Three Drinks from Chaos

“So how do you create a zombie?” asked Pat. Or was it Pete? Something like that. The guy fiddled with his passenger seat again, scooching forward. And then, he fiddled with the AC.

“So it’s a shot of rum, to start,” said Aaron, “and then half a shot of overproof rum.”

“Rum and rum?”

“Yup. It gets better. A shot of orange juice – fresh – and then half a shot of lime. Also fresh. And then, couple drops of bitters–”

“–oh, nice!–”

“–yeah, and then, just a dash of absinthe.”

“You’re shitting me.” Pat – Pete? – even grabbed his ball cap and held it to his heart.

“Honest to god. And then.”

“And then?”

Aaron nodded, smiling as he passed an RV on the highway. Much less traffic going north than the other way. “And then, the final ingredient – actually, I’m forgetting some things. Simple syrup, mint garnish, et cetera. But anyway, the pièce de résistance: a shot of falernum.”

“Fa… lernum? What’s that?”

Aaron’s smile broadened. The sun, knee deep into descending at two PM, brought to mind a little beach-side bar in Honolulu. A postcard honeymoon, Jane’s laughter. Had it really been twenty years? They started off like a refreshing margarita on a hot day, but now with Jane basically living at her sister’s, their marriage had gone room temperature and flat.

“Falernum, yeah,” he said. “There’s a lot that goes into it. Cloves, lime, et cetera. But basically, it’s more rum.”

***

They met in the parking lot of the LC, earlier that morning. Another restless Saturday after another argument with Jane. A phone argument, as that’s what they did now.

The lot was empty – except for an elderly couple leaning against each other as they shambled to the ethnic grocers – and the lights in the liquor store were off. No usual flashing “OPEN” sign; not even the other one advertising the lotto. But Aaron chose to ignore that. The locked door, he couldn’t ignore.

He frowned. Might have sworn. There was a piece of paper taped to the glass.

We apologize for the inconvenience, but this store is closed due to the strike, affecting store employees and those in the distribution centre. Limited service is available at the following locations, while supplies last: And it listed three. Three for all of Winnipeg.

Still? Seemed like they’d been striking for years.

“Shitty, eh?” said a man, rounding the corner. Pasty legs painted a burn-red, greasy shorts and hair, and a bonafide non-vape cigarette in his mouth.

Aaron grunted. “Yeah, I guess so. Says the Grant Park location is still working though.”

“Nope.”

“Nope?”

“Nope.” The guy dropped his cigarette and smeared it with his shoe. “They ran out of juice yesterday. Believe me, I checked.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Oh, did I ever. Whole city’s out.”

Aaron groaned. The cloudless sky promised a cold beer day. “They can’t actually be out though, right? I mean, there’s a warehouse somewhere.”

“Yeah, but they’re not distributing. Fair wages, and all that.”

“Right, right.” Aaron felt something roil in his gut. “Solidarity.” He meant the word the first time – months ago? – but now it was losing all meaning. Now, with their unending talk of fair this and respectful the other, they sounded more and more like Jane every day. “I guess the bars aren’t open yet either.”

“Nope. And a crapshoot if they’ll have anything. And if they do, you know they’ll charge you for it.”

“Yeah.” What the hell kind of Saturday was this going to be? All he wanted to do was relax a bit, collect himself. He sighed, regretting not having paced the last of his Crown Royal. To enjoy a smooth moment of peace before bed, at the expense of tomorrow – the perpetual question. Drinking was such sweet sorrow.

“But hey, listen,” said the stranger. “Just so happens, I know a place that’s still selling.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, buddy of mine told me. Outside the city, but not too far.”

“Well all right!” Aaron rubbed his hands together. “Where is it? I was getting worried there for a moment.”

“Well,” said the guy, dragging out the catch. “What about this. You give me a ride there, and I’ll show you.”

“A ride?” A sweaty weirdo in his Accent? That seemed unlikely. Just then his phone dinged. At the top of the screen, a notification: a text message from Jane. call me, we need to… Aaron’s thumb hovered, poised to unlock.

“Yeah, man. It’s win-win. See, my car broke down, and I could just kill a Glenlivet.”

On the other hand, a man who knew his Scotch couldn’t be that bad. He pocketed his phone again. “All right, sure thing, buddy. Hop in. I’m Aaron, by the way.”

“Pat.”

***

They rode into Beausejour at nearly three PM. That couldn’t be right, Aaron thought. He’d left the house just after ten. Had he really spent most of the day chasing a dream with a stranger?

“Just pull onto Park,” Pat said. “It’s down a ways, a place called Terry’s. Guy I used to work with is the evening manager. Officially they’re closed, but he’s got a little side thing going on.”

Aaron mumbled agreement. Traffic was bad on the highways, but it was also surprisingly bad in this little town. Did people spend their weekends here?

