Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time (13 page)

Chapter
26

White Lightning

Left-Nut adjusted his binoculars and leered at the once
gorgeous but now mangled jogger. “That’s right, you dirty little gutter-zombie.
Bend over and let Dr. Tucker take your temperature. Oh, it’s your first time?
That’s okay, I’m a trained professional and I always—”

Charlie burst through the
door and interrupted the private moment on the roof. “That’ll make you go
blind,” he said while walking to the edge and peering across the street.

“I happen to have a medical condition that requires… hey
what’s with the getup?” Left-Nut said when he noticed that Charlie sported an
ill-fitting spandex track uniform and running shoes, circa 1998. “Going for a
jog, are we?”

“Actually, yes.” He struggled to lift the ladder.

“I see.” Left-Nut ran to the door. “Guys, get up here,
Charlie’s going Charlie Sheen on us.”

Soon the whole gang came topside. Mike spoke first. “Care to
explain yourself?”

“Sure. Jim’s dead, and we’re all a bunch of pussies,”
Charlie stated pointedly.

Mike frowned. “Calm down and let’s talk it out.”

“I can’t keep living like this. Cowering around, not even
helping a child. We’re no better than the cannibals. Hell, we’re worse, because
we should know better.”

“What’re you gonna do, tough guy?” Trent asked.

“I’m gonna be a man for once. Big Rob, a little help?”

Rob hoisted the ladder over the side and gave a proud nod to
his friend while Mike tried to intervene. “Okay, but we need a plan.”

“The kid’s been up there too long already.” With that, he
climbed down. Charlie’s adrenaline pumped furiously as he crouched towards the
middle of the street, but what came next was surprisingly anti-climactic. There
was no charging horde, no screaming ambush, nothing.

“Big deal, I could’ve done that,” Left-Nut said.

Charlie reached the tree, still unnoticed, and whispered up.
“Kid, run to the ladder when I draw them away.” There was no reply and
Charlie’s head sunk as a dull lump formed in his stomach. His own words haunted
him. “Shut up and die!”

“What’s he waiting on?” Russ said as Charlie slunk back towards
the apartment.

And then there was movement. Charlie turned to see the kid
slowly making his way from the top of the tree. A feeling better than any drug
he’d ever taken washed over him — hope.

The former four hundred meter conference champion took a deep
breath and made his move. “Fresh meat, come and get it!” A handful of the
infected bolted in Charlie’s direction without hesitation, and he blasted off
down the street as if coming out of starter’s blocks.

“Holy crap, has he always been that fast?” Bruce said in
disbelief as Charlie left the mob in his dust and easily maneuvered around
several creatures coming from the opposite direction.

“They called him White Lightning in college,” Blake said.
"Before he started drinking every night, then they just called him Second
String. It wasn’t as catchy though.”

Charlie’s beer belly stretched the red singlet to its limit
and he looked ridiculous, but it felt amazing to open up with the wind whipping
through what remained of his once flowing mane. He was alive, dammit, even if
only for a few more minutes.

Soon Charlie had made it three-quarters of the way around
the block, had dozens of bogeys on his tail and was getting tunnel vision.
Unfortunately, a sedentary lifestyle and diet of beer and cat food did nothing
to encourage long distance running. Though the zombies lacked Charlie’s speed,
they didn’t feel the pain of burning lungs or lactic acid buildup, and began to
close in.

He made the final turn only to see the disheveled kid
standing at the bottom of the tree, unwilling to cross the street without an
adult. Charlie relaxed his muscles to avoid tightening up and pulled in for the
last leg of his most important race. He’d simply scoop the kid up and carry him
to safety. No big deal.

Only it wasn’t that easy. Upon throwing the child over his
shoulder firefighter style, Charlie blew out every muscle in his lower back and
tumbled ass over elbows in the process. He heard footsteps and rolled over to
buy the child time to escape. The lead zombie, a former cancer patient in a
tattered hospital gown, dove for its meal. But it stopped in midair and Charlie
blinked, utterly confused.

The mystery was solved as Big Rob spun and power-slammed the
man onto a fire hydrant, impaling him in an instant. Blake helped Charlie to
his feet while Rob carted the boy to safety.

Meanwhile, Smokey aimed his pistol point blank at another
charging man, but the safety was on. Swearing, he fumbled with the gun, only to
be saved by a well-placed swing of a baseball bat courtesy of Gay Mike. Mike
followed up with headshot after headshot and knocked several more attackers out
of commission in seconds.

Not to be outdone, Bruce tangled up two approaching zombies
with a gladiator-like toss of a blanket. Even he was surprised it worked. The
rescuers battled their way to the ladder as Trent gave semi-accurate cover fire
from the roof. One by one they made it home until Rob pulled the ladder to the
top.

Charlie collapsed to the ground, overwhelmed and in pain.
“Thanks, guys, I don’t know what else to say.”

Bruce slapped him on the shoulder. “You don’t have to say
anything. Seeing you take off like that, it was badass. I guess we got caught
up in the moment.” He looked at Left-Nut. “Most of us did anyways.”

