Dead Drunk II: Dawn of the Deadbeats (Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time Book 2)

by Richard Johnson

  Rob had been going towards the glowing light and the smell of baby back ribs for what seemed like an hour. He could unmistakably hear Vidu talking about scuba diving with Abraham Lincoln and Blake complaining about his retirement fund going unspent. Just a few more steps and he would be on the other side. Was that a bucket of hot wings and a pitcher of Pale Horse Ale glistening in the sun?

  Vlad punched his old adversary in the gut and Big Rob spit out a massive lungful of water before grabbing Vlad’s throat and choking him with the strength of a panicking beast, letting out a roar.

  Vladimir struggled to break the man’s iron grip, but still cracked a smile. “Little help, please,” he managed to mumble and everyone grabbed at Rob’s arms, prying them away with great effort.

  Rob rolled over and puked up more of the greenish water while Vlad massaged a purple throat and spit on the ground several times. “Breath smells like depressed dog’s butthole.” Rob puked again and Vlad continued, “Anyways, welcome back to land of living. Choke me again, and you’re headed right back the other way.”

  “Fuck you,” Rob said between gasps of air. “And thanks.”

  “How the hell did you do that?” Charlie asked, impressed for once with the newest member of their group. “I thought he was dead for sure.”

  “We have lot of drownings in Bulgaria. Many dumbshits, believe it or not. Most important thing? Never give up.”

  “I think I owe you an apology,” Charlie added. “I guess I should take your opinions more seriously. Except for the killing strangers part. And about your ideas on fashion. I mean, your haircut sucks. ”

  “At least he has hair,” Left-Nut said from the peanut gallery.

  “Agree to disagree on last point, but sure,” Vlad said.

  Smokey helped Rob sit up and gave him a hug before shaking Vlad’s hand. “Now that you two made out like I knew you would, you can stop with the aggression. What do you say?”

  The two former combatants agreed, and Charlie knew he had some making up of his own to do with Sam. He took the boy under his arm and walked him away to apologize in private.

  “It appears we’re all one big happy dysfunctional family once again. That means it’s time to eat,” Smokey said.

  Even though he had just drowned, Rob agreed the instant he saw the plump turtle. “I’ll wait a bit, but I’m down. Never eaten turtle before.”

  “And I’ve never cooked it,” Katya said. “Maybe just cut some pieces and boil it for stew?”

  Vladimir twisted his mouth into a deep frown. “Not acceptable. Propane grill in van. We have turtle steaks in half hour. Get grill going and Vlad start carving turtle.”

  “I’m on it,” Smokey said and headed over, taking the opportunity to bogart a joint along the way. The skill was one he’d always had, and even now something that came as second nature.

  Soon everyone had settled down and Vlad set about to deliver on his promise of expertly-cut turtle steaks. First he hung the turtle upside down to let it bleed out, then scrubbed it with the hot water. After removing the shell and guts, the fatty meat went straight to the grill. The smell of it sizzling up was different from what everyone was used to, but their mouths were watering just the same. It was meat after all.

  Rob pondered his near-death experience while Katya tended to Sam’s injured foot and the others engaged in small talk. Everyone was in good spirits and seemed to be on the same page for once. Even better, the fiasco with Crazy Pat was all but forgotten.

  Charlie sat back and watched everyone while chugging down water like he would have once done with beer. Sobriety had been a bit boring, but if he hadn’t made the change, it was likely none of them would still be alive.

  As he took it all in, a large, skinny dog poked its head out from the nearby forest, drawn by the powerful smell of the grilling meat. The German Shepherd’s ears were back and its ribs told the story of extreme hunger.

  Before Charlie could say anything, it left the tree line and headed their way. That’s when he saw the leash attached to its neck, and the owner attached to the leash. She was a tall woman wearing a torn sun dress and faded Phish shirt. He guessed she was one of the vanished picnickers. She also happened to be a zombie.

  The pair made their way towards the camp with haste, hungry for different types of meat. Charlie rose to his feet. “Um, guys, look alive.”