“You don’t think other people heard, do you? About your buddy, I mean.” If this was another waste of time, like Steinbach, Aaron didn’t know what he’d do. Of course, when the city ran out of booze, everyone flocked to the nearest towns to get their fill. They assumed Brandon would get hammered – and it did, with the radio reporting backed up traffic all along the Trans-Canada – but Steinbach got thumped too. The LC’s parking lot there burst at the seams, with cars spilling all over the residential roads. Fat lot of good it was anyway, since apparently they’d run out of stock early that morning.

Fat lot of use that buddy of Pat’s was. Hopefully this one panned out.

“Nah, doubt it. It’s a low-key thing. Not exactly legal.”

“Oh.”

But it was happening again. More cars the closer they drew to Terry’s. Not the chaos of Steinbach, but not promising. Lots of people on foot, chatting in groups. Gawking.

“The hell is going on,” Aaron muttered.

He pulled into the gravel lot and that’s when his stomach sank. There were four squad cars there and the front of Terry’s was covered in police tape. The door to the place was off its hinges, and most of its windows were shattered.

“Jesus, what the hell?” said Pat. He perked up, his eyes darting around wild. It was the first time Aaron’d seen him agitated. Seen him anything other than an irritating laid back.

“That’s just great,” Aaron muttered again. He shifted into park, closed his eyes, and hissed at the Accent’s roof. Three PM and nothing to show for it. A day totally pissed away. Worse, he was starting to really feel it. His stomach’d been queasy since he woke, and the omnipresent throb in his head was asserting itself, but now he was starting to feel the heat, too. The heat and the cold, like his body couldn’t figure out what it was. All he needed was a shot, just something to take the edge off.

And to make things worse, Pat started shouting into his phone. Maybe trying to track down his buddy, maybe trying to salvage things, but what was the point. If he cut his losses now, Aaron could still try to find a bar in town.

His own phone dinged, and he saw another message from Jane. i think you can see that, i think you understand my… Twenty-two unread messages in all. Jane, scribbling a novel via SMS. At least she wasn’t screaming again. He wondered why she was sending texts instead of calling. Maybe karma caught up to her and killed her voice. Or maybe…

Jane always preferred to write the serious things. Said it helped her focus, helped her really work her point out. Well, they’d thrown the D-word around enough times that it wasn’t serious any more. If it happened, it’d just be a formality. So maybe she was actually reaching out? He’d never suspect her of apologizing, but maybe this was her olive branch.

His thumb moved to unlock his phone – and then his rear car door opened as some lanky guy just sat in the back.

Aaron sputtered, pocketing his phone, just as Pat turned around in his seat.

“What the hell, Dean?” said Pat.

“Oh man, everything’s fucked,” said Dean, burying his face in his hands. “Some people broke in this morning, tore the place apart.”

“Jesus! Who did you tell?”

“I’m going to lose my job, Pat.” Dean moaned.

“So, you don’t have anything?” said Aaron. It wasn’t the question he meant to ask, but he couldn’t deny it was the most pressing.

“Naw, man. They took everything and smashed the rest.” He put his fingers on his wrist, as though listening for a pulse. His bug-eyed grimace said he didn’t like what he heard. “Christ, day I’m having, I could really use a drink.”

“Tell me about it,” said Pat.

Aaron frowned. Two sweaty strangers in his Accent was two too many, and the charm of this day had worn off. It was time to salvage what could be salvaged. “Right. Sorry to hear about your trouble, uh, Dean. Thing is, this is my car, and I’m going to need you to–”

“–Wait!” Dean shouted, raising a jubilant finger high.

“What?” said Pat, his hands grasping at the air. “You got something? You know someone?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got an idea. This whole strike thing, it’s our problem, right? But they don’t got it in the States.” He grinned wide, and spread out his hands. “We just drive down to Minneapolis.”

Aaron’s breath caught in his throat. This day was a waste, he knew that. He knew it. And driving down to the States would be its own special hell, since they wouldn’t be the only ones with that idea. They didn’t have any original ideas, it seemed. But, it would work. And that vague hope, that alone was enough to steady his hands, to turn his body back to room-temp. He exhaled his frustration.

“You got gas money?”

***

Three hours later, the sky split between yellow and blue, they were nearing the border. It wasn’t even that bad a drive. Jane stopped pestering his phone, and Pat and Dean were decent enough company in many ways. They reminded him of himself, back in college. And if he was honest, he’d admit that he hadn’t changed all that much himself.

And there was excitement in the car. They had plans. They’d load the Accent up good, but first they’d load themselves up better. Overnight it. Relive some of their greatest memories, like that kegger in ’04, or The Night Dean Discovered Jello Shots.

Aaron let himself smile, as his car inched forward, just one more hungry beast in the horde. It was looking to be a good weekend after all.

“Aaron! Aaron!” Dean said.

Aaron brought his mind back to the car. “What’s up, buddy?”

“Question! Pat was just telling me about this awesome thing you made.”

“Shoot.” They shambled forward another inch.

“So how do you create a zombie?”