what was going on.
Padma was busily tending to Mary’s bruises and trying to calm the girl down. “You have a nasty knot on your head, but nothing serious,” she added while checking the thirty-year-old woman’s eyes. “And that’s pretty amazing considering you just rode the top of a cop car and took quite a beating.”
Jen grimaced upon seeing the injuries she caused the woman during their escape. “We’re stopping right up here at some kind of station. It’s like an artificial island. Sorry again, about that, by the way. You can’t blame me though, considering.”
“I’m okay,” Mary said and rubbed her scalp. “It’s crazy that we ended up here together.”
Jen tilted her head. “How so?”
“You don’t remember me?” Mary asked, a little surprised and a little hurt.
“Sorry, no.”
“I’ve been bagging your groceries for like ten years over at Healthy-mart. You come in like clockwork every Sunday night. Wine, cheese, waffles and soda. Anyways, I recognized you outside the store when everything started happening and figured you would know what to do. You always seem to have everything together. I chased you guys for like a mile.”
“Oh yeah, Mary! It’s hard to place someone when you see them out of context, you know,” Jen said with half a smile. In fact, Jen didn’t remember Mary at all, and couldn’t care less who bagged her groceries, washed her car, or delivered her pizzas.
Mary adjusted her thick glasses and looked at the deck, realizing the truth of the matter. It was just one more awkward snub in a lifetime of such, trivial compared to what was going on at that moment, but still painful. Friendless, basically penniless, and mentally slow, Mary was the polar opposite of her pampered companions. But now they were all in the same boat, literally.
“We’re pulling up, I need some help getting tied off,” Jackie shouted and the group sprang into action. Soon enough the yacht was secured in place alongside the pumping station and the women climbed onto the concrete structure, unsure of what to expect. If the growing craziness had already reached this far out, then no place was safe.
The station consisted of a large concrete loading dock with various cranes and equipment, as well as an ornately built, circular stone building. Water was collected inside and transported by tunnel to a filtration plant, hundreds of feet beneath Lake Michigan. A small bridge led to a smaller, now defunct pumping station. But the women weren’t interested in the functions and purpose of the place. For now, they were more concerned with discovering if it was safe.
They were about to find out. The door to the building shot open and a man and a woman wearing hardhats came towards them.
“You can’t dock here! This is a restricted area. Did you not see the damned signs?” the man asked. “You can get jail time just for being here. Homeland Security will have your—”
“Nobody’s going to jail, Frank,” a woman named Carol said in a much less combative tone. “You do need to leave, though. This center is off limits.”
Jackie shook her head. “We’re not going anywhere. Don’t you know what’s going on in the city? It’s like a warzone right now. People are acting nuts, it’s out of control.”
“See, this girl’s on drugs,” Frank said and threw his hands up. “Just because you have a fancy boat doesn’t mean the rules don’t apply to you. I suppose you’re related to somebody important too?”
“Actually, my dad is Jessie Collins. He used to be the congre—”
“I know who he is and I don’t care. Now I’m not gonna listen to your tall tales anymore. We’re supposed to be running the station, not talking to drunken socialites on a joy ride.”
“Guys,” Mary said quietly. She was ignored in the scrum, as she had been countless times in her everyday life.
Frank’s co-worker stepped in again. “Let’s just take things down a notch and get this sorted out. I can make some phone calls.”
“Guys!” Mary screamed at the top of her lungs and pointed. Everyone on the platform turned to see a low-flying airliner heading in their direction, rapidly losing altitude. The noise was deafening as it banked sharply and crashed into the water directly in front of the station.
The plane violently broke into pieces as debris and water splashed upwards and then came down like hail. One of the still roaring engines broke free and skipped across the water before bouncing up and over the group of terrified onlookers. That is, mostly over. Carol and Frank were gone, and all that remained were their shoes. And their feet.
“Holy shit,” Jen said as Mary gagged before pukin
g forcefully.
That’s when they noticed the survivors of the crash. Several had floated to the surface, severely injured and screaming.
“We should try to save them!” Padma said, her doctor’s instincts kicking in. She started taking her clothes off in order to dive into the churning mess, but one by one the screaming victims ceased their struggling and disappeared under the water.
About a minute later several began to reemerge, and then a few more. Soon dozens of passengers calmly bobbed up and down in the surf and debris as the smell of jet-fuel became overpowering. Padma walked to the edge of the dock and prepared to jump in.
Jackie grabbed her shoulder. “Wait, something’s not right. They’re quiet now.”
“Fine.” Padma waved her arms over her head instead. “Swim over here!” The survivors started to dog paddle towards the pumping station as they heard her voice. “You okay?” she asked.
There was no answer and Jackie shook her head, a grim look on her face. “See?”
“Say something, anything!” Padma yelled, but there was still no reply from any of the injured people. No screams, no pained whimpers, nothing. Just quiet swimming and expressionless faces. Now they were within ten yards of the ladder, close enough that the girls could see their injuries, including multiple bite marks.
Jackie immediately pointed her flare gun at the growing jet-fuel slick and fired, setting the swimmers ablaze in an instant. The zombies didn’t have the sense to dive away from the flames and burned up in the inferno. Unfortunately the current brought the flames right up to Jackie’s yacht, and in seconds it too was engulfed.
The yacht smoldered for a while as the women sat and watched, stunned by their sudden loss. Then Jackie’s boat, called Obsidian for her favorite color, slipped into Lake Michigan and disappeared from sight. With it went all hope of escape.
* * *
Mary flicked her wrist and pushed the knife in effortlessly as the warm guts spilled onto the dock. The three-pound rainbow trout shuttered briefly and went still. It wasn’t much for four adults, but it was dinner.
Dead Drunk II: Dawn of the Deadbeats (Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time Book 2) Page 6