Dead Drunk II: Dawn of the Deadbeats (Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time Book 2) (3 page)

The yelling
had not gone unnoticed, and a nightmarishly disfigured man emerged from the
forest and quickly made its way to the fence. Here it found the gate still
partially open, thanks to Smokey being the last one to enter.

As the gate
clanged against the fence and the zombie lurched onward, all eyes turned to the
incoming abomination. It had wandered the forest for months, having been
plagued by stinging insects, thorns, curious coyotes, and the summer elements.
Now the hungry creature was nearly unrecognizable as a human. Its skin tight
from dehydration and its eyes shrunken, the zombie locked in on a target and
charged. Mother Agnes stood frozen in both fear and disbelief as it closed in.

Rob fumbled
with his bat, then accidentally kicked it away as he reached to pick it up.
Charlie and Smokey raised their guns but didn’t have enough time to shoot. The
zombie hammered the nun to the ground and opened its festering mouth wide. A
split second later it was dead, felled by a rifle bullet through the eye
socket.

Sam walked
over and pulled the twitching creature off the nun. Up close, it smelled even
worse than it looked. The infected man shuddered once before ultimately
escaping the purgatory he’d been trapped in, and a state of peace appeared on
his withered husk of a face.

“There’s your
zompy
right there, lady,” Charlie said.

Rob ruffled Sam’s
shaggy brown hair. “Nice shooting, Tex.”

“That’s the
first one I actually hit,” he said, beaming with pride.

The Mother
Superior rose from the ground and smoothed out her clothing before taking a
deep breath.

“He’s the
priest from town. Now I know why he never bothered  showing up for his
annual summer visit.”

“Sorry,”
Charlie said.

“He was a
blowhard.” Mother Agnes pointed to Left-Nut, still comatose, as her godly vows
finally kicked in. “Let’s get the injured one inside and see what we can do. We
are healers, after all.”

The
disfigured and barefoot nun opened the door from the inside and greeted her
much older superior with a nod. Oddly enough, the woman didn’t say anything
about the deadly encounter she’d just witnessed, but her eyes were a mile wide.

“You can’t
come in past the entryway. This is a cloistered convent.” The men looked at her
as if she were speaking Aramaic. “It means we don’t allow visitors. This is a
quiet place of prayer, reflective thought, repentance, and most importantly,
solitude.”

Of course, it
was at that moment Left-Nut woke up from his punch-induced slumber.

“Ouch, my
fucking leg! And where’s that horse-cock motherfucker Rob at? That shithead
sucker punched me in the god-damned mouth. I’m gonna blow his stupid nuts off!”
He caught a glimpse of the scarred nun’s good side and his disposition changed
instantly. “Ooh, hello.”

Charlie
looked at Sam. “See, I told you. Total creeper.”

Russ chewed
happily on Ace’s warm flesh before shaking his head like a man waking up from a
nightmare. “Aw shit, what did I just do?”

“You ate my
friend, that’s what you did,” Marquell said, puffing up but not getting too
loud in the process. He was unwilling to let his anger alert the nearby
sharpshooter, though it didn’t really matter right now. Said sharpshooter was
about to have his first orgasm in months and wasn’t worried about their plight
in the least bit.

Russ bowed
his head and pointed to a bullet wound on the expired man’s gut. “I just
couldn’t help myself. Must be a side effect or whatnot. He was gonna die
anyways though, honest.”

Trent
whistled at them both and pointed to the horde of zombies charging up the road.
“We’ll sort this out later, but we gotta go. Marquell, you can either come with
us or climb back up on that cross. Your pick.”

“Fine, but
I’m not riding with that crazy motherfucker. Did you see what he just did?”

Russ climbed
down while sucking the blood off his fingers like sticky syrup. “I’m not hungry
now, brother, I just ate.”

“See? Dude’s
crazy. No, I’m riding with you,” Marquell said and walked next to Trent,
keeping a wary eye on Russ the entire time.

“Climb aboard
then, cupcake,” Trent said and brushed the seat off behind him as if cleaning
it for a girlfriend.

