Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time, Page 5

  “She knew how to count money,” Vidu said.

  Charlie ignored his friends. “She’s new to the country and working her way through—”

  “Cut the shit, we know you nailed her,” Left-Nut said and stopped walking.

  Charlie was too tired to put up much of a defense, and they weren’t going to drop the issue. “Fine. Yeah, I nailed her. We did it five times, once in the shower and once on the kitchen table. I even gave her a Bullwinkle. Happy?”

  Jim looked horrified. “I knew you were hard up, but I never thought you’d stoop to hookers. Oh how the mighty have fallen.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Blake told everyone he felt sorry for you,” Jim explained. “Said he’d get you laid even if he had to pay for it.”

  Charlie’s blood boiled. Blake had gotten him roughed up and made him look like a pathetic loser. But with no way to deny it, he decided to go the deflection route and turned the tables on his white-haired friend. “Why are you all harassing me? At least I didn’t bang an invalid.”

  Left-Nut had a moronic smile plastered on his face. “What’s your point?”

  “My point is I might have fucked a hooker last night, but you became one when you prosti-tarded yourself out.”

  “Yeah it was crazy,” Left-Nut replied, then paused for dramatic effect. “I would have done it for free.”

  “As for what happened to me? I had no idea she was a hooker. For real.”

  Even Vidu snickered. “You thought a hot chick threw herself at you in a strip club? And I’m gullible?”

  “Look, I didn’t know, and I certainly didn’t know Blake only paid for two hours. Some guy, I guess it was her pimp, woke me up and wanted six hundred bucks. I’d already spent all my money at the club.”

  “Ignoring the fact that you don’t have that much money anyways, what did you do?” Jim asked

  “The guy blasted me in the face and then whipped out a knife, so I jumped through the window and fell down the fire escape.”

  “Which is why you have no shoes, right?” Left-Nut asked. “Nice escape. Reminds me of the time—”

  “Yeah, it was intense,” Charlie said. “But to top it off, I just saw a banker on the train beat up some gangbangers.”

  Left-Nut stirred the pot. “Nobody gives a shit about punks on the train. Are you going to get even with Blake?”

  “I might give him one of these,” Charlie said and pointed to his eye.

  Left-Nut shrugged. “You can’t be too mad, he did get you laid after all.”

  “Speaking of which, I hope you both bagged up last night,” Jim said as the group resumed their walk.

  Charlie shook his head and Left-Nut laughed. “What is this, junior high? Of course not.”

  “You guys are complete idiots. I swear your dicks are gonna fall right off.”

  “I think it’s funny Charlie got beat up after everyone laughed at me,” Vidu said.

  Charlie rolled his eyes. “Have you ever won a fight?”

  “Of course. Remember the junior year Tahiti Party?” Vidu brought up an annual festival where college kids wore swimsuits and straw hats, drank alcoholic punch and swallowed goldfish whole.

  “You mean your throw down with the theatre kid?” Charlie asked.

  “Yes. That guy was like a mongoose.”

  “That wasn’t exactly Clash of the Titans,” Jim said. “It was more like a blind Urkel fighting a gay Screech.”

  “Whatever. Your wife probably beats you for putting the toilet roll on backwards. That nonsense wouldn’t happen in my country because the man is the boss.”

  “It wouldn’t happen in your country because nobody ever uses toilet paper,” Jim quipped.

  The griping and sniping continued until the friends reached the finish line of the race. Packs of runners came down the blockaded street while a group of bored spectators milled about. Vidu rudely pushed his way to the front, wanting his crush, Julia, to hear his encouragement.

  The others hung near the back of the crowd and waited. And waited, and waited. Finally, a chubby girl with an awkward running style approached to a round of applause from the crowd. “Go, Julia!” Vidu yelled, startling a few bystanders with the surprising volume of his voice. “You can do it, you’re almost there.”

  Julia found him in the crowd of faces and gave a wave and a very nice smile. Charlie was surprised at how cute she was, but he was even more surprised when a figure darted from the crowd and tackled her like a linebacker, driving the woman’s soft body onto the pavement. It was madness.

