Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time (6 page)

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 listened 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 snarling 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.

“Dude, not cool,” Smokey said and gave him a dirty look.
“But anyways… how do I put this?” He stumbled around the issue for a bit and
then focused. “I’m a phony. I never actually sold my art like I told everyone.”

“What about the pictures of the auction, the ones with you
and Sean Penn?” Charlie said.

“Photoshopped from the Oscars. I added myself in and you can
see Quentin Tarantino in the background if you look hard.”

“Then how did you afford this place?” Blake asked. “It’s not
like you have a job, and you’ve always smoked more pot than you sold.”

“Simple. I won the lottery a few years ago and didn’t tell
anyone. Two million and change. It’s just my luck, now the world’s ending.
Ironic, huh?”

Charlie was dumbfounded. “You’re a millionaire and you
borrowed money from me last week? You let me go to that shit job every day to
pay rent when you had all that cash? I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

Rob held Charlie back as Smokey tried to explain. “I wanted
people to think I was successful.”

“Nobody thought you were successful,” Charlie said. “You’ve
been stoned for the past fifteen years. Jackass.”

“Besides, I’m not a millionaire anymore. I spent a ton
retrofitting this place. Plus I have an expensive habit.”

“Big deal. We could have been knee-deep in hookers and
coke,” Trent said.

“Be thankful this place is off the grid,” Smokey said. “That
means we’ll have power no matter what happens.”

“Actually, good job.” Charlie calmed down as he realized
Smokey was right. “I take back every snide hippy comment I ever made about you.
Still, you could have hooked a brother up.”

“You would’ve been as lazy as me, and weren’t you just
complaining about not having any direction in your life?” Charlie nodded, and
Smokey continued. “And, Trent, what would have happened if we spent all that
money partying?”

“I suppose we’d be dead. Not that it matters now. At least
we wouldn’t be dealing with this shit.”

“It comes down to being prepared. A prudent person foresees
danger and takes precautions. The simpleton goes blindly on and suffers the
consequences. Proverbs 27:12.”

“I didn’t realize you were a bible thumper,” Trent said.

“I’m not,” Smokey said. “I got that from Armageddon Week on
the History Channel. You’d be surprised to know how much television I watch.”

Charlie scoffed. “Not really.”

A sudden hail of gunfire somewhere in the neighborhood
interrupted the conversation. “Sounds like M-16 bursts,” Trent said. “Must be
the National Guard.” The shots ended as quickly as they began.

Moments later, Russ got a call through. “Everybody shut up
for a second.”

The plague had gone biblical in proportion and there were
simply fewer people around to make calls, freeing the lines. None of that
mattered to the bleeding and anxious man cradling the phone.

“Carol, it’s Russ.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line before a
gravelly voice answered, “I told you to stop calling.” His ex sounded as rough
as Mike Ditka’s mustache, the result of twenty years of unfiltered Camels.

“Hear me out,” Russ said. “I’m gonna keep this short and
sweet, just like you. I know I did a lot of shitty things over the years—”

“If you need me to bail you out again, you can forget it.”
This bridge was torched long ago, if not napalmed.

“It’s not that. I gotta get this off my chest now or I might
not get another chance. I’m sorry about that thing with the landlord’s wife,
calling the nine-hundred numbers, and your Momma’s jewelry. I love you and… and
I wanna see you in heaven. I’ll keep a spot for you, or vice versa. Kiss the
kids for me.” Russ paused for a second, confused. Then he flew into a rage.
“That bitch hung up on me. Un-fucking-believable. I take it all back!”

He shattered his phone on the wall and then sank to the
ground while sobbing uncontrollably.

Mike approached him after realizing no one else cared. “It’s
okay, man, you made your peace with her. That’s what’s important.”

Russ paused his blubbering. “What in the fuck are you brats
looking at? Shouldn’t you make some calls?”

The guys listened and feverishly dialed their own loved ones
to give warnings and say final goodbyes. Charlie eventually reached his
parents.

“Stop worrying,” his dad said. “You know we’re in the
boondocks. Plus, the neighbors have set up a watch for suspicious activity and
the Johnsons from down the way have their four wheelers and shotguns out. You’d
think it was the Fourth of July the way they’re carrying on.”

“Dad, you gotta be careful. This isn’t a joke.”

“We’ll ride it out till this whole thing blows over.”

“It’s not gonna blow over, this is for real. We’ve seen
things. We’ve done things…”

His father sighed. “If so, we’re in a good place. I’ve got a
cupboard of dried goods and energy bars and your mom’s been canning fruits and
veggies for years. We’ve got a creek for water, and we can always harvest the
wildlife. Maybe you should try and get down here? We’re not really that far
away.”

“That’s not possible. Jim tried to drive two miles, and I
doubt he made it. We might be stuck here for—”

Like Russ’s call, the connection dropped.

“Check it out, here come some soldiers,” Smokey said, and
everyone hurried to the window.

Talk about a letdown.

“They don’t have guns,” Rob noted and the realization came
like a kick to the groin. The soldiers looked to have been through a
meat-grinder and were now searching for victims of their own. There would be no
rescue.

Russ stopped his sniveling and opened yet another beer.
“There’s your defense cuts. Fuckin’ Democrats.”