  Much faster than its owner, the dog practically dragged her behind as they neared the group. Rob was weakened from his ordeal but still strong enough to take the woman down with one swing of his bat. Bloodied but not dead, the woman struggled to rise, and he hit her several more times. A woman that loved Widespread Panic concerts, quinoa salad, and stray animals was finished.

  “Losing my touch,” Rob said and reached out to pet the dog. It promptly clamped its jaws down on his hand. “Son of a bitch!”

  Angered at the attack on its owner, the German Shepherd went berserk, growling and barking as it circled Big Rob. It also had the taste of blood on its lips and was clamoring for more of the same.

  Rob poked at it gingerly, not wanting to hurt the dog even after it ripped a good chunk of flesh off his left hand. But it just kept barking.

  “Must kill it,” Vlad said forcefully. “Too loud.”

  Rob shook his head as he nudged the starving canine away. “I can’t do that, it’s a dog for God’s sake.”

  The Bulgarian sighed, took a hit from a joint, and grabbed his knife from the grill. “Vlad not squeamish.”

  “Hold on, I’ll make it leave,” Smokey said and grabbed the pot of boiling water. He tossed the hot water at the dog’s hind quarters and scored a direct hit, causing a severe burn but saving its life. The dog forgot about her beloved owner and took off for the forest it had come from, shrieking in pain.

  “Seriously?” Vlad said with an icy stare. “Better catch before it brings every zombie in state to our barbecue.”

  And so Smokey, Vlad, Charlie and the Koreans chased after the dog before it could further ruin their cookout by getting them all killed. They were too late.

  As they neared the edge of the forest, a zombie in a tight cheerleading uniform burst from the shadows. Then another and another.

  “Nice,” Left-Nut said. Then a varsity football team, a special needs water boy and three hundred literally die-hard fans erupted from the woods as well. A whole town, to be precise, and they were headed right for Charlie and company. Crazy Pat had sent them into an ambush.

  The Koreans paused to fire every round they had left and then took off, throwing their weapons away. But Pong had waited a second too long and they were right on his heels. He stumbled on uneven terrain, and that was all it took. They dragged the young man to the ground and tore into him without mercy.

  But his death bought the others a couple of precious seconds as the mob stopped to feed on the tragic figure. As he reached the camp, still smoking his joint, Vlad grabbed the vodka and propane tank while the others kept right on running down the gravel road. They had nowhere in particular to go, but were going there in a hurry.

  Half a mile down the road they spotted a sign for an old graveyard right off the beaten path. Rob was wheezing, Sam was hobbling on his injured foot, and the zombies grew closer by the second. “Go for the graveyard,” Charlie said and pointed into the overgrown thicket. “Maybe there’s a fence or something.”

  The others followed, but Vlad stopped running and turned to face the incoming horde. He looped his belt through the vodka bottle’s handle and stood shoulder to shoulder with Rob.

  “Keep moving!” Charlie said, though he recognized the look of determination on both of their faces.

  Vlad set the gas tank down and drew his knife from its sheath while Rob cracked his neck and took a deep breath. “It’s go time,” he said and nodded to the Bulgarian.

  “You got two minutes and then you better come find us,” Charlie said and bolted into the forest. Moments later he found the others picking their way through the overgrown graveyard. A fallen fenc
e, tipped over tombstones, and a toppled caretaker’s home showed just how dilapidated the place was. But there was a rather large stone mausoleum that appeared to be in excellent shape. Soon, the friends were prying at the entrance door. It was made of iron, it was incredibly rusty, and it was locked from the inside.

  Charlie pointed to a set of opaque windows eight feet up. “Smokey, help me boost Sam up and see if he can get in there.”

  The first window was jammed shut, but Sam was able to work open the second window and climb inside the dusty and smelly building. He slid to the floor and made his way towards the entrance. With just the light from the opened window, it took him a moment to find the door. Now he had to figure out how to unlock it in the dark.

