A buffet of catastrophe

Everybody's phones chimed notifications. The warnings were all random, and sporadic with “AMBER ALERTS”, “SILVER ALERTS”, and “LOCAL NOTICES”. Their phones buzzed repeatedly, and nonstop, while the notifications overlapped.

Chase: “We're almost there, guys. Let's just kill the phones, and celebrate! Come on, it's party night!”

The “fancy” hotel Chase blustered about was the “Mountain View Inn”. It might not be the skeeviest of places, but it wasn't steeped in any glamour either. This place had all the magnetism of a burned out trailer park near Chernobyl.

They got out of the limo, and made their way inside the lobby. Jackson stayed behind to ask the limo driver how long Chase had allocated for the stop.

Driver: “He said an hour or so. Maybe two. Either way, I have a car situation to deal with.”

Jackson took $20 from his wallet, and gave it to the driver.

Jackson: “Please be back in an hour and wait over there.”

Jackson pointed across the street to the “Lil’ Skamps Burgers & Malts” drive-in restaurant. It had an oversized neon character sign that stood elevated. It was a boy dressed in overalls, with a slingshot in his back pocket. Its mechanical arm held a white hankie that waved up and down as if signaling “GO” for a street race.

Driver: “I'll do what I can…. Gotta head back to the garage for a swap. This thing is running too hot.”

Jackon: “Okay. Thank you.”

The limo drove off, and Jackson joined his friends in the lobby. They stood with their backs to the frontdesk watching the local news on an old mounted tube TV. The female reporter was in the midst of her story.

Reporter: “.... at the St. Peirre wellness center, local law enforcement agencies have begun a coordinated effort with City cr…”

The television clicked off. A crotchety old man stood behind the desk, while biting on a dead cigar. His dentures slipped as he removed it to speak with them.

Oldman: “What brings you fucksticks in here?”

Jackson didn't respond. He was fairly sure this fossilized prick was judging them for their clothing. They were all dressed “business casual”. Which was something this skeletal bumpkin probably considered to be “marryin’ britches”.

Chase: “Hey, Rudy it's Chase… We spoke last week about that room.”

The oldman went back to his cigar, while sneering at them.

Oldman: “Ah yes. Shitters party of four.”

He turned to get the room key, mumbling something derogatory. Nobody paid him any mind. He dropped the key in front of Chase, and grilled him.

Oldman: “I dont know what you faggots are gonna get up to in there, but, you tell that skank shes not allowed to sleep here!”

Chase picked up the key, masked his embarrassment, and led everybody outside.

Aiden: “What wedged itself in his asshole and begged for death?”

Jackson: “Poor son-of-a-bitch. It's probably his wife.”

Aiden and Chase laughed hysterically, but Griff wasn't amused. Jackson didn't mean it as a dig towards Griff. It was just the first thing he thought.

Jackson: “Sorry, Griff! I didn't mean it like that.”

He patted Griff on the shoulder, and Griff chuckled. He knew Jackson had a habit of saying whatever he thought. Jackson was notorious for being the nicest asshole you would ever meet.

As they went around the side of the office, they entered the courtyard. Jackson wondered how many rolls of nickels Chase had to lay out for the deposit. The couple of trees that weren’t overgrown were dead, the rusted railings were held together with threadbare screws, and a prayer. The empty decaying pool had collected more trash than a legion of raccoon families. If this place ever had any “charm”, it was likely pawned for a gallon of rotgut, and a pack of rat tampon cigarettes.

The crew laughed, as they made it up the wobbly staircase to room 247. Chase stopped the group by waving the key above his head, quieting everyone down for an announcement.

Chase: “I want to say words. Good words. Nice words… But, I'm drunk and sad I couldn't do better for a bachelor party than a delopitated room…”

He unlocked, and opened the door to a room filled with liquor, inflated condoms, and one very tired looking stripper.

Chase: “...and only one stripper!”

She was laying on the bed, but had quickly darted into the bathroom. The Television was on a different channel, and the reporter was only heard briefly.

Reporter #2: “Police and fire crew services are wea….”

