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

by Richard Johnson

  “Okay, let me see this crazy nightmare,” Russ said with finger quotations as he brushed past Charlie. Right as he got to the window, a speeding ice cream truck crashed into a hydrant and sent water shooting into the air. “Damn, they’re giving that truck driver the Reginald Denny treatment. Wait, are they… are they fuckin’ eating that guy?” The truck’s tune continued to play during the assault.

  “We need to stay inside,” Blake said, stating the obvious.

  “Where’s Vidu?” Mike asked.

  Jim looked at the floor. “He didn’t make it.”

  “What do you mean he didn’t make it?”

  “I mean he’s running around biting people and shit,” Jim said. “He didn’t make it.”

  Blake turned on the news while others tried to call loved ones and Charlie did a head count. “Who are we missing?”

  “Trent’s at work, so only Big Rob,” Blake said.

  Jim was puzzled. “He was supposed to stay here till I took him to the train station.”

  Smokey put his joint out in an empty beer can. “He was complaining that you wouldn’t let him use the toilet. You don’t think—”

  “I know exactly where he is,” Charlie said and headed for the front door.

  * * *

  Smokey’s elderly downstairs tenant stared out her front window at the man sleeping blissfully in her rosebushes. Making matters worse, the giant’s pants were around his ankles, exposing himself to the world. After getting no help from the police, Mrs. Stone planned to use her garden hose on the delinquent.

  Meanwhile, Charlie crept down the front stairs and found Big Rob right where he expected. “You gotta wake up,” he said and tapped his friend’s forehead.

  Rob rolled over, revealing definite morning wood and the true origins of his nickname. “Where am I?”

  Her sensibilities were now completely overwhelmed, and Mrs. Stone ran outside screaming like a banshee. “Out of my yard, you sodomites!”

  Charlie grabbed his aged neighbor by the shoulders and forcefully shoved her into the apartment. “Get inside, you old bitch,” he said while shutting the door. “Pull your pants up and come on. I don’t have time to explain.”

  But no one talked to Mrs. Stone like that, and they definitely didn’t put their hands on her either. The feisty grandmother of twelve and former WWII riveter calmly grabbed her dead husband’s Big Bertha golf club from the entryway and crept back outside.

  Rob was taking his sweet time and turned his head to the street. “Ooh, I hear the ice-cream man.”

  Charlie pulled Rob up by the ear. “I’m not kidding, you need to hurry up and—” Charlie’s sentence ended abruptly as a wooden driver smashed the back of his skull and knocked him to his knees. It saved his life.

  At that exact moment, a sprinting maniac sailed right over him and crashed into the furious granny. It instantly began to savage the old-firecracker, although she did get a few good whacks in.

  Now Rob had no trouble moving quickly and even beat Charlie upstairs where Jim held the door open, slamming it as they entered. “Dumbass,” he said and gave Rob a hug.

  The friends gathered in the living room and tried to make sense of the lunacy, but it was difficult to focus with random screams and the ice cream song blaring outside.

  “Has anyone been able to call out yet?” Charlie asked.

  “Everything’s busy,” Blake said as he tried in vain to call his fiancée again. “Must be too many calls overloading the system, like on nine-eleven.”

  There was a loud pounding on the front door, and time seemed to stand still. “Somebody order a pizza?” Blake’s uncle said with a nervous laugh.

  Charlie peeked out the window overlooking the second-story porch. “You gotta be kidding me, it’s Mrs. Stone.” The nonagenarian wasn’t looking too good either as she was missing an eye and a good chunk of her scalp. Still, she methodically hammered away at the steel door, leaving behind a trail of bloody handprints.

  “Now we’re getting attacked by senior citizens,” Cliff said in amazement. “What’s next, killer midgets?”

  Rob put one hand up to his ear. “Anyone hear that?” A faint cracking noise came from Trent’s bedroom. They rushed in to see rocks hitting the window.

  Charlie stuck his head outside and found an exhausted Trent hiding behind old furniture in the alleyway.

  The cop waved up. “It’s about goddamn time.” He looked downwards. “Ah man, I stepped in a huge pile of shit.” Big Rob grimaced, knowing where it came from.

