Apocalypse Asunder (32 page)

He held the bottle out toward her, and Jessica shook her head as she smiled again.  “No, but thank you.”

“You sure?  Best thing for it.”

“For what?” she asked curiously.

“The damn apoc . . . apocal . . . for the fuckin’ zombies.” he said drunkenly, dropping the bottle back into the cooler with a dangerously loud clink of glass on glass that made her wince.  But he didn’t seem to notice, or react, to the chance his cooler full of bottles might break.

“I’ve got some things to do to get us settled in, but thank you.” Jessica deferred.  “How long have you been here?”

“Since it all went to fuckin’ shit.” he said, punctuating the statement by picking up his bottle again and taking a swig.  She couldn’t read the label from here, but the contents were something brown colored, like whiskey or rum.  And were over half gone.  If he was drinking straight liquor,
drunk
probably didn’t begin to describe his condition.  In fact, depending on how long he’d been drinking, and despite his obviously sodden exterior and behavior, he might be even drunker than he looked and sounded.

“Since Labor Day?” she guessed.

“Yup.” he nodded, sounding proud.  “Best fuckin’ thing for it.”

“You didn’t have anything else you needed to be doing?”

“Do?  Do?” he demanded, but still without any air of anger or offense.  She was beginning to realize about the only two emotional states he seemed to have were either amusement in her confusion or pride in his decision making.  “What the fuck is there to do?”

“Fight off zombies, stay safe . . . you know, things like that?”

“Oh.” he said, then hiccupped.  “Yeah, well, okay, sure, there was a little of that.  But just a little.  After I seen what things were getting to, I figured out the best way to deal with all of it.”  He jammed the cigar into the side of his mouth, but kept talking as he puffed and drooled.

“Stole my asshole neighbor’s truck and took my ass down to the Shore Shack.  Loaded that fucker full of everything, hauled it the fuck over here, stashed it the fuck in the bedrooms, and been having myself a grand fuckin’ time ever since.”

She glanced around, but there were no vehicles in sight.  “Where’s the truck?”

“Fucker broke down just after I fuckin’ got here.  When I went out looking for more fuckin’ supplies.” he shrugged.  “Shitty fuckin’ truck anyway; had to walk back.  Ain’t been out since.  Happy takes a hint, the hell he don’t.”

“Zombies haven’t bothered you?” Jessica asked, trying to keep from getting too hopeful.  But if a total drunk had spent the last two months here, doing nothing but drinking, and hadn’t gotten eaten by zombies . . . she figured that could only bode quite well for her and Candice.

“Oh they wander by sometimes.” he shrugged.  “I like it.  Them bastards are funny as fuck to watch.”

“What do you do?”

“Drink.”

“No, I mean, when the zombies come.”

“Drink.” he repeated, blinking at her.  “You okay lady?”

“I’m fine.  But when the zombies come, you don’t do anything about them?”

“Why would I do anything about them?”

Before Jessica could start to answer, over Candice’s continued giggles she heard a motor approaching.  She looked at the road automatically, but nothing was visible on the pavement.  Glancing around again, she spotted a boat cruising toward the peninsula.  It was cutting across the lake and making straight for the drunk’s house; or, rather, the little dock behind his house.

About the time she focused on the boat – a motor boat of some sort that looked low slung but long enough to carry eight or ten people – the motor’s noise penetrated the drunk’s alcohol induced haze.  “Ah fuck, the fuckin’ guys are back.”

“The guys?” Jessica asked, struggling to keep from showing alarm.

“Yeah.  They say they’re friends of mine, but I ain’t got no fuckin’ friends.”

“Why not?”

“Fuck friends.” he said, showing the first hint of something that wasn’t touched with amusement.  “Just more shit they can take away.  Don’t need no more of that.”

“Who?”

“Friends.”

“No, I mean, who’s going to take your friends away?”

“Fuckin’ zombies.”

