The beer was refrigerated over night, so the next day a huge party was unofficially declared at the community center. All of the cots were moved to the side, a stereo system was set up, and a bunch of mismatched tables and chairs were spread along the floor.
There were mixed feelings about that party as Cameron went on with his day. Some, mostly locals, didn't like how the town was usurped and its resources used on a whim. Others were glad to be able to blow off some steam. And the rest, like Cameron, didn't really give a damn.
With the first salvaging mission behind them rifle practice was no longer mandatory for the veterans, while an influx of new volunteers stepped in. Cameron didn't want to waste time or ammo at the shooting range, finding it more practical to do patrol duty, luring zombies to the wall, and stabbing down at them with a broken bottle attached to a handle.
"You prefer this or shooting them?" asked Marge, whom he had been partnered up with.
"Well, seeing as I have to be out there in the open to shoot, I'd say this," Cameron answered after pulling the bottle from skull of his most recent kill. He had to admit it was a nice change of pace being able to have a conversation with Marge outside the dinner table. Ever since arriving in Yuba all his time was spent at the firing range.
While Cameron had been friendly with the volunteer gunmen, Marge had made her own group of friends that sought to improve things in town. They organized a daycare to take care of the twenty-one children in town, found a way to maximize space, and a number of other boring things that people would rarely be thankful for. After arriving in Yuba she was really motivated to making improvements when the opportunity arose.
"So what the hell was your job?" Cameron suddenly asked.
"Huh?"
"Y'know, back before all this shit." It was a question that he'd wanted to know the answer to, but it was never important to bring up.
"Don't remind me," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "I just typed information down on a computer—company records, stocks, other crap. I was a glorified secretary. I'm only twenty-six, so I was worried that I would be doing that for the next forty years." She shook her head.
"So, what, you're glad all this happened?"
"Of course not! I'm just happy to be doing something more meaningful," Marge responded. "Well, what about you? Did you do anything interesting?"
"I was still in school," he answered.
"Alright, what did you want to do when you graduated?"
Shrugging, he said, "I never really knew. But a career test said I'd be a good social worker."
"Cam! Marge!" he heard Horace call from below them. "Party's from sundown to sunrise. Be sure to be there!"
"Idiots," Marge declared after Horace went to spread the word. "There are more important things we have to work on."
"Please, I overheard already that you were going."
She was caught. "Okay, fine, I'm going. What about you?"
"A beer-fest surrounded by drunken idiots? Not my scene."
"You're in high school! That's all the scene is."
"True, but—wait," he said. "HEY ASSHOLE!" Cameron shouted at a zombie headed their way. "Fresh meat right here!" The zombie gave off the usual snarl and charged. It slammed against the fence, desperately reaching its decaying hands up at Cameron and Marge. Unfazed, he just stuck the broken bottle through the skull.
"I never saw the point of getting completely shit faced," Cameron continued, as though he had done nothing more than pour himself a glass of water.
"Go. You need to relax just like the rest of us," Marge argued.
"If you say so," he conceded.
Just about everyone in town had shown up for the party. Jack was being watched over by the Harrison's, so Marge let loose and left Cameron in the dust to join her own friends. As Cameron stood there he suddenly noticed that the music changed from country to metal.
Curious, he went to the DJ and saw the table was piled with various CDs and MP3 players. There was rock, jazz, R&B, and so on. If he had to guess, the truckers must've chipped in for the music.
"Bad news, Cam," Horace said, coming up to him.
"What? I'll be forced to listen to shitty music most of the time? Who the fuck listens to Miley Cyrus?" he wondered, picking up the CD. Funny how even after a zombie apocalypse he still found time to hate the over-hyped bitch.
"No, the town government is trying to reassert its authority in the shittiest way possible."
"How?" he asked, and Horace pointed to large group of pissed off people.
"Look here, dickheads, I didn't see you out there risking your asses," one shouted to a group of middle-aged people that were blocking the way to the cooler.
"The law is the law," the one that seemed to be the leader said. "No alcohol to anyone under the age of twenty-one." It was then that Cameron noticed that most of the pissed off people were his age.
"That's bullshit!" he argued, appalled. Cameron may not have been planning drinking much, but it was the goddamn principle of the thing. So with that he joined the throng of pissed off people. What was even more of a disgrace was that some of them were National Guard—people whose job it was to protect those like the ones blocking their way.
"What in the living hell is this?"
Major Kyle made his way to the front of the group, looking perplexed.