With no time
to spare they fired up their motorcycles and took off, all thinking about
different things. Trent was seriously questioning his decision to stop,
Marquell was trying to calm himself down, and Russ was wondering if he could
reach the bottle of whiskey behind him without crashing his chopper.

Soon their
thinking converged to one topic, and it was where in the hell should they go
next. More roadblocks, fires, and the growing army of cannibals rapidly cut
down their options.

The two motorcycles
pulled up next to each other and Trent turned to Marquell. “I’m stumped. How
well do you know the city?”

“Like nobody
else. I used to own these streets. We need to head three blocks north, and then
two west.”

“I’m
listening, but then what?” Trent asked while Russ took advantage of the brief
pause in action to scratch Elvis’s head and take a swig of the brown stuff as a
palate cleanser. The raccoon cooed with pleasure and pushed its body farther
into Russ’s four-fingered hand. Zombie Cliff had eaten the missing digit the
day before, but it hadn’t seemed to slow the man down much.

“There’s an
old steel mill right there with a TARP entrance inside. I had some underlings
making meth for me in the tunnels there.”

“TARP
tunnels?” Trent asked. “Never heard of ‘em.”

“Water
drainage tunnels. Damn deep and thirty feet wide. We can take them all the way
out of the city. No muss, no fuss.”

“I hope you
know what you’re talking about. Russ, come on.”

In a few
minutes, the trio pulled up to the mill and parked their motorcycles by the
front door. The change in plans was a big one, and Trent was hesitant about
listening to their new “friend.” But they simply had no other options. The next
dead end would have been a literal one, and the cop started panicking on the
inside.

They shut the
door behind them and entered a long, empty hallway. Trent turned on his
police-issued Maglite and led the way while Marquell kept a safe distance from
Russ. He was still fuming about the ignominious end to his friend’s life, and
once the trio came into the plant cafeteria, Marquell stopped.

“Before we go
any farther, y’all have some explaining to do. Like, what’s going on with that
peckerwood right there?”

“Russ is… a
little under the weather,” Trent said.

“That’s what
you sick bastards call it?  Look, you better be one hundred with me. No
bull, and I’m not playing.”

“He’s
infected, sort of,” Trent said. “Not like the dumb-fucks running around eating
people. I guess he’s still a dumb-fuck running around eating people, but not
like the other ones. He can talk.”

“Gee, thanks
for your kind words,” Russ mumbled, proving that, indeed, zombies can have
feelings.

“Anyways, we
think he might be the cure to ending this whole thing, like in the movies. So
we’re trying to get him to some scientists or military base or whatever.”
Marquell smirked and Trent lost his cool. “You got any better ideas, asshole?
At least we’re trying to come up with something.”

“Your
child-like interpretations of communicable diseases are a joke and your escape
plan was dog shit too. Couple of simpletons.” Marquell was stirring the pot
deliberately now to test their mettle and gage their response. The master
manipulator could usually get others to react precisely as he wanted.

Trent took the
bait and his temperature started rising. “A little gratitude would be nice.” He
moved a hand to his holstered weapon. “We did cut you down. You were just
zombie bait without us.”

“Lordy,
Lordy, thank you, thank you. If I’m lucky, someday I’ll get to come in from the
fields on a rainy day and mend your shoes by the campfire. Maybe even 
sing some hymns.”

“Typical,”
the cop said dryly. Old habits die hard, especially for jerk-wads like Trent.

“What’s that
supposed to mean?” Marquell said and grinned on the inside. It hadn’t taken him
long to find the man’s weakness.

“Just what I
said, typical. Your kind are always unthankful. We should have picked our own
damned cotton five hundred years ago. Ain’t that right, Russ?”

Marquell
snorted. “Your historical knowledge is dog shit too. And I was the one behind
bars? Talk about an unjust society.”

“That was a
good home for you. How about we take you back? That’s right, back to where
somebody beat your ass and tied you up like a chocolate sacrifice to King
Kong.”

“Oh, I’m done
with that place,” Marquell said. “And don’t think I didn’t recognize you from
yesterday. You’re the buster that boned out when shit was getting real. Left
your friends to fend for themselves. You served and protected the hell out of
them, didn’t you?”

