Death and Biker Gangs (16 page)

No one ever said we were smart.

After the first round, we quit pouring drinks and just started swigging straight from the bottles. Shoving the booze down my gullet dulled my memories of the day quite effectively...or, more accurately, it made it easier to focus on other things.

Two hours and two and a half wine bottles later, I pointed unsteadily at Dax, who had made a third unsuccessful attempt to down some anchovies we found in the pantry. “And you call yourself a Blood Nut.”

Tony reached over and grabbed the gagging Boy Scout by the arm. “Dude, you gotta tell us what the fuck was up with that name.”

Dax hiccupped. “It sounded badass.”

“Bro, it sounds like a venereal disease.” Tony reached for his wine bottle. Upon finding it empty, he grabbed Dax’s and poured a good amount of it down his throat. “Doc, help me, I’ve got 
the blood nuts
.”

Dax weakly tried to snatch the bottle back, but ended up nearly falling out of his chair. “I think it was originally Bloody Nuts, because the whole band idea was bloody nuts…even though, you know, we weren’t British…but we 
should 
have been, the British would 
respect 
Bloody Nuts…instead we gave Vibeke the runs…”

“We aren’t talking about that,” I said. I was maintaining my façade of sobriety well enough, but I was pretty sure I would fall over the instant I stood up. “The apocalypse happened. Of course I got sick.”

“Bullshit. You were sick 
before 
the world ended. You, missy…you…we made you sick. It was our terrible music, wasn’t it?” He tried to lean forward, but ended up knocking his empty bowl off the table. “I know we sucked. We tried hard, but we blew.”

They 
had 
sucked. The Blood Nuts had been the opening act to a truly terrible evening.

Evie began lapping up the residue on the bowl. I eyed her. “Is it safe to let her eat that stuff?”

“If it hasn’t killed us, it probably won’t kill her.” Tony successfully drained the last of Dax’s wine and let out a satisfied belch.

“Dude, you are 
so rude
.” Dax pointed at me again. “There is a lady present.”

“Right, the lady that fed the bikers to some zombies.”
 
Tony stopped laughing long enough to peer at me. “How’d you do it, anyway?”

I scowled at Tony, trying to remember why, exactly, I hung out with him. “Just led them over. They were very obedient. And those fucking bikers didn’t move.”

Dax reached for the wine bottle Tony had so recently appropriated, then made a face when it was pulled out of his reach. “Their skin was so 
gross
. What was wrong with them?”

Their lesioned faces swam up in front of my face—
I miss karaoke—
and I pushed away from the table. “I want some water.”

Once I was on my feet, I had to wait a minute for the world to stop spinning before I felt my way toward the bar. We’d lit a rudimentary path through the tables, although that didn’t keep me from stumbling a few times. Luca, whoever he was, had stored several flats of water behind the counter, which I’m sure came in handy for the heavy drinkers that stopped by.

By the time I popped up with three bottles, the boys had made their way over to the counter and draped themselves over it. At least, Dax had draped himself over it; Tony just leaned unsteadily, trying to peer over the side. “There any cigarettes back there?”

I set a bottle of water in front of each of them. “Not that I saw. You smoke?”

“No, but that’s the currency in post-apocalyptic America. Alcohol, cigarettes, and women.” He reached over to punch Dax lightly on the shoulder. “Maybe we should stay put and be rich men, huh, Boy Scout?”

“Maybe I’ll stab you while you sleep,” I said. “Then you’ll be dead men.”

Dax squinted at me. “I don’t think she’s kidding.”

“She won’t kill us, she loves us too much.” Tony slapped a fifty-dollar bill down on the counter. “Bar wench! Three zombies, please, if you can figure out how to make them.”

“Well, bless your black hole of a heart.” I pocketed the fifty and stared at the copious amounts of bottles before me. “What’s in a zombie again?”

“Blood, guts, brains…”

“No,” Dax moaned. “I just want water.”

“Zombies!” Tony thumped his hand on the counter.

“Gimme a sec.” I found a laminated guide to some of the popular drinks of the pre-apocalyptic world, and set about gathering the liquors and add-ons I’d need for the zombies. Luca’s glassware and booze sported a thin layer of dust, but were in otherwise pristine shape, as if they had just been waiting for him to return and open up shop.

After we left, it might never be used again. 
What if we’re the last people to drink this stuff?

“There’s no apricot brandy,” I called. I rummaged around until I came up with cherry brandy, which I dumped in after the papaya and pineapple juices. Once I added the rum, I reached for a candle. “Okay, let’s see how this works out.” 

I touched the candle to the tops of the drinks, and the rum caught. The boys made the appropriate impressed sounds, even Dax. I picked up the nearest glass and lifted it overhead. “To the undead.”

Tony nodded vigorously. “To the rotting, shambling carcasses that make our lives miserable, but left us this vast wasteland of glorious alcohol. Wanna pound it?”

“No,” Dax said.

“Go!”

Tony and I took them down. I’d put in a little too much rum; I could taste it behind the pineapple, lurking like stomach cramps after bad sushi.

***

About an hour later, Dax was sacked out under a tablecloth with the dog, and Tony and I were hunched over the bar, as drunk as we’d been at Clive’s wedding, and probably rehashing the conversation we’d shared then.

“And Ezekiel…Ezekiel…so spake, let the great smiting begin!” Tony waved 
Dead Mennonite Walking 
in the air.

Okay, I’m pretty sure a zombie-hunting Mennonite hadn’t been part of the wedding discussion. “
Spake 
isn’t a word.”

“Says right here. Right here in the text. 
See?
”

I didn’t even try to look at the small print. “I don’t read while drunk. It makes me dizzy.”

Tony hurled the book over his shoulder. “Fine. Reject my dramatic reading.”