  Meanwhile, the bash brothers were having issues of their own – mainly, football-helmet and shoulder-pad-wearing zombies. Rob was swatting them with his bat, but they just kept getting right back up, and his wild swinging was keeping Vlad out of the fray. Luckily the facemasks made it impossible for those particular zombies to bite. But they were swarming the pair, and the other army of zombies closing in had no such handicap.

  Vladimir formulated a hasty plan as he pointed to one of the zombie’s legs. “Rob slam, Vlad jam.”

  Rob nodded and hammered the first football player’s kneecaps. The Bulgarian instantly pounced and pushed his knife through the fallen teenager’s faceguard, burying it to the hilt in the boy’s eye socket. Then he rolled over to focus on the next one, already dropped by the other big guy.

  This worked great for the first few stragglers, but the main column was coming in and bringing chewed-up death with it.

  “Run?” Rob asked as the multitude of zombies got within fifty yards, proving too terrifying even for him.

  Vlad stood still. “One more trick up pant leg.”

  The zombies had closed to twenty-five yards. Vlad sucked one last drag off his joint and spun the propane tank knob to full blast. He placed the cherry in front of the rushing gas.

  “WOOSH!

  Flames shot out ten feet as Vlad’s improvised flamethrower ignited without a second to spare. He swung the tank back in forth to create a wall of fire and several zombie cheerleaders burst into flames. But as their ponytails burned off rapidly and their flesh sizzled, the once-adorable cheerleaders kept moving forward, and it wasn’t team spirit on their minds.

  Rob swung wildly and knocked the trio of flaming teens backwards into the charging throng, where they immediately set others on fire. More took their place and Vlad torched them too while backpedalling away. Then his torch started to flicker.

  “Okay, now run.”

  A voice rang out from the forest. “Sŏ-du-rŭ-se-yo!” It was Ping, shouting at them to hurry.

  They followed the Korean soldier through the brush and into the ramshackle cemetery with hundreds of zombies – some flaming – in tow. Charlie was standing at the now-open entrance to the vast mausoleum and screaming profanity-laced encouragement. Ping, then Vlad, and finally Rob shot through the opening as Charlie slammed the door shut. They wedged several steel caskets from the Victorian era against it and waited with baited breath while hands of all shapes and sized pounded on the outside with little success. Charlie and the gang were alive. And trapped. And in the dark.

  A bright light radiated outward and bathed the group in an otherworldly glow. It was Smokey’s cell phone.

  “I kept it charged up for just such an occasion. Plus, I have Tetris on here. Time for you fools to get pwned.”

  Everyone looked at each other in silence for a moment until Left-Nut realized something. “Aw man, Pong was the one I was teaching English. Now I gotta start all over.”

  Smokey turned his light off, and the fists began to fly from all directions.

  * * *

  An hour passed since the group had become entombed inside the mausoleum, and besides a short-lived Tetris tournament complete with allegations of cheating, they were starting to get unbearably bored.

  Left-Nut was nursing a black eye that nobody would fess up to, and that at least was a cause for smiles. But the loss of Pong and their current predicament weighed heavily on everyone. It didn’t help that five hundred zombies clamored around the entrance to the mausoleum, pressing in tighter and tighter.

  “Think they’ll get bored and leave?” Sam asked. Nobody replied, and that was answer enough.

  Smokey paced around and chewed on his fingers. “It’s like Sweet Valley High on mushrooms out there. We’re pretty much screwed, chewed, and barbecued.”

  “Barbecue. I can still smell that turtle cooking on the grill,” Rob said. “I bet it would have been delicious.”

  “That dickhead Pat must have known the zombies were by the lake, too. Not that it matters,” Charlie said. “Creepy jagoff.”

  “I know this is a long shot, but now would be a great time to pray,” Katya suggested. “In the darkest times—”

  “No, Sister Buzzkill, now is time to drink,” Vlad said. “Time to celebrate life. Didn’t save vodka for nothing.”

  “For once, I agree with him,” Charlie added.

  Katya nodded. “Okay then. I’ll pray, you do your thing. We all have our roles.”

  And so they began passing the handle of vodka around while telling off-color jokes and stories. Smokey played some music on his phone, and although there was a bit of grumbling about the song selection, it definitely helped them forget their macabre situation. At least a little.