  Vidu instantly sprang forward and threw a punch like never before, somehow connecting with the assailant’s jaw. He reached back to throw another haymaker and then looked at his hand in horror to find two of his fingers were bloody stumps. Another man dragged Vidu to the ground while a third and then fourth violently piled on. The used car salesman disappeared into the tangle of arms and legs and screams.

  Chapter 9

  Shit Meets Fan

  Trent flicked his cigarette into the rose bushes and lit another. As he savored the chalky menthol flavor, two ambulances streaked by with lights flashing and horns blaring. He’d been waiting for his ride for fifteen minutes and wondered what in the hell was going on.

  A squad car finally pulled up. “I’m driving,” Trent told the attractive woman scowling from behind the wheel.

  “We really don’t have time for your macho bullshit,” the woman replied sharply.

  He got in while his ex-partner, Sarah Birdsong, avoided eye contact and pulled away. The descendant of Sioux Indians had a fiery disposition and pissed Trent off slightly more than she turned him on. Slightly.

  “Put that out. You know I'm allergic.”

  “Jesus, you’re like my mother,” he said and tossed it out the window. “Only my mother never gave me crabs.”

  Sarah slammed on the brakes. “Let’s get this straight. Sleeping with you was the biggest mistake of my life, and you’re an asshole for taking advantage of me.”

  “You weren't that drunk, sunshine.”

  “Bullshit. But we need to set that aside for now.”

  “And why’s that?” Trent asked.

  Sarah’s voice faltered. “Something big’s going down.”

  Trent leaned forward. “I'm listening. Fucking Al-Qaeda, isn’t it?”

  “Loads of people are getting really sick.” A 10-101 call came across the squad radio, code for a civil disturbance.

  “I wondered why they sent a car,” Trent said.

  “Every cop in town’s been called up.”

  His fear turned to anger. “We aren't trained for this. I spend my time harassing teenagers and sleeping behind abandoned factories.”

  “FEMA’s in charge and the National Guard’s doing the heavy lifting. They’re running a triage at the United Center, and we have to man roadblocks. No one gets in or out. No one. We’ve got live-fire orders here.”

  “Do we get masks or something? I mean, what's gonna keep us from getting sick?”

  “They don’t think it’s airborne so we’re not supposed to let anyone get too close,” she said. “Whatever it is, they think it’s spreading by direct contact.”

  Trent was sick to his stomach, and even felt a little ashamed that Sarah was handling the situation so well. He wondered if maybe she wasn't as useless as he'd been telling everyone.

  Sarah grabbed Trent’s shoulder. “A lot of people are depending on us. Are you ready?”

  He nodded and lit another Parliament while thinking about the woman sitting next to him. Trent didn’t actually hate her, but rejection always made him act like a junior-high bully. For her part, Sarah did find him charming in his own uncouth sort of way, and she hadn't been that drunk. But she would never admit it.

  New calls flooded in as the car picked up speed. First, there was a 10-46, sick person and ambulance en route, followed by a 10-54, possible dead body. Codes 20 and 10-57 meant an officer needed assistance and shots had been fired. They grew even wors
e from there.

  “The shit’s hitting the fan, it’s like a full moon on steroids,” Trent said and then changed his tone. “Sarah, look... I just gotta say... I've been a complete prick.”

  “Now isn't the time—”

  “No, now is the time. From here on out, you get nothing but respect from me.”

  Her pouty lips flashed a tempting smile. “Thanks. You know, I…” A heavy object shattered the windshield and Sarah instinctively slammed on the brakes, quickly losing control. The car only stopped after jumping the curb and crumpling around a telephone pole.

  “I knew I should have drove,” Trent muttered as he fought the darkness creeping over him. Two long minutes later, an intense pain jolted him awake. The lit cigarette had landed on his lap and the smoldering cherry slowly burned through his slacks and into his flesh.

