Dead Drunk II: Dawn of the Deadbeats (Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time Book 2) (5 page)

The sergeant
aimed for the third man and pulled the trigger, but the weapon did not fire. He
fiddled with it for a moment and then raised his weapon again. But this time,
he dropped dead.

Without
thinking of the consequences, Charlie had used up the last of his machine gun
rounds with a sudden burst. It had been rather satisfying. The two remaining
soldiers looked at him briefly, then disappeared into the woods, confused but
happy to escape their summary execution.

Charlie and
company waited for more soldiers to come streaming into the area to annihilate
them, but none did. Soon the forest was quiet again except for the sound of
blood trickling down the mountain of bodies. It was almost peaceful.

“What are the
Chinese doing way out here? And why are they shooting each other?” Charlie
asked while grabbing the officer’s 5.8 mm pistol and ammo.

“Maybe food’s
getting low?” Rob said, proving once more what occupied most of his limited
thinking power.

“Possibly,”
Smokey said, getting that familiar smug look on his face. “But the ones that
just got shot weren’t Chinese. They were wearing North Korean uniforms.”

“How would
you—”

“Gay Mike and
I used to get baked and watch that shitty Red Dawn remake over and over.
Between you and me, I think he had a thing for Chris Hemwsworth. But anyways,
those brown uniforms look just like the ones the Norks wore in the movie.”

Charlie took
a last look at the dead and moved on, spatially and emotionally. “They must
have disobeyed orders. Poor bastards are on their own now, though. Let’s hope
nobody comes looking for the other jerkwad.”

They followed
the tracks of the wheelbarrows out of the area and came upon an empty bean
field. On the other side was the strip mall, exactly where Mother Agnes’s map
said it would be. It also became clear what the Chinese were up to in the area.
Monstrous cooling towers loomed over the ruined town, billowing steam out like
a pair of twin volcanoes.

“It’s a nuke
plant. Great. They’re probably swarming all over the place to secure it,”
Charlie said. “Can’t be having meltdowns getting in the way of their invasion,
I suppose.”

Rob started
jogging across the field. “We’re so close, can’t turn back now. Just have this
one little field to cross. Easy
peas
y,” he added, making a rare joke.

“Those are
beans,” Charlie said. “But you’re right. Make it quick.”

A minute
later they reached the back of the strip mall and used an access ladder to
reach the roof. Smokey had theorized the door up top would have been propped
open so workers could sneak cigarettes, and he was right. The guy was on a
roll.

A stroll down
the stairwell took them into a laundromat located directly next to the doctor’s
office. The place was empty and untouched by the fire that had consumed much of
the town, so Rob tapped the wall to find the studs, then bashed a hole in the
drywall. He peeked inside the next room.

“Looks
clear.”

The moment
the words left his mouth, Rob quickly ducked back into the laundromat as a pair
of bloody hands reached through the hole after him.

“Jesus!”
Charlie sputtered and swung his assault rifle ineffectually while Smokey
prepared to pull the trigger on his own.

“Don’t
shoot!” Rob ordered.

The zombie, a
rather average-looking guy in sweatpants, had become lodged in the hole and was
now writhing like a trapped animal. Rob got to his feet, locked eyes with the
creature and brought his bat down over its head with a thud. He pushed the now
motionless corpse back through the hole and peeked in again, albeit more
carefully this time.

“Looks clear.
For real now.”

The trio
entered the pharmacy and Charlie searched for the supplies they needed while
Rob did security. Smokey checked the zombie’s body for anything useful and then
joined Charlie in his search. Somehow a large stash of medicinal marijuana and
various pills found their way into the duffel bag.

Soon they had
what they came for and Charlie was intent on exiting in a hurry, but Smokey
stopped him as they passed the body. “Dude had something on him you might want
to see.” Smokey pointed to some items that he’d placed on the ground.

“Cold
medicine and a toy dinosaur. Who cares?”

Smokey’s
wheels were turning yet again. “That zombie’s bite marks on his arm were fresh.
He was still bleeding when Rob pounded him.”

“Okay.”

“So he just got
turned real recently. Like within the past few minutes.”

“Get to the
point,” Charlie said.

“Why would
someone be carrying around a toy dinosaur in their pocket?” Smokey asked.

“They like
dinosaurs?” Rob answered.

“Maybe, but
think about it. You’re watching your kid, you’re picking toys up around the
house, and sometimes you put something in your pocket without thinking about
it. Plus, that’s kiddie cough syrup. Which means…”

“Somebody got
left behind,” Rob said, finishing Smokey’s sentence.

“No, just no.
There’s a whole town in front of us and half of it is burned down. How do we
even know where to begin?”

“1368 Main
Street,” Smokey said as he read the driver’s license from the man’s wallet.

“And how do
you plan on finding Main Street, Columbo?”

“Look for the
tallest buildings in town, there’s your Main Street. Shouldn’t be hard in a
town this small.”

