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    Ronnie's Candy Cabaret
    Ronnie's Candy Cabaret
    Ronnie's Candy Cabaret
    Ebook56 pages52 minutes

    Ronnie's Candy Cabaret

    By D.M. Draper

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    The world had gone to hell, zombies were stalking the streets, and all Ronnie wanted to do was to keep his gentlemen’s club in order while having a good time. Was that too much to ask? After accumulating a fair share of the city’s drugs and alcohol then barricading the door, life inside the club seemed relatively stable for a while. That was before some of the survivors participated in a dangerous prank that exposed them all to danger.
    The situation quickly spirals out of control and Ronnie is left to stop the infection from spreading through the building while trying to cope with a veteran struggling with PTSD. Will the survivors be able to put the club in order again? Or will their carelessness lead them to the same fate that has ravaged the city?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherD.M. Draper
    Release dateDec 21, 2015
    ISBN9781311853073
    Ronnie's Candy Cabaret
    Author

    D.M. Draper

    D.M. Draper is an American living abroad in the bowels of the Middle Kingdom. After graduating with a degree in International Business from Temple University, the author moved to the East and started writing fiction. He lives alone on a college campus where he teaches the nuances of the English language, studies Mandarin, and plays too many video games.

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      Book preview

      Ronnie's Candy Cabaret - D.M. Draper

      Party Apocalypse:

      Ronnie’s Candy Cabaret

      By D.M. Draper

      Copyright © 2015 by D.M. Draper

      All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

      Printed in the United States of America

      First Printing, 2015

      http://www.dmdraper.com/

      Ronnie kneaded his fingers. The coke he'd done the night before had left his mind feeling a little fragile, like a cracked fishbowl leaking water. He waited for a reply over his shortwave radio while seated at his desk in the back room of the club. It was so quiet he could hear the clock ticking on the far wall with its irritating, faultless rhythm.

      What's taking those fucks so long? he asked himself out loud.

      He took a swig from his flask. He didn't know why he kept transferring his liquor from the bottle to his flask. The bottle was sitting right in front of him, and he knew where the contents were going to end up. He checked the clock; about ten-thirty. He rubbed his temple with his fingers. Why was he drinking at ten-fucking-thirty in the morning? Ever since the world had gone belly-up, he'd been putting some pretty unhealthy crap into his body and he knew it. He just didn't know how to cope with things. No one did.

      Ronnie jolted up from his chair before his train of thought became too emotional. He walked down the hall, checking his gun in its holster as he went and entered the den of the club. Someone had left the light on for the mirror ball above the stage, so the room was full of revolving beads of light on the walls and floor. To his right were the circular couches where men used to pay to get lap dances, twenty dollars a pop. Since the club had become a haven for a bunch of lucky fuck-ups that had somehow survived a kind of holocaust, they now used the padded seats as a place to sleep.

      Mellie and Monique were nestled across from one another in the first nook to the right. John, Shawna, and Jessica were sleeping in all the others, and it looked as though they'd passed out in the course of boozing, smoking, and God knows what else. The tables in the den were littered with all kinds of drugs, pills, powders, and liquor bottles. He looked away to the cranny where Perry would sit to play music and introduce the dancing girls and thought he could really use some tunes right then but wasn't sure which song would suit his mood. He rubbed his balding head and considered going up on the roof to get a look at the world out there. Though it triggered a feeling of dread in his stomach—the thought of the world out there—he still wanted some fresh air. He checked his watch; ten forty-five.

      Ronnie stepped back through the security door, came around a corner, and climbed the ladder to the roof. The brightness of the world outside blinded him, and he squinted until his eyes adjusted. The morning sky seemed so serene that for a moment he sighed and took a deep breath. He stepped across the roof and found a Grupo Modelo beer box sitting there. He was about to investigate when he heard the moans, the seemingly endless reminders that things were still not the same. Gooseflesh broke out along his arms; his brother, Gabe, called it the heebie-jeebs, and that wasn't such an unusual expression those days.

      He readied his gun as he trudged over to the edge. He peered over the side of the roof and saw a group of those dead things gravitating around the front door of the club. One was a tall, stringy-looking creature with a ponytail. The other used to be a man of average height, and it wore a blue boiler suit with John embroidered on the little nametag on its chest. Ronnie pointed his weapon.

      Hey, he hissed. Hey you… dumb fuck.

      The tall one looked up at him.

      We don't open until eleven, Ronnie said before he shot it in the head. The man's left eye vanished, and thick squirt escaped the back of its skull, but that didn't seem to faze it. It reached

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