  Meanwhile, a warm and wet liquid ran down Trent’s face and momentarily blinded him while a strange clicking noise came from somewhere nearby. He patted the flames out and then rubbed his eyes, blinking for a few seconds. The world slowly came into focus, as did the cause of the clicking sound.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  Confronting Trent was some grade-A nightmare fuel. An old lady was stuck in the windshield mere inches from his face, chomping and drooling like a ravenous beast. The woman pressed further into the windshield, ignoring the broken shards slicing into her neck. Blood and spit dripped onto Trent's forehead like Chinese water torture as he fumbled with his pistol. He aimed the shaking sidearm at the woman's shattered face while reaching a hand out to Sarah's shoulder.

  Trent shook her, slowly at first, then like a rag-doll. “Wake up!”

  Sarah mumbled incoherently, so he smacked her, hard, and she slowly came to. “What happened?”

  “Woman driver. And your airbag didn’t go off so don’t move. I'm coming around to get you.” Trent eased the door open and put one foot on the ground. Dull and empty eyes followed him from the windshield.

  The old woman jerked her head backwards and Trent scrambled out to raise his firearm. But the freak-show was hopelessly stuck. She gave one final furious tug before her head popped right off, making a disgusting ripping noise in the process. The corpse slumped to the ground, twitched for a few agonizing seconds, and then lay still.

  Blaaaaugh. Trent threw up the super-nachos he ate at four a.m. as well as several confiscated pain pills. He wiped his face and turned to Sarah. “Are you hurt?”

  “Yeah, I think it’s bad.” She coughed up blood. “My leg hurts like hell.”

  Trent could see a pure white bone poking through her pant leg and realized it was a nasty compound fracture. He grabbed the radio. “Unit 145 has an officer down near Hermitage and Augusta, ambulance needed.” There was no reply so he repeated himself four times. “Somebody fucking pick up!” Still no answer. Other than a figure approaching from the south, the street was oddly deserted. “Sit tight, we got someone running towards us.”

  “I'm not…” She coughed up more bright blood. “…going anywhere.”

  Trent waited until the man was twenty yards out and raised his pistol. The runner, a black man wearing a janitor's outfit, gestured to Trent to lower his weapon. He did and the man cautiously approached, sweating heavily and gasping for air.

  “Thank God. I thought I was all alone. You got to get me outta here,” he said between breaths.

  “Back up, buddy. Why are you running?” Trent raised his gun again.

  “I work down at Cook County Hospital. It’s going crazy down there. Man, we need to go.”

  “What do you mean?” Trent asked.

  “The hospital was packed, but more people kept showing up and we couldn't let anyone else in. Then folks started going ghetto and it got nuts. People were screaming, punching, they were even biting each other.”

  “You ran off?”

  “Hell yeah I did. My friend got his damn ear bit off right in front of me. I wasn't gonna wait for the bus.”

  “Then what?” Trent asked.

  “It spilled into the streets and then big trucks showed up. There was a bunch of gunshots.”

  “Military?”

  “Fuck, how many questions are you gonna ask?” Trent glared, so the man continued. “I hear gunshots all the time, and I ain’t never heard any like that. They were shooting at everything.”

  Trent grabbed the radio. “Where is everybody? I got an officer down. Hello?”

  “Look, I ain't sticking around. There were some dudes chasing me and I don't know where they are.” He finally noticed the decapitated body in the street. “Holy shit. You hit that bitch with your car?”

  At that moment, a group of subway workers, several bums and a naked man rounded the corner two blocks away. They moved with a strange shambling gait, almost as if they were drunk.

  “Those are the guys.”

  Trent ignored him. “She’s hurt, so we’ll need to move her till help comes.”

  “We? You got a turd in your pocket? I mean, I ain't doing nothing but getting outta here.”

  “Listen, asshole—”

  “It ain't asshole, it's Tyrone.”

  Trent cocked the hammer back on his pistol. “Listen, Tyrone, I'm not asking you.”

  “Fine, but don't think I won’t sue your ass,” Tyrone replied. “Police motherfucking brutality, that’s what this is. I’ll get Jesse Jackson up in here.”

  “You can take every penny I have, brother. But we need to get her into one of these buildings. Be careful, her leg is busted and probably her ribs too.” Trent put his leather wallet into Sarah's mouth and gently eased the door open. So far so good. Even better, the crowd hadn't noticed them.