  The conversation turned to people that they hoped had died in the apocalypse, including all of the Kardashians, all the world’s lawyers, and anyone that said “BOGO” instead of “Buy one, get one.”

  “Ronald Reagan,” Smokey added.

  “Man, he’s been dead for like, ten years,” Charlie said. “Get over it.”

  “Still, fuck him. War on drugs asshole,” Smokey said.

  “Speaking of the dead, we should say a few words for Pong,” Charlie said. He dumped an ounce of vodka on the floor and continued, “He lived a short, dirty life, and died a horribly violent death. But at least he died free.” He patted Ping on the back and handed him the bottle.

  The older Korean said a few words and then dumped more vodka out before taking a long pull for himself. He handed the bottle to Rob, closed his eyes, and sat down on the mausoleum floor, lost in his thoughts.

  Rob took a massive drink and then ruffled Sam’s red hair. “I think it’s time for our little guy to have his first drink. It’s not like there’s a legal age limit anymore. What do you think, Charlie?”

  “Sounds like a great idea. Just one drink, though.”

  Sam looked nervous about the idea and turned to Charlie. “How come you’re not joining in? From everyone’s stories it seems like that’s all you guys do is drink.”

  “I used to toss ‘em back with the best of them. There were late nights, women, and shenanigans I won’t mention in the presence of a nun.”

  “Thank you,” Katya said.

  “You could say, for a long time, I was like the dancing gopher in Caddyshack. Except when the music stopped playing, everybody else noticed but me. I was in a bad place, trust me. And now I got my head on right for once. So I’ll pass, but you go ahead. Your first drink should always be with your best friends.”

  Sam smiled genuinely at the sentiment and his face turned red even in the dark. He took a quick gulp and coughed most of it up. “This tastes like gasoline. Why would you guys drink this garbage? No thanks.”

  “Yep, that’s what my first time was like,” Charlie noted with a grin.

  Vlad slapped Sam on the back way too hard. “I take his portion.”

  The drinking continued and tongues were loosened. Even after his recent anonymous beating, Left-Nut – being Left-Nut – decided to press his luck.

  “Doesn’t look like we’re gonna make it out of here. What do you say, Katya? Fancy a little Cemetery Mary action?”

  The nun stood up and quietly walked towards the cretin.

  “Oh, hell yes
. I didn’t think that you’d really take me up on—” He broke off as the nun began to kick his still-injured shin. Repeatedly. “Get off me you damn psycho!”

  Big Rob pulled Katya back, although he was purposefully a bit slow to do so. It seemed the day was a good one for kicking Left-Nut’s ass, even for members of the clergy.

  The others roared with laughter at the sight until Charlie cut them off with the wave of a hand. “What’s that smell? And I’m not talking about Rob’s armpits.”

  “Smoke,” Sam answered as the scent got strong enough for everyone to smell. “It’s a forest fire. My scout leader trained us to recognize the smell.”

  “That must have been a tough one to learn,” Left-Nut said and rolled his eyes while rubbing his sore shin.

  “He’s just trying to help,” Smokey said.

  “Oh, like you did by burning the dumbass dog half to death?”

  “Seriously, you even hate dogs?” Smokey countered.

  “No, I don’t hate dogs. In fact, I love them. Not that you dick-wads care.” Left-Nut sat down Indian-style and went seamlessly into storytelling mode. “We had a poodle that my parents got for my tenth birthday, I named him Elmo and he was my best friend for years.”

  “I remember that dog, it bit my leg,” Rob said.

  “He hated everyone except me,” Left-Nut said. “And what’s with every dog biting you? Is it because you smell like bacon?”

  “Okay, so what happened,” Charlie said.

  “It was Christmas break our junior year of college, and I came home from the bar one night, completely wasted as usual. But you see, Elmo fell asleep at the door waiting for me, and I just didn’t see him. I just didn’t see him…” Left-Nut attempted to say something else but his words were lost amongst tears, and he broke down like his friends had never witnessed before.