I hiccupped. The booze had penetrated my brain enough to turn the entire experience into more of an adventurous campout than an effort to hide.

He propped his chin in his hand. “How did you go from being an EMT to
Rock Weekly
?”

“I graduated college. The magazine offered health insurance. Not that it matters anymore.” I reached for a bottle of Sailor Jerry, then thought better of it. “I forgot. Booze makes me tired.”

“Well, it’s like…ten o’clock. We’re usually in bed by now.” He checked the spot on his wrist where his watch used to sit and laughed. “Shit, does time even exist anymore?”

“Don’t we have to get up early tomorrow?”

Tony waved a hand dismissively, and almost fell off the stool. “Fuck, that’s a fucking strong drink!”

“Revenants…take no prisoners…” I uncorked the Sailor Jerry’s and dumped it right down my throat. Some of it splashed over my neck and onto the bar. I didn’t bother cleaning it up. Who was here to judge anymore, anyway?

“Fool! The precious liquor!” Tony snatched the bottle and took some down, then slammed it down on the counter hard enough to make it vibrate. “You can’t waste this stuff anymore, doll.”

“Don’t call me 
doll
.” I rested my elbows on the counter. “Can I be serious?”

His mouth twitched. “Please don’t.”

“Those guys…I didn’t want to 
do 
that…didn’t want them dead. I thought they’d notice.”

Tony patted my hand awkwardly. “They should have. Zombies aren’t quiet.”

“But I killed them.”

“No, the 
undead 
killed them. And ate them. You were just there. Kind of like accidentally watching a snuff film.” He leaned forward, a devilish smile crossing his face. “So how many rock stars went home with you?”

There’s some things even Tony can’t handle, and I figured this was his attempt at tactfully changing the conversation. I took the opportunity to reclaim the Sailor Jerry. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Nah. Just being annoying.”

I fixed him with my coldest blue stare, but he was starting to look a little fuzzy around the edges. “
Why
 aren’t you propositioning me?”

I tipped the bottle back as he shrugged. “Honeybear,” he said, “think of poor Dax, wakin’ up and seeing us doing the sticky-icky on a bar.”

“Sticky-icky?” I laughed mid-swallow, and Sailor Jerry came out of my nose. 

“Maybe it’s icky-sticky?”

We finally collapsed into a pile beside Dax and the dog in the wee hours of the morning, tanked out of our minds and glad of it. It was safe here, for the time being, full of food and booze completely untouched by the horrors of the outside world. It was nice to let my guard down for just a little bit.

It was a terrible mistake.

ELEVEN

I was in the middle of a wonderful dream about Thanksgiving turkey when something wet pushed at my hand.

I blinked a few times, and before long, a blurry vision of Evie licked my fingers, whimpering. I lifted my head and she wagged her tail, looking pointedly at the door.

“Can’t you hold it?” The restaurant remained as dark as ever; the candles had gone out, but the faintest gray light filtered in from around the blinds. I thought it might be mid-morning. “Dax, take the dog out.”

Dax gurgled and didn’t answer. He was surrounded by empty water bottles. Well, at least he’d kept hydrated.

Evie whined again, this time more insistently.

“Tony,” I said. “Let the dog out.”

“Fuck you.” Oh, dear. He sounded like he had a mean hangover in progress. 

I got up and tottered back and forth. Evie rushed to the door and danced around, staring at me. 
Gotta go, gotta go! Hurry up, Vibby! 

“Alright…” The door kept getting further away from me. I quaked from side to side, nearly tripping over Evie as she bounded between my legs. “Dog, c’mere!”

I got to the door, unbolted it, and swung it open. “Go forth and urinate.”

She bolted outside to do her business.

I sagged against the doorway, pressing my hand against my head. This was no hangover, I was still fucking 
drunk.
 I hadn’t been this trashed since Bon Jovi came through and Clive treated us all to a night at the Saltwater Pub. “Hurry up, dog,” I said. “Might be dead guys out there.”

She left a particularly steamy contribution before trotting back inside, smiling at me joyously. “Yeah, it’s good to be alive and sober, isn’t it?” I asked, locking the door and stumbling back into the main room. Evie made a beeline for Tony, trying to nuzzle him awake.

I needed a fix for this headache before anything else. How did I handle hangovers back in the day?

Coffee. Coffee will help…maybe.

“Vib, get her away from me!”

“C’mere, puppy,” I said, slapping my thigh. Evie jogged over to me, tail still wagging. “Tony’s just a big angry prick this morning, isn’t he? Yes, yes he is. C’mon, let’s get pizza. I mean coffee?” Pizza would be good, too, but most of the cheese in the world had probably gone bad.

Why am I awake? Oh, coffee. Yes. I need coffee.

I found myself in the kitchen, surrounded by useless cooking equipment and dead refrigerators. There was an industrial-sized coffeemaker on the counter, but when my drunken switch-flipping didn’t make it jump up and dance, I stuck out my lower lip. “Stupid, stupid…”

Evie yipped from the other side of the room, and I felt my way over to an alcove tucked beside the staff break room. I wound up with a fistful of cloth, which I shoved over irritably. “What the…”

What’s a drunk gal to do when confronted with a dark staircase during the zombie apocalypse?

Find out what’s upstairs, of course.

In hindsight, it’s something of a marvel I’d stayed alive as long as I did.

At least Evie accompanied me, shooting me the occasional look of canine concern. Some mildly logical part of my brain figured the dog would alert me to any real problems.

I found a doorknob and twisted it, pushing the door open into the wood-lined entryway of the apartment over the bar. “Shit, doggie,” I cackled. This all seemed terribly amusing. “Can’t hardly walk!”

Evie wagged her tail, probably wondering how she wound up with such miscreants as her companions.