A different screen popped up announcing “BREAKING NEWS” with a jingle, just as Chase turned it off, and grabbed the bottle of Jose Cuervo.

Griff: “Dammit, Chase! I thought I said no stripper! I don't want Claire finding out, even though it’s innocent.”

Chase fired back a shot, and handed Aiden the bottle. Wiping his mouth, he said:

Chase: “I know, but I couldn't do much else. Besides, it's not like she's a “stripper” stripper, it's Alley Binxer.”

Griff laughed, and took the bottle of Cuervo after Aiden took his shot.

Jackson: “How is a stripper not a “stripper”, and who is Alley Bingster?”

Griff: “Binxer. She's not a professional stripper. We all shared some classes with her back in college. Man, I almost forgot about her!”

Jackson: “Be that as it may, why is she here stripping?”

Chase: “She owed me a favor.”

Jackson: “...so you’re having her do sex work as payment?!”

Chase: “Whhhooooaaa! What do I look like, Larry Flint? It's nothing like that. She was working on a project with Aiden, and overheard our conversation about Griff.”

Aiden: “She offered to do some sexy dancing, and light stripping since she owed Chase a favor anyways.”

Jackson: “Light stripping?”

Chase: “G-string, and light topless. Still tip her though! She's a poor college girl!”

Jackson took the fireball bottle and fired back a shot. Then another. Seeing the place, knowing the situation. It all felt like the beginnings of a true crime special edition episode on the fucking I.D. channel.

Moments later, Alley came out of the bathroom. She was wearing a flimsy ultra tight magenta dress with thigh socks, and tall black platform heels. Jackson could tell she was attractive, but tonight she looked like she had the flu. She was sweaty, clammy, and seemed to be struggling to stand.

The guys took their seats, except Jackson. He slipped into the bathroom, where he discovered lines of cocaine on the sink, next to a rolled dollar bill. Music began in the other room, as they hooted.

Jackson: “Swell… a druggie.”

He looked into the sink, and found some bloody bandages. The closer he looked, he realised something wasn't right.

A boom shook the bathroom door just moments later. Jackson immediately opened it, and Alley fell backwards into the doorway. She had a bloody nose, and her pupils were jiggling.

Chase: “WHAT THE FUCK?!’

Griff and Aiden scrambled to her.

Jackson: “Christ, I think she's O.D.ing!!”

Griff: “GET HER IN THE TUB, NOW!!”

Jackson assisted Griff picking her up, and moving her to the bath. While adjusting to ease her in, Alley's acrylic nail sliced Jackson's neck.

Aiden monitored her pulse, while Griff ran to grab an ice bucket. Chase was trying and failing to get his cellphone to work, while Jackson ran and tried to call 911 from the room's landline. The phone screamed a busy signal.

Griff: “Jackson, take this and get some ice right now!”

Jackson dropped the phone and took the bucket. He ran out, and down the stairs. Near the bottom, he suddenly felt woozy. His eyes couldn't focus, and he got badly light headed. He felt his brain swimming as he collapsed.

When Jackson awoke, all he could hear was sirens, and a low pitched buzzing. His vision was blurry and seemed to throb. Shadows and silhouettes danced in a rather jarring way, as he rubbed his eyes. He saw movement against a larger object, as he stood up, and wiped his face.

A man in a black suit jacket was hitting the driver side window of a car while groaning. Jackson started to panic. He wasn't sure what the hell happened, or what to do. The man batted against the glass, and Jackson heard screams from inside the car. Jackson took a breath, and ran at the attacker.

He then found himself face down with the attacker now behind him. He was more than a little confused.

Jackson: “What the fuck?”

The guy inside the car howled. Jackson went to push the attacker, and watched as his hands dissolved into him.

The attacker turned slightly towards Jackson.

What he saw chilled him to his core.

Jackson was now face to face with… himself.

He was freshly deceased, and attacking a car.

Jackson: “What fresh hell…?”

Jackson, the body, went back to hitting the window, as Jackson the ghost tried to see his own reflection. Not seeing it was scaring him. He decided to run to the office, and was yanked backwards with an invisible force. He got up, and tried hard to run, gaining no purchase whatsoever.

