Free Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time by Richard Johnson

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