Dead Drunk II: Dawn of the Deadbeats (Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

started panicking on the
inside.
    They shut the
door behind them and entered a long, empty hallway. Trent turned on his
police-issued Maglite and led the way while Marquell kept a safe distance from
Russ. He was still fuming about the ignominious end to his friend’s life, and
once the trio came into the plant cafeteria, Marquell stopped.
    “Before we go
any farther, y’all have some explaining to do. Like, what’s going on with that
peckerwood right there?”
    “Russ is… a
little under the weather,” Trent said.
    “That’s what
you sick bastards call it?  Look, you better be one hundred with me. No
bull, and I’m not playing.”
    “He’s
infected, sort of,” Trent said. “Not like the dumb-fucks running around eating
people. I guess he’s still a dumb-fuck running around eating people, but not
like the other ones. He can talk.”
    “Gee, thanks
for your kind words,” Russ mumbled, proving that, indeed, zombies can have
feelings.
    “Anyways, we
think he might be the cure to ending this whole thing, like in the movies. So
we’re trying to get him to some scientists or military base or whatever.”
Marquell smirked and Trent lost his cool. “You got any better ideas, asshole?
At least we’re trying to come up with something.”
    “Your
child-like interpretations of communicable diseases are a joke and your escape
plan was dog shit too. Couple of simpletons.” Marquell was stirring the pot
deliberately now to test their mettle and gage their response. The master
manipulator could usually get others to react precisely as he wanted.
    Trent took the
bait and his temperature started rising. “A little gratitude would be nice.” He
moved a hand to his holstered weapon. “We did cut you down. You were just
zombie bait without us.”
    “Lordy,
Lordy, thank you, thank you. If I’m lucky, someday I’ll get to come in from the
fields on a rainy day and mend your shoes by the campfire. Maybe even 
sing some hymns.”
    “Typical,”
the cop said dryly. Old habits die hard, especially for jerk-wads like Trent.
    “What’s that
supposed to mean?” Marquell said and grinned on the inside. It hadn’t taken him
long to find the man’s weakness.
    “Just what I
said, typical. Your kind are always unthankful. We should have picked our own
damned cotton five hundred years ago. Ain’t that right, Russ?”
    Marquell
snorted. “Your historical knowledge is dog shit too. And I was the one behind
bars? Talk about an unjust society.”
    “That was a
good home for you. How about we take you back? That’s right, back to where
somebody beat your ass and tied you up like a chocolate sacrifice to King
Kong.”
    “Oh, I’m done
with that place,” Marquell said. “And don’t think I didn’t recognize you from
yesterday. You’re the buster that boned out when shit was getting real. Left
your friends to fend for themselves. You served and protected the hell out of
them, didn’t you?”
     Trent
was speechless for the first time in a while and Russ finally jumped in.
    “Both of you
need to cut the crap. Elvis and I are sick of listening to it.” Russ punctuated
this point by taking a slug of whiskey. “And frankly, I’m getting bored.”
    “Fine, let’s
hear your masterful escape plan, Marquell,” Trent said, eager to change the
subject. “Like with these tunnels, are they gonna be full of water and crap?
Did you think that through, genius?”
    “No man, the
tunnels aren’t fully connected to the system yet so they should be empty still.
One hundred plus miles of concrete tunnels. We’re only going twenty, though.”
    “And how do
you know about this shit anyways?” Trent said.
    “Bored,” Russ
interjected with a huff.
    “This was my
planned escape route from prison if I ever got the chance,” Marquell said, then
paused. “I guess I did get the chance. Anyway, should be maps all along the
walls down there and safety stations with emergency food, water and
flashlights. I had my cookers scouting the