Aiden: “Don't bother man.”

Jackson looked around, hollering for Aiden.

Jackson: “Aiden? AIDEN?! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!

Aiden: “Up here, fuckwit.”

Jackson looked back at room 247, and there was Aiden. Moderately transparent, and stuck halfway in the room's door. He looked like a video game glitch.

Jackson: “What the fuck is going on?!”

Aiden: “Dunno. You left, and were gone for a while. Alley woke up, bit me, and Chase beat her to death with an iron. Then he and Griff must've taken off. I woke up a bit ago. I'm stuck under the bed and can't get outside.”

Jackson: “Why can't you get outside?”

Aiden: “I dont fuckin’ know! Probably the same reason you can't run anywhere.”

Jackson tried to run again, and was still not moving at all. Every which way he tried, he could only get about two feet away from his dead self.

Aiden: “Isn’t that just a fucking gas? Your body dies, comes back, and assholes around, while your ghost gets to watch it all. Just a fuckin’ hoot.”

Jackson: “Think that's why you’re stuck in the door?”

Aiden: “I mean, yeah… but it's still better than being in there with a dead girl, my re-animation, and a bunch of booze I can't drink.”

Chase appeared by the car Jackson's body was beating on.

Chase looked around, and saw Jackson. He yelled:

Chase: “YOU MOTHER FUCKER!! WH…”

Chase tried to run at Jackson, and was yanked back just inches before he could touch him. His upper body fell through the fender and wheel of the car.

Chase got to his feet, and into Jackson's face.

Chase: “Why the fuck did you bite me?”

Jackson pointed Chase's attention to the moving corpse of himself.

Jackson: “I didn't bite you. That crusty fuck did.”

Jackson's corpse had now lost interest in the car, and lumbered towards the office. His ghost tried to lure him back.

Jackson: “No this way! This way! Come on ya fuckin’ dickhead! Go this way!!”

Jackson's corpse began stumbling left where he tripped over a concrete parking block, and broke off a passenger side mirror with his face.

Jackson: “Motherfucker…”

Aiden hollered to Jackson:

Aiden: “I'm not sure how any of this works, but I don't think you get much of a say in where he goes.”

As Jackson's corpse shambled to his feet, and ambled away, he could see Chase trying to open the car door, while Aiden laughed at him for constantly falling through it.

Aiden: “... no no, keep trying the door. Maybe it'll work this time…”

Chase: “SHUT THE FUCK UP!!”

Jackson's carcass bumbled through the courtyard, towards the entrance, while his ghost was casually being dragged backwards on his ass behind himself. He heard screams and heard three loud blasts from the office. He looked to see mobile stiffs eating the old prick manager, as their ghosts dry heave and try to look away from the carnage.

Across the street at “ Lil’ Skamps” now caught Jacksons attention. He stood up to see their limo driver shooting at a small horde. In doing that, a couple of their ghosts disappeared into a wisp of smoke. The driver got into the limo, and cranked out of the lot. He cut off an ambulance which swerved, and crashed into the “Lil’ Skamps” sign.

Jacksons ghost fell backward watching it all unfold. His corpse kept shuffling on, while towing him along. He watched an old Chevy truck that was covered in the undead come peeling out, while their ghosts were yanked along at breakneck speeds. The driver fishtailed the truck onto the road knocking a few corpses off up against the wrecked ambulance. The restaurant was on fire, and anybody with a car was scrambling to escape. One such car flipped and hit the sign again. The mechanical arm detached and spattered some stragglers that had fallen off the old chevy.

Jacksons entity got to his feet, and looked towards downtown. Smoke was billowing from multiple areas, and there were random explosions and gunfire everywhere.

The restaurant's fire reached the gas lines, and exploded. Debris, and body parts rained from the sky, as the last few people fled.

Jacksons apparition followed himself, as a couple others joined him. They were all in various states of mutilation, and all seemed to be heading towards downtown.

A woman's ghost struck up a conversation with Jackson. Her mangled body suggested she had lost a battle to rogue weedeaters.