  Sarah clamped down and fought the urge to pass out as they started to pull. But the shattered femur worked a jagged groove through her thigh and blood quickly pooled on the floor.

  “She's bleeding too much, we gotta put her back,” Trent said and gritted his teeth. They carefully eased her into the front seat.

  As luck would have it, the radio crackled back to life. “What’s your location again unit 145?” Trent and Tyrone looked to each other then turned back to the crowd that was now numbering in the dozens and staring directly at the car.

  Tyrone chose that instant to flee, and the crowd surged towards them while Trent froze. Looking at his partner, he noticed her beauty even under extreme pain, and as the morning sun glistened off Sarah’s tear-soaked, emerald eyes, he knew what he should do. He knew what he must do. And he did the exact opposite.

  “Don’t leave me!” Sarah shouted as Trent took off. The mob reached the car and several forms dove through the window while the rest followed their moving prey.

  Ghastly screams echoed off the buildings followed by the sharp crack of a pistol. Trent simply quickened his pace and put Sarah Birdsong behind him, figuratively and literally. A few minutes later his gut ached, his lungs burned and the crowd grew closer by the step.

  Meanwhile, Tyrone had problems of his own. Already winded, his ill-fitting work boots were causing his feet to blister. Still, he was pulling away from the overweight cop.

  Trent’s years of chain-smoking hadn't given him much to work with, and he soon hit the wall as his silent chasers closed in. So Trent stopped running and fired every round in his clip. The first shot grazed Tyrone's shoulder and the second blew the man’s knee apart.

  “You son of a bitch!”

  The janitor hit the pavement and Trent didn’t even turn around to see the mob rip the helpless man to pieces. He was only a mile from home and just might make it after all.

  Chapter 10

  Par for the Course

  Charlie and Jim made their way towards the dog pile while the crowd panicked and spectators ran in every direction. Fights were breaking out all over, and Left-Nut, being Left-Nut, had already fled amidst the pandemonium.

  Reaching the scrum and seeing Vidu’s orange shirt at the bottom of the pile, Charlie grabbed his squirming legs and pulled him from the mass of tangled bodies. Vidu sl
id out and latched onto a lady running past, tripping and grabbing her in one fluid motion. He opened his mouth wide and ripped a chunk of flesh from the screaming woman’s calf.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Charlie dropped his friend and backed away in horror as two more deranged lunatics tore into the woman’s trembling body like she was a downed wildebeest.

  Jim tugged at Charlie’s arm and they sprinted pell-mell towards the apartment, ignoring the trampled and torn apart bodies around them. Men and women, young and old, found themselves caught in the quickly growing cycle of exponential carnage. If there could be hell on earth, it would look a lot like this.

  They caught up with Left-Nut and told him to pick up the pace with a few choice words. One hot minute later, the trio reached the apartment. Of course, Charlie had lost the key during his tumble down the fire escape earlier, and the doorbell was broken.

  After they pounded on the door for what would seem like an eternity, Smokey emerged wearing a zebra-patterned Snuggie and holding a joint. “Who kicked your ass?” he said upon seeing his friend’s shiner.

  Charlie shoved Smokey aside, slammed the door and turned the deadbolt. “Everybody wake the fuck up!”

  The remaining crew was in varying states of disarray, but the consensus was that nobody wanted to “wake the fuck up.”

  Blake rubbed the sleep from his eyes while sitting up on the couch. “This better be good, my head’s pounding.” He squinted. “Holy shit, Charlie, what happened to your face?”

  “Guys, something crazy’s going on and I’m not kidding.”

  “Like what?” Mike asked. “Terrorists?”

  Charlie shook his head. “I got no clue, but it’s a fucking nightmare outside.”

  “It’s true, people are going ape-shit,” Jim added while a speechless Left-Nut nodded in agreement.

  Russ crossed his arms. “You guys think you can pull one over on old Russ do you? Well you can all kiss my ass because I’m not taking the bait.”

  Charlie pulled the living room drapes back and revealed the spiraling mayhem in the neighborhood. “Take a look for yourself.” Cars zipped past, ignoring traffic signals and common sense as people ran about in a panic.