  “Go to the back door,” Charlie said.

  Trent gave the dirtiest of dirty looks. “I’m not a fucking moron, I already tried that. There’s a bunch of assholes sniffing around out back like they’re here for a barbecue. Just get the old bag off the porch.”

  “Okay, wait here,” Charlie said and ran upstairs with Big Rob close behind.

  There was a huge crash out front, and Trent peeked around the corner to see blood streaming off the porch.

  A fifty-pound air conditioner picks up terminal velocity very quickly, and the widow found this out the hard way when one landed on her head and crunched her frail bones like an accordion. Big Rob waved down from the roof. The coast was clear.

  Chapter 11

  Shock and Awesome

  The next few minutes were tension filled as the local news kept reporting on a street festival and the phone issues continued. Even text messages weren’t working.

  Smokey opened his laptop to find some answers. “The Drudge Report says there’s a race riot on the Southside, and they’re calling in the National Guard. They think it’s a protest over the new prison.”

  “Typical liberal media bullshit,” Russ added.

  “A protest? Blake said. “Doesn’t look like any I’ve ever seen, you know, Code Pink whackos and Occupy Wall Street fucktards.”

  “It could be anything at this point,” Mike said. “Mass hysteria, biological weapons or—”

  “Vidu had this look on his face like he… like he was possessed,” Jim said.

  Charlie had a rare epiphany. “I bet the sick guy on the train had something to do with this, the one that went after the punks. I mean, what are the odds?”

  “If you’re right, it’s gonna be all over Chicago,” Mike added. “Unless someone was smart enough to shut down the trains, and I doubt it. Which means they’ll quarantine the whole damned city.”

  Charlie approached Trent, who had remained curiously silent. “What did they say at work?”

  “The police don’t know shit. I was supposed to set up roadblocks by the United Center, and we didn’t even make it there.”

  “Did they tell you anything?” Charlie said.

  Trent shook his head. “Like I said, they didn’t know jack. We were supposed to follow FEMA and the Guard, end of story.” He was clearly hiding something.

  Finally, the local studio cut in with a direct feed. “This is Tom Clinton of Channel Seven and we’re coming to you live from Chicago with some important breaking news.”

  “About time,” Left-Nut said, now wearing a shirt wrapped around his face like a surgical mask. “It’s the end of the world and these morons have been covering a flea market in Logan Square.”

  “We’ve gotten scattered reports from across the city about a possible avian flu outbreak. The CDC and the Mayor’s office are ordering Chicago residents to stay indoors. I repeat, stay indoors. This virus appears to be more dangerous than the 2009 H1N1 strain and is highly contagious.”

  “I thought it was a riot, now bird flu? They expect us to believe that?” Charlie bounced an empty can off the screen.

  “We’re asking you to remain calm. Most importantly, do not attempt to flee the city. The roads are too dangerous at this time, and you will be jailed if apprehended. If you see someone acting erratically, avoid them at all costs.”

  “And there it is,” Mike said as his eyes teared up. “That means it’s a quarantine situation. We’re trapped.”

  The reporter lis
tened to his earpiece as sweat trickled down his forehead and onto the table. “We’re now getting word that air traffic has been grounded for both O’Hare and Midway airports. There’s also been a report of a large explosion at the Six Rivers Nuclear Facility in Missouri. We have no indication that the two situations are related in any way.” The live feed blinked out and was replaced by a technical difficulties screen and horrible elevator music.

  “Arma-fuckin-geddon,” Russ said as he cracked open a cold one, deciding to face this day like he had every day for the past thirty years. Shit-faced.

  “Turn on some real news,” Blake said.

  “Don’t have cable,” Charlie replied. His head throbbed as the adrenaline wore off, so he snuck a vicodin from Trent’s stash and chased it with a pull of Captain Morgan.

  “What about a radio?” Cliff asked.

  “Do you think I look like Jed Clampett?” Charlie said. “Everything’s digital now.”