 Trent
was speechless for the first time in a while and Russ finally jumped in.

“Both of you
need to cut the crap. Elvis and I are sick of listening to it.” Russ punctuated
this point by taking a slug of whiskey. “And frankly, I’m getting bored.”

“Fine, let’s
hear your masterful escape plan, Marquell,” Trent said, eager to change the
subject. “Like with these tunnels, are they gonna be full of water and crap?
Did you think that through, genius?”

“No man, the
tunnels aren’t fully connected to the system yet so they should be empty still.
One hundred plus miles of concrete tunnels. We’re only going twenty, though.”

“And how do
you know about this shit anyways?” Trent said.

“Bored,” Russ
interjected with a huff.

“This was my
planned escape route from prison if I ever got the chance,” Marquell said, then
paused. “I guess I did get the chance. Anyway, should be maps all along the
walls down there and safety stations with emergency food, water and
flashlights. I had my cookers scouting the place out for me. Bunch of idiots,
but they made me money.”

“Not bad,”
Trent said, feeling like he’d made the right decision after all. “But what
happens when we leave the tunnel?”

“See, that’s
where my plan really takes shape. We pop out and find a vehicle, then drive to
a small airport not too far from the city. I had some pilots who were junkies,
and they made runs for me so they could wet their beaks. I bet one of those
planes is still there, and I know where the keys are. We grab it and fly to
wherever we damned want. Oh, and there might be some meth left behind in the
tunnels, too. Can use that for barter along the way.”

Trent’s eyes
widened and his teeth clenched slightly at the mention of the drugs, and
Marquell saw the cop’s other major weakness. This would be easier than he
thought.

“I take it
you can fly?” Trent asked as they entered yet another empty room, finding
countless cobwebs and storage lockers. The smell of mildew was thick and the
air felt dirty.

“Never have,
but I could play flight simulator when I was high on some dank-ass weed. The
real thing can’t be much harder. It’s just pitch control, banking, power
control and shit like that.”

“And
landing,” Russ added, becoming the unlikely voice of reason.

“I find your
lack of motherfuckin’ faith disturbing.”

A smile
crossed the trucker’s lips that was off putting when paired with his vacant
eyes. “Hey, that’s from
Star Wars
. Are you a fan?”

Marquell
grinned back, showing off the charming side he could produce at will – the hallmark
of a true psychopath. “You damn right. Baron Lando Calrissian was a pimp. If
that shit was real, though, he’d a turned Princess Leia out in a minute.”

“God, I
thought I was done with the dumbass conversations,” Trent said with a groan.
“Let’s move.”

“Not as long
as I’m around,” Russ said. “Marquell, you kinda remind me of a young Eddie
Murphy, before the tranny incident. Not judging him, mind you, I had my own
run-ins with a few over the years when I hauled gravel for a living. You gotta,
and I repeat,
gotta
check for the Adam’s apple. That’s always a dead
giveaway.”

“Eddie
Murphy? What decade do you think this is? You achy breaky vampire
motherfucker—”

“Zombie,”
Russ corrected him emphatically, very proud of his affliction.

Marquell shut
his mouth and followed them farther into the maze of rooms, content to put up
with their insults and ridiculous actions for now. He’d gain their trust, learn
their idiosyncrasies, and even entertain them if he had to. But when the time
was right, Marquell would kill them without a second thought.

Cindy hung up
her phone and looked at the other girls in the bachelorette party with a
bemused expression on her lovely face. “Jim just told me they’re at a pizza
place right now. The funny thing is I could hear the distinct sounds of a strip
club in the background. I could almost smell the cotton candy perfume.”

Jen, the
bachelorette and Blake’s fiancée, took out her own phone. “Yeah, he’s full of
shit. Watch this,” she said and placed a call of her own, taking a drink of her
umpteenth martini as she let it ring.

