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

by Richard Johnson

  As the gunplay and death scream of the flaming soldier radiated outward, hordes of zombies flooded in from surrounding areas and swarmed onto the tank, some catching fire in their mad rush to consume the living. But the turret turned and rose towards the apartment, threatening to obliterate the friends with the push of a button. Out of ammo, Trent yelled a string of Asian-based obscenities as he grabbed his crotch with one hand and threw his pistol with the other.

  BOOM! The tank promptly exploded, shattering every window on the block and shaking the foundation of the apartment to its core.

  In the commotion, no one had noticed the Black Hawk helicopter swoop down and unload hell. It was the good guys this time.

  “I knew I heard a chopper,” Rob said as he rose from shielding Brandon, ignoring the piece of sizzling shrapnel sticking from his back.

  The next few minutes were a mad scramble to deal with the small fires spreading throughout the building. As gruesome as it was, buckets of bloody Bruce-water was the only way to get it done. While they put out the last of the flames, Rob noticed someone was missing. “Where’s Elvis?” he said with panic creeping into his voice.

  A quick search revealed nothing until Brandon pointed across the street. The raccoon was at ground level, weaving his way past burning debris and shambling zombies with a dozen giant rats in hot pursuit. Rob went berserk, and it took everyone to restrain him as a screeching Elvis fled down an alley.

  But they couldn’t dwell on the raccoon’s fate for too long because a sudden downwash told them the helicopter had returned. The wind whipping his hair, Russ shouted upwards, “Drop a ladder! Get me the fuck out of here!” The reply was a large rock striking Russ in the forehead and knocking him out cold.

  Mike un-crumpled a note taped to the rock and read it aloud. “Area too hot. Meet at park three blocks north. Sunrise, two weeks from today. Last ride out.”

  The helicopter flew off as abruptly as it had arrived, leaving behind thousands of extra zombies drawn by its presence — zombies now blocking their new escape route.

  Searching for his inner John Wayne, Charlie addressed his battered friends. “Time to get to work, boys.”

  Chapter 33

  Spring Flower

  Sergeant Zhang removed his bloody helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow with a camouflaged handkerchief. The stocky class-two sergeant of the People’s Liberation Army concentrated on a map for the fifth time. The long monsoons of Liaoning Province made Chicago summers pale in comparison, so it wasn’t the heat throwing him off. No, what rattled Zhang was the overwhelming stench of rotting corpses and the non-stop pace of battle.

  The old man understood well the ugliness of war. Firing on civilians at Tiananmen Square long ago and storming the beaches of Taiwan more recently had prepared him for that. But nothing could prime him for the carnage of the North American theatre.

  Of the twenty thousand troops from Zhang’s division, the pride of Shenyang Military Region, under five thousand remained. Since a disastrous border crossing from Canada, they’d been bombed, strafed, sniped and even eaten until only a scant handful survived from his original squad. Still, the sergeant knew China could afford losses like that. It was all part of the plan after all.

  Lack of sleep was pushing him closer to madness by the hour, and he trusted no one. A soldier that failed to look him in the eye would earn a swift rifle butt to the head, and any type of insubordination meant summary execution. These “morale boosters” had brought many of his men to their breaking point.

  Most recently, Sergeant Zhang’s squad moved to section eight-C, also known as Wicker Park, for a clean sweep and holding action. The orders were simple, neutralize any Americans, infected or not, and then secure the area. Artillery, tanks, heavy machine guns and flamethrowers had created a gory, yet highly choreographed, invasion of the city. Resistance was rapidly shrinking, but only from the living.

  In theory, the Chinese population was supposed to be immune to the pandemic virus, but this wasn’t always the case. That uncertainty led to a strict policy of shooting compromised soldiers, and that was happening plenty as they pushed into the more populated areas. The latest example was a former schoolteacher with a lovely singing voice by the name of Wu Ming. He went out singing an ode to Chairman Mao and brought many to tears.