Rob walked to
the front of the store and looked at the signs. “Guys, we’re on Main Street
right now.”

“We have
enough problems of our own without trying to—”

“Come on,”
Rob interrupted. “You know you’ll give in. There’s no way you’ll sleep at night
knowing you might have left some kid stranded like we did with Brandon.”

“Stop looking
at me like that. And Smokey, I can’t wait for you to get stoned off your mind
because this Inspector Clouseau shit is getting old fast. It’s like you’re an
idiot savant or something when you’re sober.”

“Hey, we’re
just talking routine investigative procedures. I have a knack for it.”

Charlie was
losing his patience quickly, and that often resulted in brash, horrible
decisions.

Like this
one.

“If I say
yes, will you two stop harassing me?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah.”

Charlie shook
his head as he went against his better judgment for the umpteenth time. “Fine,
giddy up.”

“Edible
undies. Now there’s an invention that, in theory, should have panned out a lot
better than how it did in practice.”

“Seriously, I
can’t take it anymore, Russ. Just—”

“Boy, did I
have some misadventures with those things over the years,” Russ interrupted
Marquell, continuing on without pause as they went down yet another seemingly
endless tunnel. “One pair almost killed me twice. You see, this gal and I were
snacking on one of the tasty treats when I went into ana-pha, ana… I went into
shock. I’m allergic to strawberries, and of course, they were lip-smacking,
all-natural strawberry flavored panties. I stopped breathing and my lady friend
had to call an ambulance and everything.”

Trent quit
shuffling along, his interest piqued. “And the second time it almost killed
you?”

“The gal was
my wife’s sister. So, as you can imagine, the old lady had some conflicting
emotions upon her arrival at the hospital. That was my first wife, and she
had—”

Now it was
Marquell’s turn to interrupt. “Shut the fuck up. You’re driving me insane with
this nonsense. You talk more than a prison bitch cutting hair.”

“All righty
then, why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself then, friend?” Russ
suggested and took a quick sip of whiskey before twisting the cap back on the
bottle. “We’ve got nothing but time down here.”

“I ain’t your
friend. Just shut up and keep your eyes peeled. Whoever wasted my cookers might
still be around.” Indeed, the one surprise they had so far was coming upon the
smashed glass and bullet-riddled bodies of what appeared to be Marquell’s
methamphetamine operation. From the looks of it, they had been dead for quite
some time.

“If there is
somebody down here I’ll hear ‘em from a ways off. Did I tell you about my
superpowers since I got turned into a zombie? It’s like I’m a Cherokee
tracker,” Russ said.

“You got the
drinking part down anyways,” Trent said under his breath.

Russ pointed
his flashlight towards Marquell. “I heard Mr. Personality here squeak out a
silent but deadly about a minute ago.”

Marquell
shrugged. “I guess he can hear pretty well. He’s still an idiot.”

Russ
continued chatting about his similarities to various famous Native American
heroes while Marquell bit his tongue and tried in vain to ignore him. But if
the former truck driver kept it up, the violent reckoning Marquell planned
would happen sooner rather than later.

They
continued on, their flashlights casting long shadows down the even longer
tunnel while the echoes of their footsteps bounced around the humid, musty air.
The underground system was as vast as Marquell had promised, and luckily for
them, the safety stations were located in regular intervals as well. This meant
extra batteries, expired energy bars, and bottles of water were found every
couple miles, stored away in containers directly below each handy map. Other
than Russ’s nonstop verbal diarrhea, the trip through the labyrinth had gone as
smoothly as possible. Compared to the hell aboveground, the tomb-like tunnels
were a welcome respite… even if it did smell like an old person’s basement,
which Trent reminded Marquell of numerous times during the hike.

Trent let
Russ take the lead for once and fell back to walk by Marquell, deciding to pick
the gang leader’s brain a bit. “So you had some guys down here making meth?
Kind of an odd location. I mean, how did you even know about this place?”

Marquell’s
face brightened. “Sometimes, when I got bored with the drug game, I thought
about becoming an architect. I started with studying building plans and such.
Then I got into making models of Frank Lloyd Wright houses with Popsicle
sticks. From there I moved on to bigger venues, and that’s where I got my
motherfuckin’ interest in civil construction projects. Anyways, I studied up on
these tunnels and realized they’d be a bomb ass area for my operations. At
least until they were up and running. But with government delays I knew that
wouldn’t be for a long time. And having a secret escape route from the city was
a goal, too. Never thought I’d be down here like this, though.”

Russ’s
flashlight flickered out and he tapped it a few times to no avail. He quickly
swapped out some batteries. They didn’t work, and the next batteries Russ put
in failed as well. “The whole damned batch is bad. Typical government
horseshit. They spend billions on these tunnels and then buy generic batteries.
“

Trent’s
flashlight also went out, and the situation immediately turned tense as he and
Russ surrounded Marquell. “All right bro, why don’t you let us have the light
until we find some more working batteries?”

