Zombie Fallout 5: Alive in a Dead World (38 page)

Paul was in the kitchen making scrambled eggs
and bacon, and it smelled wonderful. I think if it hadn’t violated
so many man-code rules, I would have kissed him. Dennis was on the
couch, holding his head with one hand and a glass of what I figured
to be juice in the other.

“Grab your drink on the table.” Paul said,
motioning with his spatula.

“Drink? What kind of drink?” I asked, my
stomach protesting at just the mere mention.

“No drink, no bacon,” he told me.

“What do you have, Dennis?” I asked.

“He told me the same thing,” Dennis wept.
“And I really want some,” he finished pathetically.

“Come on, man! Food first, then whatever this
devil’s brew is,” I begged Paul.

“Oh my God! This bacon is fantastic!” Paul
said, tearing into a big strip.

“Ass,” I told him as I grabbed the glass off
the table. I sat next to Dennis so that we could commiserate.
Dennis just kept staring at his drink like he hoped it would
evaporate. I’ve never been one to think before I act. “Here goes
nothing,” I said to Dennis. I was trying for a wicked grin, but I’m
sure that it was more of a sickly smile. I tipped the glass up and
just started gulping. The cold fluid washed the cotton from my
mouth and put out the fire caused from heartburn in my throat and
stomach. (Don’t let anyone ever tell you getting old doesn’t suck).
I don’t know if he had Alka-Seltzer in the drink also, but the
roiling immediately stopped as did the hammer-smacking anvil in my
skull, and immediate warmth passed through my extremities as a
familiar buzz washed over me.

“Holy fuck!” I said aloud, holding up the
empty glass, looking for an after trace of whatever magical
ingredients had been present.

“Pretty neat trick, huh?” Paul said as he put
a portion of food down on my plate and his.

“Are you kidding?” Dennis asked.

“Not at all, man,” I said. I had instantly
transformed from one of the walking dead back to a fully fledged
participant in the human race.

“Really?” Dennis queried, holding up his
glass like I had mere moments before.

I was already heading for the table and the
food, and if he didn’t hurry up I was going to eat his portion too.
Dennis must have realized this because he downed his much like I
had. It was pretty fun to watch his transformation as it
happened.

“What the hell was in that thing?” Dennis
said as he nearly launched himself from the couch.

“You’d really be better off not knowing,”
Paul said around a mouthful of toast.

“Man, you should market that stuff,” I told
Paul, as I mowed through my eggs.

“Nope, because then I’d have to disclose the
ingredients.”

I looked at Paul like maybe I would beg him
for the info, and then I thought better of it. Sometimes ignorance
is bliss.

We ate our meal, cleaned up some and then
decided to take a small tour of the town we were in. The day was
phenomenal with not a hint of the rent-open skies from the night
before. We went to the local liquor and grocery stores to replenish
our supplies. We must have bought eight or nine pounds of deli meat
so that we could make sandwiches when we got home from the show
tonight and not have to wait for a pizza. The thought of those cold
pepperonis from the previous night threatened to break through
Paul’s elixir, but it held fast. We toured around the town, hung
out with a bunch of our neighbors who were also concert-goers and
played a bunch of cards. Every couple of hours, we were required to
keep dosing with Paul’s medicine; and not once did I feel an after
effect from the previous evening.

Our plan this fine night as the concert got
closer was to stick with one type of alcohol--vodka; but like all
the best of intentions, it quickly went out the window. Partied a
bit beforehand, but nothing like our marathon session the day
before. By the time we headed out for the show, I had a pleasant
base buzz from which to build upon. If it were possible, the
security this night was even more lax. They didn’t even check for
our tickets. We could have driven a beer truck in. How fucking
awesome would that have been!? Paul immediately went to the
concession stand and bought a half dozen sodas to mix our vodka
with. In retrospect, I sit here wondering why we didn’t just bring
in our own cups and a couple of two liter bottles.

