We've had kind of a rule about alcohol around here--never keep enough in the compound for anyone to get drunk. Personally, I don't drink. Neither does Matt. Just about everybody else does. Back in the real world, a drinker could take a Friday night to go out with their friends, have a little too much to drink, call a cab and go home. The worst that happens is a hangover, an unexplained tattoo or a sexually transmitted disease. In the middle of a zombie apocalypse, having too much to drink is a great way to kill yourself.
If you think about it, al we have over the zombies is reflexes, coordination and intelligence--three things that we willingly surrender when we have too much to drink. I made a couple of soapbox speeches about the dangers of alcohol when we first got together, but I knew I was outvoted so I settled for the "Don't get drunk rule." For the most part, they've followed it (which is really incredible under the circumstances--there's been many a night I wished I could drink myself into another world).
Anyway, all that is going by the wayside, now. When we send half of our group out on their northbound journey, we're going to tie one on like it's the end of the world (pun intended). I might even have something myself (I think I can drink whiskey or something if I mix it with coke--I hate the taste of alcohol). To pull this party off, we had to hit the liquor store.
We weren't the first to hit the liquor store, as you would imagine. The good news is, nobody ever takes much--it's just not practical, so there was plenty left for us. The bad news is that a few guys aparently drank themselves to death right in the store, because there were three fresh looking zombies in there. The problem with multiples is the sound of the gunshots. We're not sure how sharp the zombies are, but Matt says that in the army the snipers tried not to fire twice from the same location, and never three times because it would give away their position. Even the roof patrols we instruct not to fire more than two shots at a time. Anyway, this creates a real freakin' problem when you open a door and three zombies are coming at you. It creates an even bigger problem when a certain dumbass who shall remain nameless misses one of them at point blank range.
The fact that none of us got killed was a flipping miracle. One of them did manage to draw blood on me, though. Not a bite, thank God, but a cut. I hacked the zombie with a machete and I got more shoulder than neck, so it was still coming at me. The blade was embedded and I used that to keep its head away from me, but the hing was able to push me into a shelf and I got cut, I think from a broken bottle. I got to see a real old west zombie kill--Shawn broke a bottle of whiskey over its head. Okay, we really killed it with the machete, but the whiskey bottle sure got its attention. The other two went down a little easier--shotgun and axe (after a missed pistol shot).
My cut's not bad, but these days anything could be fatal, so I got it cleaned up, treated and bandaged real well when I got back. We brought back enough booze for the party, too, so I guess it's mission accomplished. It's going to be the ultimate irony if I, the tea-totaler, die from a cut I got from a bottle in a liquor store.