  It was the first time Zhang regretted his no exceptions policy, but there had been little choice. One infection could spiral out of control and destroy a whole unit in minutes. He’d seen it happen up close, only escaping by hiding in an abandoned refrigerator.

  Zhang clapped his hands to gather the troops for another mission. “I’ve learned one of our 62’s recently broke off communications in section ten-B, just north of here. We have been tasked with sending scouts to locate the tank.” This was a bullshit mission and Zhang knew it. A two-mile trip into no-man’s land was almost certain suicide, and that’s why he planned to use several of his weakest links in the operation.

  Twenty-three year old Yi Chen faked a pleasant smile while hiding the terror that clawed at his stomach like a parasite. Don’t pick me, don’t pick me, don’t pick me. He held his breath as the sergeant studied a crumpled up piece of paper.

  “I have chosen for this honorable mission Private Lin, Private Wu, Private Cai and Private Duànbèi.” There were a few chuckles at the mention of the last name.

  Yi Chen’s heart sank. On top of being chosen, Zhang had called him “Private Duànbèi.” Private Brokeback. Apparently, winning a bronze medal after landing a flawless Yamashita style vault in the World Games wasn’t enough to earn respect among this group. Chen no longer heard the orders as blood pumped in his head faster and faster.

  “Make visual contact with the tank, note its location, assess its condition and radio your findings directly to me. Your secondary mission is to locate the crew by checking the surrounding area. Duànbèi, are you listening?”

  Chen snapped back into the moment and answered fast enough to avoid a vicious thrashing. “Yes, sir. It will be an honor to carry out this mission. I will not let you down.”

  “You have five minutes to pack and head out. Anyone have questions?” Dead silence greeted him as usual. Having questions often turned to having beatings. “Good.” Finished, Sergeant Zhang returned to the shade of a burned out tanning salon to finish drinking something they’d found called Mountain Dew. It was giving him quite a buzz.

  Yi Chen donned his pack and checked his automatic rifle for problems. The QBZ-95 had seen plenty of action lately, almost becoming an extension of his own powerfully built body. Even the bayonet had saved his life in close combat with the infected, and Chen made sure it was razor sharp.

  Finally, he prayed to his elders. During the quiet contemplation, Chen sought wisdom and courage to maintain his secret oath. He would avoid harming the innocent at all costs. His “poor” aim had earned him the scorn of fellow soldiers but helped keep his conscience clean, and that was important enough for Chen to risk his own life.

  Private Wu, a lean and foul-tempered man, snuck up on Chen and sent him sprawling to the ground with a forceful kick to the rear. “Hurry up, Liúmáng. We don’t have time for your fantasies about cock-gobbling boyfriends.” Wu snorted loudly after calling Chen a pervert and looked to his comrades for approval. But most kept quiet, not wanting to ridicule a condemned man. Besides, they figured Wu wouldn’t be coming back either.

  Chen ignored the man he could snap in half like a dry twig and finished his thoughts. The kind-hearted soldier never bothered explaining how he’d actually been happily married. Chen wouldn’t sully the image of his wife, the beautiful Chunhua, by even mentioning her in his current company of scoundrels.

  She was Chen’s “Spring Flower,” and her memory would remain his and his alone. His wife had been gone for several years now, but he still thought about her almost every waking moment, and took any chance he could to remember the sound of her voice. The memory of her face however, slipped further and further away from him with each day
.

  The government had promised to provide for everyone during the Great Famine, but Chunhua’s village had been passed over so party leaders could feed their own families. When Chen finally earned leave after two years of fierce service, all he found waiting was an empty house and a shallow grave. The gymnast never even learned who buried her. But after the betrayal, Chen swore an oath to remain faithful to the memory of his Spring Flower, and he would gladly die to honor it. He believed he would soon get that chance.

  Chapter 34

  The Windy City

  What remained of Bruce had been tossed into the street with little fanfare. The place was too thick with zombies for a burial now, not to mention the new threat of a mechanized Chinese army. Russ summed up their predicament while puffing a menthol cigarette. “We’re boned.”