So there we are, Dennis, Paul, and myself.
The sky was lit up a brilliant blue, the temperature hovering in
the eighties, we were surrounded by majestic peaks on all sides.
Throngs of people danced to the music in their heads (the show had
not started yet) or played Frisbee or hacky sack, or just sat and
talked. It was a festival and I was soaking it all in. The buzz was
starting to build as we drank more and smoked some community
joints. I somehow had the ability to suspend my germ phobias whilst
drinking because if I’d been straight, I would never put a joint to
my lips after passing anyone’s lips, especially some of the wookies
that were passing them around. (Wookies are unkempt hippies that
generally tour with the band. Something I would have been had I not
had a family.)

There we three sat, laughing, and talking on
our small blanket when this younger guy came across our path.

“Mushrooms?” he asked.

“Naw, man, we don’t have any,” I told
him.

He looked at us a little funny, then must
have realized we started partying a few hours ago. “No, I’ve got
some,” he said.

I looked over at Paul. This had not been on
the agenda at all. I turned to Dennis, who had no clue what was
happening. He appeared to be checking out a sweet, little honey
twirling around in a yellow sundress.

“Sure,” Paul said.

And then I thought something went wrong with
the whole conversation, because the guy pulled out two Cadbury
Easter Eggs from his knapsack.

My ever tactical self spoke up. “What the
hell are those things?”

Paul paid him twenty dollars.

Dennis turned just as Paul got the eggs in
hand. “Awesome man, I’m starving!” Dennis grabbed one from Paul’s
hand and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. Paul started
laughing. I was still confused.

“Hey, ris rastes funky,” Dennis said, still
chewing.

“Here, wash it down with this,” Paul said,
handing him a fresh drink.

Dennis gulped it down. “Where’d you get
those? I think they were old or something.”

“Dude, you just dosed,” Paul said, still
laughing.

“What?” I asked before Dennis could.

“The guy cooked up the mushrooms into the
chocolate,” Paul explained.

“I just ate mushrooms?” Dennis asked, taking
a large gulp of his drink and then turning back to watch the yellow
sundress twirl.

“Shall we?” Paul asked, splitting the
remaining egg in half.

“Why not?” I said shoving my piece into my
mouth.

“Down the rabbit hole,” Paul said.

Twenty minutes later, there was very little
that did not completely mesmerize me. Blades of grass became
primordial jungles. The mountains were the great mountain barrier
of the north that protected us from the hordes of Orcs that waited
on the other side. The occasional cloud that drifted over became a
message from the gods themselves. Dennis, at some point, had
started to twirl with Yellow Sundress. It was funny trying to
figure out which of them was further out there. By this time, stage
hands had started some music through the PA system. I found myself
encapsulated in the eclectic blend of music they played. Paul and I
laughed at times so hard that tears would stream from our faces. I
knew at least I was having a hard time keeping my equilibrium,

The sun, as if on cue, hid behind the tallest
peak just as Widespread came onto the stage. Again, in retrospect,
I’m sure the timing had more to do with the band than the sun,
maybe. Yellow Sundress had at some point twirled away, possibly
upwards. Dennis came back to share our small blanket as we grooved
like only three middle-aged, white men can--horribly. But we didn’t
care and nobody else did for that matter. We were havin’ a good
time and that was what it was all about. At some point, the band or
possibly a concert-goer told us that Widespread was going to play
an extended show because the previous night had been cut short.
That was fine with me. Anything that extended the magic of the
night was A-okay!

We had not gotten as close to the stage as we
would have liked, but we did at least try to get in as
strategically placed an area as possible. We were immediately to
the left of the soundstage. I did that on purpose so that we would
have a point of reference to come back to. We were in a field with
thousands of other people with no formal seating and we were
wasted. Finding a particular person in that kind of environment is
not the easiest thing to accomplish. Think Wal-Mart at Christmas
time times ten.

After the first set break, there was the mass
exodus to the portable toilets and the various food and beverage
vendors. The johns were about a hundred and fifty yards straight
back from us and the vendors were maybe two hundred yards back and
to the left as we turned to look at them. Might as well have been
five miles in the state we were in. Dennis volunteered to lay claim
on the blanket while Paul and I made our way out to the head. I
think he wanted to stay back because the task looked entirely too
daunting when you looked over the sea of heads. I can’t say I
blamed him. If I’d had the foresight to wear Depends and just go in
my adult diapers, I would have. Don’t scoff at me!