Jessica looked back to the boat as the drunk lifted his bottle for another swig.  Whoever was driving it was experienced; the boat was angling right for the dock without a problem.  Its motor cut off while it was still out in the water, but the momentum lasted long enough for the boat to glide right up next to the wooden structure.  There were three people in it, and one of them stepped up and out of the boat adroitly with a rope in hand to start tying the vehicle up so it didn’t drift off.

Whoever they were, they were armed – with long guns that were slung behind their shoulders, plus holsters on their belts – but they didn’t seem aggressive to her.  Jessica was ready to take off in the truck, or grab for one of her own weapons, but the boat trio simply headed up the back stairs toward the house.  One of them, the driver, waved at her in a friendly gesture, then he went up too.

She made sure the transmission was in drive and ready to go, and waited with her foot on the brake.  About twenty seconds after she lost sight of the people on the back stairs, the front door behind the drunk opened and they came out onto the porch.  Two men and a woman, she saw as they emerged.

“Hello.” one of the men called down.

“Hello.” she answered, trying to keep from letting her building tension get to her.  One guy, even before she realized he was lost in an inebriated haze, didn’t alarm her too much.  But three more people, and showing signs of being more prepared for the post-apocalypse world, just encouraged her to revert to extreme caution.

“I see you’ve met Jared here.”

“Fuck you, you asshole.” the drunk slurred.  “My name is Happy.”

“No one calls him that.” the woman said.

“You fuckers better start.” Jared said, waving his bottle around.  “Or I might stop letting you use my fuckin’ dock.”

“Some dock.” the third member of the trio of newcomers said.  “Barely enough room for the three of us to stand side by side on it.”

“Fuck you too.”

“Can’t imagine why we don’t call him Happy.” the first man said.

“Guess not.” Jessica allowed neutrally.

“I’d be happier if you fuckin’ teetoal . . teet . . . sober assholes would tie one on.”

“I know Jared.” the third man said, clearly suppressing a smirk.  “Now be nice or we’ll stop checking on you.”

“Check my ass.” Jared replied before letting an enormously loud fart rip.  A really loud one; it was clearly audible even all the way down the stairs and on the road, over the noise of the truck’s idling engine.  Jessica heard Candice giggling again.

“No thanks.” the woman up on the porch said, stepping away from him quickly.  The third man was doing likewise, though he was laughing more than anything else.

“Where you coming from?” the first man asked Jessica.  He apparently didn’t mind the smell, because he didn’t bother moving.

“North of Ocala.” Jessica said, which had the advantage of being both vague and true.  Apparently news of Ocala had made it down this far, because the newcomers all winced.

“Glad you made it past all that safe then.  Uh, I’m Byron.” the man said, pointing at himself before turning his gesturing on the other two with him.  “Arcelia, Carlo, and you already met Mr. Happy here.”

“And we was having a damn fine conversation ‘fore you sad fuckers came by and interrupted.” Jared confirmed.

“Jessica, Candice.”

“What are your plans?”

Jessica hesitated briefly before responding.  “Survive.  What else is there?”

“Well, there’s that, there’s less smart stuff, and then there’s Jared’s plan.”

“Happy.” Jared protested.

“Right.” Byron agreed.

“Drink the zombies away?” Jessica asked.

“That’s it.” Carlo nodded.

“Hell of a plan.” Jared confirmed.

“Is it working?” Jessica asked curiously.

“Hell yes.” Jared hiccupped.  “I’m still fuckin’ drunk.”

“Jared—”

“Happy, asshole.” Jared protested.

“—the Happy Asshole here has kind of had a rough time of it since the outbreak.” Arcelia continued, barely pausing to even register Jared’s interruption.  “It’s sort of left a mark on him.”

“You’d have marks too you found yourself on the ass end of a bad song.”

“Things will get better.” Carlo said to the drunk.  “Just give it a chance.”