  “It’s another hurdle,” Mike said unconvincingly. “We’ll have to be more careful but it doesn’t change our goals, just how we get to them.”

  “Look, you can’t make chicken salad out of chicken shit,” Russ said. “Face it, if the zombies don’t get us, the goddamned communists will. Fuck it, I’m gonna get drunk.”

  “You’d have to sober up first,” Charlie said. “But Mike’s right. We’ll start clearing the streets now. I’ve got some ideas that might work.” His plan to help the women escape had grown in complexity and danger, but the prospect of a chopper ride to safety would be well worth the risk. “And Left-Nut, say another word about those girls and I turn you into a wind chime.”

  “What in the shit are the Chinese doing here anyways?” Smokey said.

  “No clue, but I bet they’ll come looking for their tank,” Charlie replied. “Which means we need to get moving.” The men agreed and started culling the massive zombie herd while Charlie and Mike spitballed the specifics of a new escape plan.

  Trent fired his Everclear loaded Super-Soaker into the mass of staggering cannibals below while Smokey chucked a lit roll of toilet paper into the mix. The blazing figures ran around like stuntmen before collapsing into piles of smoldering tinder while Russ enjoyed the show.

  “Tell me what you got,” Mike said as the stench and smoke overtook them.

  “God, that reeks. Anyways, that morning I’ll sneak the girls over and we’ll use the ladder to go from rooftop to rooftop until we reach the end of the block. We’ll need to practice a few times and secure the route to make sure there aren’t surprises along the way. We time the stereo to go off and draw any stragglers back to our apartment, then we drop down and sprint to the finish line.”

  “You just thought of this?” Mike asked.

  “Actually, I’ve been planning to leave for a while now, but you probably knew that.” As the two conversed, Rob began using a painter’s pole with a steak knife taped to the end as a spear. Smokey dangled over the side as bait while Rob gigged the stragglers like frogs. The streets were clear after several hours of the gruesome work and the men went down to inspect the ruined tank.

  Somehow, the machine gun was still intact and after several minutes of shit-talking and finger pointing, they were able to detach and carry it to the roof along with boxes of unexploded ammo. Having the heavy gun would give them a much needed confidence boost, and everyone wanted the chance to fire it off when the time was right.

  Mike and Charlie started practicing their building hopping technique as the sun set. It worked by extending the thirty foot ladder straight into the air and then lowering one end to the roof of the next building. Next, they’d cross the pseudo-bridge, rinse and repeat.

  “I wish we had thought of this before,” Mike said as he padlocked the roof access door of the last building on their escape route.

  “Yeah, it’s the only way to travel.” Charlie shivered as he noticed a sudden temperature drop. “Better head home soon. I think a storm’s brewing.”

  The pair made their way back uneventfully as dark clouds rolled in and lightning flashed in the distance. Storms were always welcome as they brought cooler temperatures, needed water and a chance to shower. This one had the added benefit of dousing flaming piles of corpses.

  Charlie placed the ladder down and carefully crossed the rungs until he felt the familiar roof of their apartment beneath his feet. He turned as Mike followed behind. “I bet in a hurry we could make the trip in ten minutes.”

  “I’d say more like fifteen when you take into account… oh fuck—” A large gust of wind barreled down the alley and threw Mike off balance. His left foot fell between the rungs and he hit his crotch on the metal ladder before slipping off the side.

  Charlie gasped when his friend dropped out of sight, and visions of Jim’s ruined body came to mind as he ran to the edge. But Mike was on his back and waving up with a big smile plastered on his face. As luck would have it, a pile of dispatched zombies had broken his fall. “Don’t stand there, drop the ladder down,” he whispered.

  Russ was nearby and helped Charlie position the ladder while Mike played possum. But as Mike rose to make his escape, something else rose with him. Apparently, a creature on the bottom of the pile hadn’t been quite dead, and Mike’s movement triggered a reflex, causing it to lash out. He shoved the wounded creature off and followed with a powerful swing of his hammer, putting the mohawked zombie down with a well-placed blow to the temple.