  Meanwhile, chaos reigned outside as roving marauders took down pedestrians and snatched people from cars in an orgy of primal violence. It was almost fascinating, in a strange, voyeuristic way, to see society crumbling down, and Charlie wondered if maybe Russ was right. Maybe it was Armageddon.

  Still unable to reach his pregnant wife, Jim started to crack. “I’ve got to go,” he said and headed for the door.

  Charlie blocked his way. “You know you won’t make it twenty feet out there. We just need to sit tight and wait for more information.”

  “You wouldn’t be doing Cindy any favors running off half-cocked and getting yourself killed,” Mike said and put his hand on Jim’s shoulder. This would normally be where someone made fun of Mike’s choice of words, but this was no time for jokes. “They’re probably all locked away at Jen’s condo,” he added.

  Blake nodded. “The place is pretty secure. It’s on the second floor, so they should be somewhat safe.”

  “What’s that mean, somewhat?” Jim’s, voice rose. “This is my wife we’re talking about here… and my child.” He looked at Blake. “And we’re talking about your fiancée for god’s sake.” Next, he turned to Bruce. “Your girlfriend’s there too, buddy.”

  “I’ve only been dating her about six months so…” Bruce’s face turned red and there was an awkward silence with only the ever-present ice-cream truck song blasting in the background.

  Finally, the anchor reappeared on screen. “I apologize, but we seem to have things back in order. That being said, we’re going live to Caitlyn Sanders outside Wrigley Field.”

  A short brunette began speaking. “Tom, today’s game has been cancelled, and people are exiting behind me, many using shirts as improvised face masks.”

  “That’s only two miles north of here,” Charlie said.

  “The fans are leaving quickly and in an orderly manner, and there’s been no—” She looked off camera for a moment, then kicked off her high heels and ran away.

  “That’s not good,” Left-Nut said.

  The cameraman whirled around and focused on a handful of people swiftly coming towards him, a dirty-looking guy in a Cubs uniform taking the lead. Before the cameraman could even take a step away, they were upon him, biting, ripping and tearing. He let out a blood-curdling scream as the camera hit the ground, tilting to show fluffy clouds slowly billowing by.

  The shot returned to the newsroom and caught the speechless anchor in a state of utter shock. Blake couldn’t believe his eyes either. “Holy shit, that was the bum who’s always outside the ballgames. I’d recognize him anywhere, it’s Ronnie Woo Woo.”

  “I’m not quite sure what we’ve just seen… you know what, screw this.” The anchorman undid his microphone and stormed off the set while the technical difficulties screen appeared again. Channel Seven’s final broadcast was over.

  “That was live, so the little bird flu story ain’t gonna fly anymore,” Russ said and cracked open another beer, proud of his little witticism.

  Mike fidgeted with his phone. “I wish Twitter was still working. I could have a tweet for the ages right now.”

  “Twitter? Is that what you do to your boyfriend’s balls on his birthday?” Russ said and belched loudly. He seemed to actually be enjoying himself.

  Someone banged at the front door again, and Rob ran to the window. “Two more on the porch.”

  Smokey mashed his keyboard in frustration. “Now the internet’s down.”

  “That’s it, I’m going,” Jim said. “Who’s coming with me?”

  Blake sighed. “I guess I am.”

  “I’m in,” Cliff said and scowled as the others remained seated. “Pussies.” He looked at Blake. “Now you see who your real friends are.”

  “What do we do?” Blake asked. “We can’t just stroll out of here.”

  “My Lexus is right across the street, and we can blast our way out.” Cliff revealed a ridiculously small pistol strapped to his leg. “I started packing when I got mugged after a Sox game.”

  Smokey produced a rusty-looking Saturday night special of his own. “Mine’s bigger than yours.”

  “Why the hell do you have a gun?” Charlie asked.

  “Duh, I’m a drug dealer,” Smokey said and handed the pistol to Jim. “Good luck, bro.”

  “That’s not a gun,” Russ said with a horrible Australian accent while whipping out a huge revolver tucked between his belt and an overhanging beer belly. “Now, that’s a gun.” He tossed the clunky weapon to his nephew and then pulled a second one out dramatically. “And don’t you worry, Uncle Russ always parties with twins.”