In the midst
of getting a lap dance at The Sugar Shack, Blake picked up and did his best
impression of a bored, sober guy. “Yeah, we’re at a taco place at the moment,
getting ready to turn in after we grab some nachos. It’s been a pretty lame
night.” In the background, someone shouted obscenities in broken English.
Something about Cheetos and boobs.

“Sounds kind
of loud for a taco place,” Jen said.

“It’s one of
those late night—”

There was a
fumbling sound over the phone and a man with a thick accent got on. “I have a
hairy balls.” It was Vidu. Drunk, horny, angry, and a bit confused. Just a
normal Friday night.

Jen rolled
her eyes and hung up, not realizing it would be the last time she ever talked
to her fiancé. “Yeah, they’re totally at a strip club.”

The group of
women had enjoyed their own wild night of partying and recently returned to
Jen’s condo to wind down. Still, it hadn’t been completely wild. Lots of
flirting, some sitting on laps, a few makeout sessions, but not the
pants-crapping insane bender the guys were currently having.

“You don’t
seem that pissed. I’m fuming over here,” Cindy said as she fought the urge to
call her husband again. The pregnant fitness instructor was the sole sober one
of the group and was currently thinking up numerous ways to make Jim miserable
over his indiscretions. Withholding sex was always an old standby. Minimal
effort, maximum payback.

Jen shrugged.
“Boys will be boys.”

Jackie, Jen’s
maid of honor, came in from the kitchen with a freshly opened bottle of red
wine. “If I catch Bruce up to no good I’ll send his pasty butt packing in a
heartbeat. Once that business starts, it never stops.” The Southside native and
daughter of a former congressman had an authoritative air about her, and what
she said was definitely not a bluff. “But who goes out for hotdogs when you
have steak at home? Am I right ladies?” she said and grabbed her own breasts
for emphasis.

 “I’ll
try a bit of that steak,” said Kelly, another friend, and tried to grab a boob,
only to have Jackie playfully slap her hand away. Kelly was one-half of the
identical twins known affectionately as the “Nut and the Slut.” She was the
slut. By a mile. Her sister Monica had already passed out in a spare bedroom
after downing too many shots of tequila. The poor girl never even made it to
the bar and was now sleeping with her high heels on and a gum wrapper stuck to
her forehead.

“Seriously
though, and I mean no offense, but Blake’s college friends are losers,” Jackie
said. “Why does he even hang out with those guys?” She received an instant
dirty look from Cindy. Her husband was one of those losers.

“It’s one of
those situations where he feels stuck with them. But to be honest, he won’t be
seeing most of them after the wedding. I’ll see to that. They’re holding him
back.” She looked to Cindy. “Not Jim, of course. He’s solid as a rock.”

Now it was
Padma’s turn to speak. She was Jen’s college roommate, a great friend, and even
better trauma surgeon. “Blake’s friends are lame, but is it true what they say
about Big Rob?”

“What about
him?’ Jen said.

“That he’s
hung like John Dillinger?”

“I have no
idea what that means, but you have my full attention,” Kelly said and Jen
shrugged as well.

“There was a
story in our anatomy class about John Dillinger… you know, the famous bank
robber? Anyways, there was a rumor that he was so big he had to have his pants
specially tailored to fit his enormous junk. Supposedly after the cops killed
him right here in Chicago, historians pickled the old pickle – for posterity,
I‘m sure. Other rumors say it’s still floating around the Smithsonian
somewhere.”

Jen nodded.
“I’m pretty sure it’s true. Rob’s about the size of Shaquille O’Neal, so if
he’s just proportionate… but the guy’s a total teddy bear and kind of a
simpleton, so he probably wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway.”

“I can show
him,” Kelly said with an impish grin. “But speaking of Blake’s friends, weren’t
you going to set Padma up with that Vidu guy?” The dark-skinned beauty threw a
pillow at Kelly and she almost spilled her beer.

 “Watch
it, hookers. You spill, you pay,” Jen said and eyed her white carpet for any
damage.

Padma was not
finished. “Just because I’m Indian doesn’t mean I’d date that guy because he’s
Sri Lankan. Not to mention he’s a complete moron. I only met him briefly, but
I’d swear that guy is  inbred. Besides—”

The
conversation was interrupted by the loud buzz of the intercom system. “Miko’s
delivery,” came the voice on the other end.