Weedeater: “Do you have any idea what's going on?”

Jackson: “No clue.”

Weedeater: “Well, whatever it is, it's…. Odd. I watched myself eat my boss.”

Jackson: “Eww! I'm sorry!”

Weedeater: “Don't be. He was a pri…”

A utility van swerved, mowing her, and two and a half other zombies down, before smashing into a traffic light. Their ghosts just vaporized, and the driver of the van was ejected head first through the windshield, as his ghost sailed butt first right behind him. Jackson figured he must've turned while driving.

The residential areas poured more dead onto the streets heading downtown. People were still racing frantically. Their carelessness was making more and more undead. There were numerous wrecks and accidents where groups were feasting on the injured, and incapacitated. When Jacksons body tried to join them, the eaten would manifest a spirit and their bodies would join the masses.

The Police were stretched thin and losing ground, while armed citizens up and joined the fights… and were losing worse.

Seeing all the chaos, and carnage, Jackson resigned himself to just being hauled along. He knew he would either be “killed”, or find a buffet of fresh meat. He didn't care either way. Afterall, what could he do about it?

A guy in camouflage was running towards a mob of the undead, and firing a gun wildly. The shooter managed to put a bullet into Jackson's chest. It hit his flask of Bacardi 151 and caught his corpse on fire.

Jackson: “Missed me, prickfarm. Shoot my fuckin’ head!”

An undead group of three swarmed, overtook, and began to eat him. Jacksons body wandered over for a snack, while he scrambled to his feet trying to protest.

Jackson: “Oh no! NO NO NO!! Please don't eat him! Come on!!”

Jackson tried to run again, but it didn't matter. His corpse was famished, and it was supper time. The other three were already snacking while their ghosts just stood by and watched. If they would’ve been holding beers, they would have looked like the opening credits for “King Of The Hill”. Jacksons flaming corpse knelt down, and began to eat.

The ghost in the Carhartt jacket was the first to address jackson.

Carhartt: “Having fun yet?”

Jackson: “It's supposed to be?”

Carhartt: “No, but what else can you do?”

A ghost that wore bicycle spandex chuckled and added:

Spandex: “As much as I hate to admit it, this is all pretty damn funny!”

Jackson: “Now why the fuck would you say that?!”

Spandex: “When the news first broke on this, there were people all over my neighborhood that didn’t believe it.”

Carnhartt put his hand up, and said: “Guilty…”

Spandex: “There was nothing funnier than when a small wave came into our neighborhood, and people came out of their houses pointing, and screaming at them.”

A fellow in a Tommy Bahama shirt started chuckling with Carnhartt, and Spandex.

Bahama: “That truly was some funny shit!!”

Spandex: “They all came out yelling propaganda bullshit to the undead!”

Bahama mockingly: “You're not real! You're not real! Fake news! Fake news!”

Carnhartt looked like he could have peed himself laughing. Bahama, and Spandex were wheezing, and laughing with him.

They took a collective sigh, while still giggling.

Bahama: “Man do I wish my ghost could hold a phone. I'd put this shit on instagram.”

Spandex: “Right?! A selfie of us all laughing, watching our rotters eat this redneck asshat!”

Carhartt: “Don't forget to hashtag it! #best.apocalypse.ever.

Jackson had to laugh. These guys were nuts.

Jackson: “So what now?”

Bahama: “Well, you'll probably come with us if your corpse doesn't burn up first.”

Jackson: “Is there a way to control how this works?”

Carhartt: “If there is, it's news to us. We just kinda cluster, and hobble along to wherever we smell meat I guess.”

Spandex: “He's right. I was a vegan before this. A fucking vegan. If I could control my dead ass, I’d be gumming a fucking tree right now.”

A ghost decked in camouflage appeared next to them. Their corpses got to their feet, as did the boy in camouflage.

Camo boy: “What the hell?”

Bahama: “You died man. You're here with us now.”

Camo boy looked around to see the four ghosts watching over their former bodies, as well as his own remains. With that, he shook his head.

Camo boy: “Nah. You fuckers ain’t even real.”