“Hell no. End
of discussion,” Marquell said, his gravelly voice showing grim determination.
He wasn’t about to lose his newfound leverage.

Trent sighed.
“Let’s not turn this into a thing, okay? Don’t forget that we have the guns.
Now, are you picking up what I’m putting down or not?” Trent was trying his
hardest to be nice, but his old d-bag self was starting to bubble up under the
surface. It always did.

Marquell
stood in silence as Russ got into his face. “Come on man, hand it over. It’s
not like we’re gonna ditch you.”

“I don’t take
orders from cops, and I definitively don’t take them from hillbilly zombies
dressed like motherfuckin’ Captain Jack Sparrow.”

“Oh hell yes,
that’s just what I was going for. I already had the hair, and then I found this
costume after I—”

Marquell
clicked his flashlight off and the tunnel was immediately as dark as the far
side of the moon. So dark, in fact, that Russ didn’t see Marquell’s fist before
it plowed into his forehead, knocking him sideways into the solid pipe wall.

It hurt
Marquell’s hand like crazy, but the truck driver popped back up unaffected.
“Now you did it,” Russ said, and prepared to shoot his Chinese assault rifle in
Marquell’s general direction – which also happened to be where Trent was
standing.

Trent guessed
what Russ was about to do and hit the musty floor. “Don’t shoot, dumbass!”

Meanwhile
Marquell began to tiptoe away in the darkness, trying to put some distance
between himself and the others while at the same time attempting to avoid
Russ’s superhuman hearing. It didn’t work.

“Gotcha!”
Russ said as he drew a bead on the fleeing man’s footsteps. But as he prepared
to pull the trigger, Marquell stumbled on something and fell to the ground.

The murky
abyss of the tunnel was washed away as a mysterious light streamed towards
them. Next, a neon red breakdancing reindeer appeared on the wall behind the
trio while a wave of sound rolled down the empty corridor. The music was loud
and piercing… and it was jovial. “Feliz Navidad,” to be precise.

“Laser.
Fuckin. Light show,” Russ said with a smile. That smile quickly disappeared as
swiftly moving forms darted out from a bend in the tunnel. They were many, and
they were starving.

“Drop ‘em!”
Trent shouted and opened up with his machine gun while Russ followed in kind.
Soon out of ammo, they threw their rifles and grabbed Elvis while running
towards the light, with Marquell a good distance ahead of them. The mob was
slowed by the dead bodies now in their way, but undeterred all the same.

Marquell
stopped ahead and the others soon caught up to him, their fight being all but
forgotten. For now. He shined the remaining flashlight at the ground and
revealed a gaping hole in the floor. Inside the pit were countless zombies in
varying states of animation, driven mad by the festive music while squirming
and jumping towards an opening that lay far from reach.

A mere
fifteen-foot jump separated the men from the safety of the other side, so
Marquell backed up before making the leap, and he made it look easy.

“Toss the
coon over,” he said.

Russ did.
Then he made the jump almost as easily, with his unkempt mullet flowing behind
him. Out of shape and undernourished from a diet of cat food and alcohol, Trent
was unsure of his jumping abilities and wavered momentarily as the hallway
behind him filled with growing shadows. He turned around and saw the horde
descending towards him. It was all the encouragement Trent needed.

He took a
deep breath and charged forward while letting out a mighty roar in midair. The
shout was the only thing impressive about the jump, however, and he came
nowhere near reaching the other side. He did manage to catch the edge of the
pipe and now dangled precariously above the clawing cannibals.

Making
matters worse, the zombies from behind him started tumbling into the pit at a
rapid pace. As their numbers swelled, they formed a zombie ladder of sorts as
those falling in stepped on each other for position, trampling the most
dehydrated zombies underfoot.

Russ grabbed
Trent’s wrists and tried to pull him up, but he just wasn’t strong enough to
lift the portly officer from the deathtrap. Soon, hands tugged at Trent’s boots
from below and threatened to pull him to his doom. 

Marquell
walked toward the others and hesitated. Here was his chance to rid himself of
these bumbling morons, and it would take little more than a slight shove. His
mind made up, Marquell moved towards them with purpose, chuckling to himself.

Then he
reached down and effortlessly dragged Trent upwards as if lifting a child from
a crib. Marquell was not ready to lose his pawns quite yet.

Trent spit at
the zombies and then composed himself. “Thanks, I mean it. Keep the damned
flashlight.”

Marquell
nodded, then looked at Russ as his hand throbbed from his hard punch. “Damn,
you got a hard head.”

“People been
telling me that my entire life.”

Just then,
the laser show stopped and a floodlight turned on. Several armed men crept from
the pitch-black side tunnels and surrounded them. That’s when a pale man
wearing a bowler hat and a necklace of hickeys came to the fore with an air of
superiority and malevolence. “Hands up, fuck-sticks. You’re in Gutter Punk
territory.”