“Awesome,
it’s the Greek I ordered,” Jen said and buzzed him up. “Sorry, but the penis
cake you guys bought wasn’t cutting it for me.” She answered the door a minute
later and let the man inside. “Just put it on the counter.”

The short and
tan deliveryman set a large paper sack down and smiled heartily, looking like
he’d come directly from the Jersey Shore.

“Oh, this guy
looks legit,” Padma said.

At that
moment the man ripped his detachable pants off lightning quick and pushed play
on the boom box disguised as takeout. “Did somebody order kielbasa?”

Cindy’s mouth
shot open in disbelief as the stripper’s sweatpants hit the floor. “Are you
serious?”

“Girls will
be girls,” Jen said and finished her martini with a monster gulp as Kelly
turned the volume up on the boom box.

The
fast-moving Greek stripper wasted no time, and the aptly named Magic Miko was
like a force of nature. He could pop it and lock it, do The Dougie, pelvic
thrust like no other, and his rendition of The Running Man was priceless. And
of course, there was his patented finishing move, The Wrecking Balls. Big Rob
had been right earlier in the night after all because the bachelorette party
did indeed have a big dong waving in their collective faces. And they loved
every fake-tanned, spastic, oily second of it too.

After a
fifteen-minute performance that was worth every dollar paid in advance – as
well as every bill shoved down Miko’s leopard thong – the group of friends
found themselves ready to turn in for the night… except for Kelly, who decided
kissing strangers at the bar wasn’t the most embarrassing thing she could
accomplish that evening. She moved her unconscious sister to the floor and
waited for the ravishing promised by the smooth talking entertainer.

Meanwhile,
Miko paced in the bathroom after downing a bottle of Pepto-Bismol he had
pilfered from the medicine cabinet. His stomach began aching during the show
and his smiling face hid the sheer terror he felt inside, as he worried about
dropping a deuce in front of the cheering women.

“Get your
sexy ass in here you little Mediterranean mango,” Kelly said from the guest
bedroom and slapped her pillow for emphasis. The skinny brunette was ready for
action, but at the same time starting to fall asleep.

Miko splashed
cold water on his sweating face as the churning in his stomach stopped. “You
can do this,” he said and began popping generic boner pills like breath mints.
The steroid-addicted supercharged sex addict had forced himself on a passed out
Asian woman on the train just minutes earlier, so the little pills were
necessary to rise to the occasion on such short notice. Still, the girl waiting
for him in the bedroom was hot, and Miko was quite sure her twin sister would
want to get in on the action too. He planned to cop a feel at the minimum even
if she wasn’t. Miko gave a predatory smile into the mirror and winked. It was
show time once more.

*                      
*                      
*

The next
morning Jen sipped black coffee in her living room and dialed Blake for the
tenth time. It went straight to voicemail, leading Jen to believe she was
intentionally being avoided. She was.

Cindy had the
same luck getting through to Jim. “They’re either passed out or some girls are
over there,” she said and walked around in the kitchen still cluttered with
empty bottles of various types.

Jackie chased
an aspirin with a gulp of orange juice and rubbed her eyes. “Relax, you don’t
need to be stressing out in your condition. And besides, there’s a man over
here too if you haven’t forgotten.”

“How could I
forget? I could hear those two going at it all night. Talk about a skank. And
her sister was in the room, which is a total faux pas.”

“Yeah, that’s
pretty embarrassing, even for her. But we should get Mr. Banana Hammock out of
here in case the guys show up unexpectedly,” Jen said. “I’d rather not have to
explain what he was doing here.” She walked upstairs and knocked softly on the
bedroom door.

Magic Miko’s
little pills had eventually kicked in, and he had given Kelly quite a night to
remember. Unfortunately, she didn’t remember any of it. Even worse, the sweaty,
snoring man lying next to her had been passing gas that smelled more than a
little like gyros.