“Somebody had to hold the ladder.”

Mike beamed at Charlie. “Jim would have been proud of you.
Proud of all of us, actually.”

“Yeah, that was something else,” Russ said and struck a
Marlboro Man pose while lighting a cigarette.

Though it hurt, Charlie sat up and pointed. “Where the hell
did you get that?”

“This? Oh, I made a score,” Russ said and tossed a trash bag
on the ground. “I raided that bar across the street. Great diversion, by the
way.” The bag was full of cheap cigarettes and grain alcohol.

Trent opened the bag and scowled. “Generics?”

“It’s my brand.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, did you grab anything to eat at least?”
Blake asked.

“Sure did. Food of the gods, beef jerky.”

“I can’t believe we’re related, I really can’t,” Blake said
and tore into a piece of the dehydrated heaven.

The rescued child, a skinny black kid around six years old,
chugged down a cup of rainwater and then promptly fell asleep on a folding
chair.

“Now what are you gonna do with it?” Trent said.

Charlie ignored the disdain in his friend’s voice. “We’ll
take care of
him
, of course.”

“First thing we need to do is get him a fresh set of clothes
since these are covered in piss,” Mike said. “We’ll give him a bath and chow
when he wakes up.”

“So you wet-nurses are setting up a gay-care center? You
know, this is the type of crap we should have talked about,” Trent said.

“You think we should have left him there?” Charlie said.

“Why not? That’s exactly what we did until you got a wild
hair up your ass.” Trent wasn’t winning anyone over. “I’m just saying, we need
a kid like a fish needs a bicycle. And he’s a nigglet to boot.”

“That’s enough of that,” Charlie said.

“Hey, Russ, do you know why black guys cry during sex?”
Trent asked, picking up steam.

“No.” Jerky hung from Russ’s mouth like a clown cigar.

“Because of the mace.” Trent was so busy laughing that he
didn’t see the punch coming that totally annihilated him. Rob stood sheepishly
over the cop’s prone body. Like Charlie, he’d heard enough.

Russ lifted Trent’s limp hand in the air then dropped it to
the ground. “Dude, I think you killed him.” Trent wasn’t dead, but he never
would remember what happened.

“I’d say he had that coming for, oh, twenty years, give or
take and—” Charlie stopped midsentence as a bright light shone into his eyes,
and it felt briefly as if God were putting a spotlight on his good deeds. Only
it wasn’t God.

“Somebody’s flashing a mirror at us,” Blake said and
adjusted the binoculars. He cracked a smile. “This is an interesting development.
It’s some hot chicks on a roof two blocks down. They’re writing on a dry erase
board.”

Left-Nut perked up as if he’d struck gold. “Spit it out
already, what does it say?”

Blake lowered the binoculars. “Starving, need food.”

Chapter
27

All Rockets, No
Sockets

“I call dibs on the blonde with the monster jugs,” Left-Nut
said without hesitation.

“Fine by me, I got the
redhead.” Russ rubbed dirty hands through his greasy mullet. “My third wife was
a fire-crotch.”

Blake turned to his uncle. “You can’t call dibs on what
might be the last two women on earth. Besides, didn’t your third wife stab
you?”

“Oh yeah,” he said while giving Left-Nut a high five as if
it were a good thing. “Twice. Stitched myself up.”

Mike took the binoculars to see what the fuss was about.
“They’re hot, I’ll give you that.”

“I knew you weren’t all rockets, no sockets,” Russ said and
patted him on the back.

“I still appreciate the female form from time to time.”

Bruce piled on. “Mike is such a breeder. You know he wants
to take those girls to pound-town.” Sure, it was idiotic to act like Mike was
secretly straight, but it passed the time, and that was something they had
plenty of.

The fantasies and grab-assery went on for hours since they
finally had reason to celebrate. After all, they’d scored a fresh supply of
booze and gained the somewhat distant, yet entirely possible, prospect of
getting laid. Not to mention Trent was still unconscious, and that in itself
was a cause for revelry. They set him in a chair a la
Weekend at Bernie’s
and went about their business around him.

But some of the talk turned downright sadistic, even for
this group, causing Charlie and Mike to retreat to the kitchen for further
discussion. “I know everyone wants to head over and visit the girls, but let’s
face it, that’s setting up for disaster,” Mike said quietly, not wanting to
wake the sleeping child in the living room.

Charlie nodded. “These guys are walking hard-ons and Trent’s
becoming more of a lunatic every day, so yeah, we should keep our distance.”

“Speaking of Trent, you know he’s gonna shoot Rob when he
wakes up.”

“Not without his bullets,” Charlie replied and placed them
on the table one after another.

Mike smiled broadly. “Nice move, Chuck. But back to the
girls and their food situation. We have to figure out something soon.”

“Way ahead of you. I still have a water-balloon launcher we
used on spring break to shoot beers from the balcony to the beach. I bet we can
toss cans that far no problem. Now aiming it…”

“But do you really think they’ll eat cat food?” Mike said.
“These girls look pretty high maintenance.”