There were lines, but they weren’t horrible.
The worst part was tripping your trees off and then going into the
small confines of a blue, plastic shell that smelled of piss and
chemicals. Shit, yeah, that was the bad part. At one point, I
thought I might be trapped by my bladder. If I had a watch, I think
I might have set a world record for longest piss. I got so tired of
standing, I leaned against the side. I will neither confirm nor
deny that at some point, I might have missed the little side
toilet. Give me a break! The thing is the size of a kidney, and I
was swaying like I was in gale-force winds. At least, I didn’t get
any on the ceiling to drip down on the next person.

I thankfully stumbled out from the head, now
feeling like I had been reborn. Paul was nowhere in sight. I could
tell I was still smiling from ear to ear because my cheeks were
burning from the muscle contraction.

“You done, man?” someone asked, trying to get
past me and into the toilet.

“What?” I said trying to focus on his/her
face, I’m pretty sure it was a guy. That would be good because he’d
understand about not being able to aim correctly. I still got out
of there though before he maybe called me on it.

Even over the PA, I heard him. “Why is there
piss all over the place? Am I stepping in piss?” he yelled, as I
evacuated the area.

I gleefully headed over to the beer tent,
because that sounded like just about the best thing on the planet.
Still no Paul, but I was keeping myself some really good
company.

“I would like three nectars of the gods,” I
told the woman running the counter.

“You have ID?” she asked blandly, probably
sick of listening to all the messed up people.

“I have three kids,” I told her. “Don’t you
see all this white in my goatee? That’s from them.”

“I don’t care if you have three elephants, if
I don’t see ID, you don’t get three beers.”

“Now three elephants would be pretty cool,” I
told her as I gingerly went to the pocket that housed my wallet. At
the best of times, when I am as sober as a newborn, I fear about
losing my wallet or dropping contents out of it. So when I go out
and know I’m going to be drinking, I keep it in a zippered or
buttoned-up pocket and my OCD makes me touch that spot a good
twenty times an hour to make sure that it hasn’t found a way out on
its own. I will usually keep a twenty in my front right pants
pocket for easy access with the added bonus of not having to take
my wallet out.

“Do I really look nineteen?” I asked, trying
to flirt my way out of getting my wallet out. I showed her the
twenty.

She completely shut me down. “No, you don’t
look nineteen at all, but I have to see everyone’s ID.”

“Your mellowing my high,” I mumbled as I
grabbed my wallet.

“Just think how mellow it will be if you
don’t get these beers,” she responded.

“You must have been a nun in another life,” I
told her, trying my best to keep an eye on any errant articles from
falling out of my wallet as I fished my driver’s license out.

“What makes you think it was a previous
life?” she asked, grabbing my ID. Bitch didn’t even look at it as
she handed it back. “Was that so hard?” she asked as she waited
impatiently for me to put all the contents of my wallet back
together and then try to find the twenty I had put back in a
different pocket.

“You have no idea,” I told her as I briefly
panicked until I located the wadded up bill.

Nineteen fifty for three beers. She took her
time with the change, I guess expecting me to tell her to keep it.
I waited patiently and she begrudgingly handed it over. I’ll be
damned if I was giving her a nickel for making me go through that
while I was in my altered state. I don’t think I won the particular
encounter, but I didn’t lose either. Now I had to try and figure
out how to get back. Easier said than done, but I figured at the
absolute worst, I would be alone with three beers.

I found the sound stage just as Widespread
came back on. I circled around a bit until I saw Dennis. He was
once again twirling around with Yellow Sundress; she must have
landed nearby. I looked up in the sky, I guess looking for her
falling vapor trail. I tapped him on the shoulder. The relief slash
joy that flooded across his features as he saw me was, in a word,
awesome, and then compound that with his added joy when he saw what
I was carrying was just plain cool as hell.