The tapping
at the door and the noxious smell was enough to drive her to action, and she
slid out from underneath his hairy arm and got dressed. A moment later, she
woke her sister and retreated downstairs in what amounted to a very short walk
of shame.

Standing in
the doorway, Jen tried unsuccessfully to rouse the dancer from the bed. In
response, Miko groaned in pain and then whimpered softly before growing quiet.

“I’ll get him
out,” Cindy said and sauntered over with a smug look on her face. She was eager
to harp on her husband later and didn’t want this guy to weaken her hand. “Time
to go, buddy,” she said with the conviction of a woman used to being obeyed.
There was no response from the smoothly shaved dancer.  “Hey, Miko, wake
up and hit the bricks!” Cindy turned to her friends while fanning the air. “It
smells like crap and tzatziki sauce in there. Really, Miko, you gotta get out
before—”

The man
suddenly jumped up and shot through the doorway and slammed into Cindy, causing
both of them to tumble down the stairs before crashing into the wall with a
thud. The impact was hard enough to knock a row of pictures to the ground, and
it happened so fast everyone did a double take before reacting. But when Miko
began feasting on Cindy’s neck, react they did. Mostly by screaming.

The twins and
Padma ran outside while Jen sprinted around Miko as he munched on Cindy like a
juicy watermelon. Miko caught the movement from the corner of his eye and
turned to snag Jen’s leg, taking her down with a tug from his chiseled stripper
arms. Those buff arms had always put food on the table, and they would continue
to do so in zombie form.

But one of
the women wasn’t screaming or running in terror, and before Miko tore into
Jen’s leg, Jackie smashed a full bottle of red wine square into his face. The
blunt impact rocked him backwards as the spray of blood and wine drenched Jen’s
beloved white carpeting.

Next, Jackie
grabbed an unresponsive Cindy by the arm and dragged her towards the open front
door. No longer stunned, Miko rose up and gave chase, but he moved with a
strange gait, as if running was a newly acquired skill. Jen swung the door shut
behind her just as Miko slammed into it from the opposite side.

To their
surprise he didn’t open the door, and instead battered it with his fists. None
of Jen’s neighbors answered her frantic calls for help, and the other girls
were nowhere to be seen. So Jackie and Jen dragged Cindy outside – and
smack-dab into the apocalypse.

The apartment
building across the road had just gone up in flames and cars whipped by at
dangerous speeds. Padma and the twins tried to flag down help, but nobody would
stop. Soon a large group of 5k runners came down the street at a very fast pace
— only it was two groups, and one was chasing the other.

Padma used a tampon
from her purse to plug Cindy’s gaping neck wound, and the girls huddled around
each other for comfort as the world they knew evaporated before their eyes. For
the moment, standing still seemed to work as the cannibals passed them up for
the moving prey.

At long last,
a squad car pulled up and a cop jumped out with his gun drawn. The tall man
approached the women cautiously while swiveling his head in all directions.
Before he could even say anything, another man from the running group veered
from the pack and charged right for him. The sharp crack of a pistol rang out
and the runner dropped to his knees, then fell face first onto the pavement.
There was a giant exit hole on the back of his head and blood quickly formed a
dark puddle on the ground.

The cop
kicked the dead body once for good measure and then pointed to his cruiser.
“Get in the damned car, ladies. As you can see we have a bit of a situation
developing.”

There was no
hesitation from the twins and they jumped right into the back seat, but the
others stopped to pick Cindy up. “I got her,” the cop said and pushed them
aside, then wrapped his arms around the woman’s pregnant waist from behind. He
was handsome, confident, commanding, and just the kind of guy you’d want around
in a pinch. He turned to Jackie with a roguish smile and winked. “Everything’s
gonna be all right.”

Cindy opened
her eyes and turned to him, and it looked like she was going to say thanks.
Instead, Jim’s wife latched onto the cop’s wrist with a vicious bite, severing
tendons and bones with ease. He screamed in pain and his damaged nerves caused
the gun to fire off uselessly into the distance. A moment later he turned on
the women with the same bloodthirsty look on his face that first Miko and now
Cindy wore. Everything was not all right. Far from it. In fact, everything
sucked.