“Sure, it has the consistency of a soggy turd and the
refined taste of a boiled nut-sack, but they’ll make the same choice we did.”

“You’re really on top of your game today. I’m impressed.”

Charlie smiled with atypical pride. “I know, it’s like a
fog’s been lifted or something. I feel great, well, other than my back.”

“Sobering up?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Keep it that way. We need you like this.” Mike pointed to
the living room. “Especially the kid.”

Left-Nut and the others strolled in. “Interrupting your
circle-jerk?”

“Need something?” Charlie replied as he hid the ammo.

“Can we look at the little rascal?” Russ said, slurring his
speech. The cheap whiskey had done its job and he was feeling no pain.

Mike rose from the table and took on a fatherly tone. “Yes,
but don’t wake him up.”

“Has he said anything yet?” Bruce asked.

Mike shook his head. “I think he might be a mute. Plus he’s
underweight and dehydrated. But with some t-l-c he should be fine. I think.”

They surrounded the child as his chest peacefully rose and
fell to the rhythm of life. For a brief moment, each man forgot his own grief,
weakness and failure. Lying before them was a symbol of what had disappeared
and a vision of what might be again.

Rob gently patted the kid’s head and started to bawl, his
big body shuddering uncontrollably. Once the floodgates opened up, the others
quickly joined in, each crying for a different reason.

Except for Matt “Left-Nut” Tucker, who was always one to
ruin a moment. He opened his mouth in a sneer, only to hold his venom tongue
and walk out the door. The image of Rob’s fist smashing Trent into a bloody
pulp had been a powerful one.

Charlie spoke to his sobbing friends. “We did something
here, and I’m proud of everyone. Mike’s gonna get the little guy cleaned up,
and we’ve got another mission to do.”

They dried their eyes and reassembled on the roof while
Charlie retrieved the slingshot from under a mountain of junk in his closet.
Smokey used his cocaine mirror to signal the girls while the others tried to
gauge the distance and the direction of the wind. “I don’t think this’ll work,”
Bruce said after realizing how far away their target was.

“Never underestimate these guys when they put their minds to
something,” Blake said. “Especially if there is vagina involved.”

Rob held the two-man launcher steady while Smokey stretched
the rubber cables taut at a full thirty feet. Any further and they risked
snapping the device and taking someone’s eye out. Charlie placed a can of Ocean
Delight into the holder and backed up. “Fire away,” he said.

Smokey released his grip and the lines snapped forward,
smacking Rob in the gut at ninety miles an hour while the can whizzed past his
face just as fast. It crashed into the next building over and exploded into a
frothy mist of gelled meat by-product.

Charlie grimaced. “Sorry. Angle it up more,” he added while
reloading. They fired again and sent the projectile far enough but missing wide
right.

The girls jumped and waved encouragement from afar,
obviously desperate at this point. Realizing this, Left-Nut could not help
himself. “Show us your tits!” They didn’t.

Four shots later, a can lazily arced over their target and
the blonde held it up triumphantly. Having the distance and angle down, they
made five of the next eight attempts. Uncle Russ dished out a celebratory round
of shots and high-fives.

Charlie abstained and chose that time to broach the
root-canal of a subject they’d been avoiding. “Guys, we need to do something
about Jim’s body. I’d like to bury him somehow. And Cindy, what’s left of her,
too.” The bloated rats of the city had descended on the corpses in the street,
skeletonizing them with gruesome efficiency.

“We could drop down into the alley and pull up some bricks.
Bury ‘em there,” Blake said. “Of course we’ll have to keep Cliff busy, but
that’s no big deal.”

The idea was a good one and they agreed to carry it out
soon. Settling the matter, the gang had an impromptu wake by passing a bottle
and recalling their favorite Jim stories, as boring as they were. When it came
time for Charlie to speak, he brought up Jim’s spicier tale of betrayal, and
things quickly got weird. Nobody would look him in the eye, and Left-Nut
mumbled something under his breath. Charlie got a familiar sinking feeling.
“What’s the deal? Did you guys know about this?” He could tell by their shady
expressions what the answer was.

Blake gritted his teeth. “Dude, we really hoped you wouldn’t
find out. But now that you know part of the story you might as well get the
unvarnished truth. Everyone nailed your girl Carrie. They didn’t call her First
Bank because she had a lot of money. That broad took more deposits than Bernie
Madoff.”

Smokey nodded. “Yeah, she blew Vidu of all people. He was
helping her study for a finance exam and the next thing he knew… wham, balls
deep!”

Left-Nut clucked his tongue in disdain and swooped in for
the kill. “It’s pretty sorry when your dream girl banged most of your friends
and half the baseball team. And you call me pitiful?”

Charlie’s head spun and he tilted forward as his mouth
watered. He felt like he’d just discovered he was adopted and Santa Claus was
fake all at once. What was worse, the sucker punch came right as he’d regained
his confidence. He pitched forward and projectile vomited while his friends
lost it.

The howling laughter caused Trent to jump right out of his
lawn chair, wild-eyed and dazed. “What the hell just happened?”