"These minors want to consume alcohol," the leader said once more. "And since we're the only law here, it's out job to stop them."
Kyle looked like he was hit over the head with a mallet. "You people have to get your heads outta your asses!" the Major shouted. "Almost every one of these young men and women were responsible for getting this fucking beer in the first place!"
"The state of Wisconsin says that the legal drinking age is twenty-one! Or do you plan on breaking away from this country to form your own military state?"
It's just booze, Cameron found himself thinking.
The Major, though, seemed to have some to a realization. "No, you're right," he said, "this is still, after all, the United States of America." Those behind him looked crestfallen. "But you can't deny we're on our own," the Major continued, with a gleam in his eye. "So, I say that we carry on our great nation's tradition of democracy and take a vote."
Turning on his heel, Major Kyle marched towards the DJ. With a flip of the switch the music was cut off, and Kyle picked up a microphone.
"I have an announcement," he started, his voice gathering the attention of everyone in the room. "Seeing as we have most of the town's population here, I think this is legitimate.
"We here are isolated from the rest of the country, so it is up to us to continue enforcing the nation's law." He paused for dramatic effect. "But if some of us here deem some of these laws unfair I think it's our god given right to change them. For example," he said, gesturing towards the throng of discontent youth, "at least a fifth of our firepower—those that have risked their life to get us supplies, and will continue to do so—are under twenty-one. And because of that those people are saying they can't sit back and have a beer."
The majority of the listeners looked to the leaders of the government, and gave them a surprised and disgusted look.
"So for now, I say we take a vote on whether or not to change the legal drinking age from twenty-one to eighteen. All those in favor of changing the drinking age, raise your hand." With that the majority of the people assembled raised their hands. "Those against." A scant few, including the local leaders raised theirs. "Motion passed. Grab a cool one, guys."
The leaders of the local government were so shocked to see what had transpired, that they were easily pushed aside. Cameron, who had not planned on drinking much, started chugging down beers.
And in no time Cameron was officially shit faced, and he hated himself for that. He always had good control over himself, but those tight asses had simply pissed him off. So, he decided to cool it and grab a seat.
A little while later the chair next to his scraped on the floor as Marge sat down next to him. It looked like she had a few in her too.
"So enjoying your new right?" she asked, laughing.
"A bit too much," Cameron answered, pressing his palm to his forehead. "I just hope this new thing about changing the laws doesn't get outta hand."
"All we can do is hope for the best," said Marge, patting his back.
Cameron stood up shakily. "I'm going back to the house."
"Yeah, that sounds good."
Together they left and drunkenly stumbled down the road back to the house. Outside some people that were out that night chuckled as the two made their way. When Cameron tried to step on the sidewalk, he tripped a bit and Marge managed to catch him before he fell on his ass. In the process, he once more caught a whiff of Marge's hair. He grumbled in discontent.
"What's wrong?" Marge asked.
"It sort of sucks," he mumbled.
"What sucks?"
He took a quick look around to make sure they were alone, and what came out next was purely due to the alcohol: "That you're supposed to be my sister."
Marge stopped walking and stared at him curiously. "What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, starting to walk again.
"No." She grabbed his arm to pull him back, smirking under the moonlight. "Tell me."
"You're hot," he told her with a shrug.
Marge stared at him a bit more before starting to walk back to the house.
SHIT! Cameron thought, suddenly realizing what he'd done.
Back at the house it was all dark. Everybody had thankfully gone to sleep, and Cameron was just about to excuse himself to go to bed too. But before he got a single world, Marge slammed him against the wall.
"Do you want me, Cam?" she asked quietly and very seriously. "I wouldn't say no to a casual romp."
His eyes popped open and his jaw dropped a bit. "Seriously?" he croaked.
"Sure, why not?"
"What if someone finds—?"
"No one has to find out," she interrupted.
Zombies or no zombies Cameron Marsh, age eighteen, was a healthy, vibrant, (and drunk) heterosexual male that was being offered sex by an attractive older woman. He nodded…hard. Marge smiled and leaned in to kiss him. It started as a kiss, but it quickly got heavier and more passionate. Soon enough they were frenching, their hands moving all over the place.
Marge was clearly in control, and ended up guiding him to the bathroom. After locking the door behind her, Cameron was going to turn on the light but she stopped him.
"No," she said quietly. "We don't want to give anyone a reason to check in here."
He didn't argue and they went back to making out. Marge pushed Cameron onto the toilet seat, sat on his lap, and they started taking each other's clothes off.