  A nearly out of breath Mike sprang up top as his friends gathered around. “I thought you were a goner. Twice,” Charlie said while giving him a bear hug.

  “I think I almost shit my pants twice,” Mike replied with a grin. “Literally, I almost shit my pants.”

  Charlie’s smile disappeared as blood began trickling from Mike’s nose. “Did you hit your head?” The trickle became a gush.

  “No,” Mike said and turned pale while pinching his nose.

  Trent backed up and settled behind the machine gun. “Dude, I think you got bit. Take your shirt off so we can check. It’s your rule after all.”

  Mike gave in, revealing a round indentation on his shoulder. “It’s just a scratch from the fall.”

  “Bullshit,” Trent said as the mark turned purple, then black before their eyes. Large raindrops began to fall from the sky.

  “I can’t believe it. I just…” Mike’s shoulders slumped.

  Charlie moved in front of Trent’s line of fire. “Everybody take a deep breath. If he’s infected we can put him in the alley with Cliff, and… and if there’s a cure we can come back.” It didn’t make sense but he had to try.

  Mike sighed loudly. “No thanks, I saw what these assholes did to Cliff.”

  “He can’t stay here another minute,” Trent said. His face softened. “I’m sorry, but he’s a ticking time bomb.”

  “I understand.” Mike put his shirt back on. “I’ll go. Maybe being a zombie won’t be so bad. Maybe you daydream all day or something. I just know I don’t wanna die. That’s like, too final. And I always have been experimental.”

  Trent gritted his teeth. “I can’t let you wander off either. You’d put us all in danger, even Brandon, and you know I won’t let that happen.”

  Internally Charlie agreed with Trent, but that route was too painful. “We’ve killed hundreds of zombies, one more out there won’t matter. Let him go.”

  “I’ll take Vidu’s moped as far away as I can. I might even stop by the zoo to see some old friends from vet school.” He clutched his tightening stomach.

  Trent noticed Mike’s growing discomfort. “Fine, but you need to go now.”

  Russ stepped forward. “I know we gave you a lot of shit, but you’re a righteous dude. It’s too bad you had to die a gay virgin.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, huh, Left-Nut?” Mike managed a smile as his pain intensified. “He really liked the French maid outfit.”

  Left-Nut squirmed as all eyes turned to him. “Hey, I was pitching and remember, I got a medical condition which means if I don’t—”

  “Yeah, it’s called being a flamer,” Russ said and gave Mike a hug before quickly backing away. “Adi
os, brother.”

  “Thanks,” Mike said. “You all need to listen to Charlie if you wanna get out alive.” He gave his friend a knowing look. “Follow your gut and show these knuckleheads what a real man is.”

  Charlie tried to reply, but the words wouldn’t come. So he ruffled Mike’s hair and held the ladder as his friend descended for the last time. They waved goodbye as Mike pulled the moped upright and turned the engine on. Lightning flashed as he began the mile and a half trip to the zoo, weaving around various obstacles while ignoring the growing pain in his gut.

  “Focus, you’ve still got some life left in you,” he said as several zombies gave a half-assed chase.

  Mike was amazed at how easily he travelled by scooter and wondered if they could have fled the city that way. It was idle speculation though, considering he wouldn’t be returning to tell anyone. Soon enough he pulled up to the main gate of the Lincoln Park Zoo and found the area surprisingly void of any movement, zombie or otherwise. He passed the turnstile and entered his familiar stomping ground. But the happy summer days spent tending to the animals were long gone, and the zoo was in utter shambles.

  Still, he hoped to hold off long enough to rescue some of his furry friends. But each exhibit brought fresh disappointment and dead animals. The zebras, kangaroos, lions and others he’d known intimately were all gone, wasted away with nobody to feed them.

  As Mike rested by the primate enclosure he felt a presence behind him, and for a moment the rain stopped landing on his head. He turned to see six huge forms — Baringo giraffes to be precise — staring at him. They’d somehow gotten free and wandered the zoo foraging from tree to tree. By the look of things, the herd had just about stripped the place.