  Charlie shook his head. “You guys know it’s illegal to have guns in the city right? And why do you have two?”

  “I hauled gravel before my license got yanked, and every now and then I had to fend off the lot lizards. And it turned out a shit-load were trannies. They’re a lot stronger than they look,” he added with a knowing nod.

  Mike wasn’t convinced. “Okay, penis measurements and butchered Crocodile Dundee references aside, it’s still a dumb idea. You’ll have to drive through a freaking warzone out there, and the girls are probably safer where they are anyways.”

  “Save it, I’m going,” Jim said.

  Charlie saw the fire in Jim’s eyes and knew he wouldn’t be able to change his mind. “Fine, go. But be careful.”

  Russ chugged another beer then crumpled the can on his forehead while cocking the hammer back on his revolver. “Enough talk, let’s roll.” He opened the front window. “I’ll clear the porch, you guys make a break for it.”

  Jim and Blake waited behind Cliff like a gang ready to shoot their way out of a Wild West bank. Russ gave several fake military hand signals and then leaned out and took aim at an elderly man wearing a bad hairpiece. “Hey, shitbird,” he said and fired once, blasting off the top of the man’s head and leaving the toupee hanging in midair for a split second like a bloody, levitating muskrat.

  Russ didn’t have long to admire his bull’s-eye because the second man, a teenaged basketball player, launched himself off the railing and soared through the air with his mouth agape and arms outstretched. Uncle Russ backed up, but the crazed teen got a solid handful of hair while plummeting towards the ground. He took the cussing truck driver right along with him.

  Rob and Mike somehow latched onto Russ’s legs before he completely flew out the window. Still, the kid held tight and actually began to climb up Russ’s mullet, Rapunzel style. Something had to give, and a with a sickening Velcro sound, part of Russ’s feathery Kentucky waterfall peeled right off, taking the scalp and leaving behind a gushing wound. The teen crashed onto the sidewalk below and shattered both legs while crumpling into a heap. Unfazed, it crawled back towards the stairwell with Russ’s bloody locks in hand.

  Charlie yelled at his wavering friends to go as the others pulled a stunned Russ into the living room. Cliff led the charge outside, pausing to fire a round into the head of the crawling freak show and killing it instantly. They reached the car and peeled out, running over two snarli
ng women and swerving onto the sidewalk to avoid a string of burning vehicles. Moments later, they had disappeared around the corner with a gang of runners trailing behind them and one clinging precariously to the hood.

  “That certainly could have gone better,” Left-Nut said while Russ held a can of beer to his raw scalp, letting loose a string of vulgarity unmatched in its content and sincerity.

  Charlie had the sudden urge to relieve his bladder and ran to the bathroom where it felt like he literally pissed razor blades. “That whore,” he mumbled to himself, and came back to the living room, wondering what else could possibly happen.

  Mike cleared his throat loudly to capture everyone’s attention. “I guess now’s as good a time as any. Guys, I’m gay.”

  Chapter 12

  Revelations and Restraining Orders

  Given their dire predicament, Mike’s blockbuster news should have been no big deal. It should have been.

  “How many times did you stare at my junk in the locker room? I should kick your ass on principle,” Trent said as he puffed up, his bigotry not limited to racial lines.

  “You’re not my type, buddy,” Mike responded. “Besides, I didn’t know back then.”

  “I remember you banging chicks on spring break,” Left-Nut said. “In fact, I hid in the closet a few times.”

  Charlie’s patience was gone. “Is this a burning concern right now? Who gives a shit?”

  “What are we gonna call him? He’s been Gay Mike for years and we sure can’t call him that now, it seems kinda mean,” Big Rob said.

  “How about Straight Mike,” Left-Nut volunteered.

  “Call me whatever you want, I thought I’d level with you. There’s no reason not to at this point.” He looked at Left-Nut. “And take that shirt off your head, you look like an idiot.”

  Smokey stood up and began rubbing his hands together. “As long as we’re clearing the air…”

  “Oh great. I suppose you’re a homo, too?” Trent asked.