“The fuck you think I’m doing?” Jared demanded, gesturing around with his bottle.  Then he seemed to remember he had it, and took a health swig.

“Looking for the courage to kill yourself slow?” Byron asked.

“Wasting a bunch of time sitting on your ass?” Arcelia suggested.

“Turning your liver into rock?” Carlo tried.

“Giving shit a chance to work the fuck out!” Jared said decisively.

“Oh brother.” Arcelia sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you.” Jared said, pointing unsteadily at each of the three people on the porch with him in turn.  He turned his finger down the stairs at Jessica, paused, then grinned sloppily at her.  “Not you though.  Unless you’re interested later.”

Jessica didn’t even feel the need to blush, not with everyone already chuckling.

“Jared here is happy—”

“Damn straight.”

“—shut up.” Byron told him.  “Have another drink.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Jared nodded, lifting his bottle again.  As he tipped it back, Byron looked back at Jessica.

“He’s happy to sit up here working through his booze.  Don’t worry though, he’s only conscious about four hours every eight or so.  At least, that’s the best we can figure it.  It’s not like we’re here all the time.”

“You’ve got a camp somewhere across the lake?” Jessica asked.

“Not exactly.”

“How’s that?”

Carlo grinned.  “We’re camping on the lake.”

Jessica blinked.  “What?”

Arcelia shrugged.  “It’s more or less true.  We’ve got a bunch of boats, including a core of house boats, we’ve sort of anchored out there in the water where nothing can get at us unless it swims or flies.”

“And zombies don’t do either.” Jessica realized.  “Smart.”

“We’re getting by okay.” Byron shrugged.  “Fishing, some scavenging, trading favors occasionally with our buddy Happy here.”

“Favors!  Hah!” Jared laughed.

“What kind of favors?” Jessica asked.

“Well, despite appearances, Jared here is actually a rather special guy.”

“Fucked you mean.” Jared corrected him.  “The word is fucked.”

“What are you going to do when you run out of booze?” Byron asked in a reasonable tone.

“Hah!” Arcelia and Carlo both snorted.

Jared, however, just gave Byron an imperious look.  “Take my gator gun and go get some more.”

“There’s only so much alcohol in South Florida Jared.”

“Happy!” Jared insisted.

“You’re going to run out eventually.”

“No he won’t.” Carlo said.

“Yeah, he can’t keep this up.” Arcelia added.

“Fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you.” Jared said, again making the rounds with his bottle as he gestured at each of them in turn.  He neglected to notice Jessica this time, but he did notice the bottle once more.  Tipping head and bottle alike back yet again, his latest slug of booze was interrupted when he fell over backwards, taking the chair with him.  There was a heavy thump as he hit the porch, then a hollow, tumbling clinking as the bottle bounced off his forehead before skittering and skidding across the wood decking.

None of the other three people up on the porch with him tried to catch him as he toppled.  Jessica was momentarily, and mildly, shocked; but then she heard a low voice slurring and stumbling its way through something that sounded rehearsed.  She initially assumed it was moans of pain, but after a second or so she realized it was lyrics of some sort; there was too much rhyme to them.

“Is he okay?”

“Oh sure.” Byron shrugged.

“Aren’t you going to . . . you know?” she asked, waving vaguely at the house.

“Nope.” Carlo shook his head.  “We’ve tried before, believe me, but that’s about the only time he gets really difficult to deal with; if you interfere with him in any way.”

“He’s not doing anything though.”

“Actually, he’s doing his favorite thing.” Arcelia said sadly.

Jessica couldn’t figure that one out.  “Um . . .I thought drinking was his favorite thing.”

“No, that’s just what he does to pass the time.” Byron explained.  “What he likes to do is go over how he got here.”

“So he sings his song.” Carlo nodded.

Jessica listened, but Jared was singing for himself and not his audience, and she wasn’t exactly close to where the drunk lay.  But she caught a few wisps of what he was singing in his semi-conscious state.  She didn’t recognize it.