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“Can we stop please?”
Columbus eyed Little Rock who was slumped against her seat, her forehead pressed to the frosty glass of the window. She had the most wretched expression on her face, thin lips twisted into a frown. They were currently driving almost 80 on an abandoned highway overpass, and Tallahassee had no intention of stopping.
“Why?” Tallahassee growled from up front, hands tightening around the steering wheel. The burly Southerner always had a problem when it came to rest stops, save for the occasional Twinkie run, which Columbus didn’t find fair at all. He tried asking the older man just a little while ago if they could stop at an isolated See’s Candy shop to snag some chocolate, but all Tallahassee had done was scowl at him and continue driving, not once stopping until Wichita complained of a full bladder. Reluctantly, he pulled off to the side. Florida didn’t want piss staining the interior of his hummer.
“I really need to use the bathroom, and I need some Midol,” Little Rock mumbled, tapping her forehead against the window. Recently, like about two months ago actually, Little Rock had discovered the joys of womanhood: her monthly flow. Columbus remembered it like it was yesterday. Little Rock had gone to the bathroom in some dilapidated Arco gas station after they had eradicated all potential threats, a.k.a. zombies. Not even a minute had passed when she let out a blood curdling scream. Wichita booked it like death was licking at her heals, thinking maybe Little Rock had run into a zombie and was in dire need of assistance, but after meeting up with the girl and thoroughly explaining why blood was coming from down south, the girls had asked if Tallahassee could drive them to a nearby Albertson’s to pick up some necessities.
Yep, and now it was that time of the month. Again.
“Fuck, fine,” Tallahassee grumbled, merging into the next lane before swerving onto the off ramp. Hm. Bakersfield. Nice.
It had only been a couple of months since the Pacific Playland fiasco, and they were still in California, although they never really stayed in one city for too long. They’d seen it all, from Venice Beach to San Francisco and everything in between. They had coasted down PCH so many times that they were growing sick of the never-ending stretch of sand and water, yet they hadn’t the heart to leave yet. Maybe in another month they’d drive up north and try out Oregon for a change.
Tallahassee turned into a Shell gas station and parked in a handicap space , turning the ignition off with a flick of his wrist. “While y’all busy taking a shit, I’m gonna’ find myself a Twinkie.” He left with a slam of the door, a sledgehammer in one hand and a pistol safely tucked away in the waist of his jeans. Columbus watched as Wichita and Little Rock filed out of the Hummer, each carrying their own brand of weapons.
Little Rock lingered behind and shuffled to the front of the hummer, poking her head through the window on Ohio’s side. She smiled at him. “You mind getting the Midol while I’m in the bathroom?” Columbus bit his lip and nodded at her. With a shuddery sigh, Columbus also got out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. His trusty shotgun was pressed to his chest as he entered the gas station—the door was gone, splinters of glass riddling the asphalt. He gulped.
Yes, he was still that same paranoid little shit he was all those months ago when 406 showed up on his doorstep and promptly tried to eat him. Okay, maybe he had slightly improved. Shooting zombies, which were once sentient beings mind you, on a daily basis was a rather mind-blowing experience. Ignore the pun. Each double tap empowered him; it was wild and thrilling and exhilarating all at the same time, and remarkably a confidence-booster. Still, he followed his set of rules like the Bible. It had gotten him this far. He was still alive and breathing, and occasionally blasting the fuck out of zombies.
Anyway, he had to provide back-up. He was usually that one guy who always brought up the rear, watching the backs of both Wichita and Tallahassee. He was fine with it too—he never really wanted to be a hero. Too much work.
“Tallahassee?” Columbus whispered, trampling over discarded Snickers’ wrappers, a sign that there had been looters. He had to be extra quiet. Zombies had an amazing hearing range and any little sound would surely alert them that there was fresh meat in the building. The fuckers. He trudged his way past the registers, occasionally slipping over puddles of Gatorade and oddly enough, beer. Did zombies get wasted too?
“Over here, spitfuck.”
Columbus followed the gruff sound of Florida’s voice, eventually making his way to an aisle that housed cakes and other kinds of deserts. Tallahassee stood before the treats with his arms crossed over his chest, a scowl on his lips.
“They fuckin’ never have Twinkies!” he spat, slapping a box of Zingers to the floor. Columbus shot the other a watery smile. It was true. For some strange reason, it was hard finding a box of Twinkies in California.
“They have Snowballs,” Columbus pointed out. He grabbed a pack and stuffed it into his sweater pocket. Tallahassee shot him a pointed look, which actually read, “Just shut the fuck up.” Columbus closed his mouth and awkwardly shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, hugging the shotty tighter to his chest.
“While you’re here cursing at the Zingers, I’ll be looking for the Midol,” Columbus said quietly, patting his sweater pocket.
“Hurry up then,” Tallahassee growled after him. Columbus walked out of the candy aisle and traipsed towards the back of the station, spotting a specific aisle in the back that seemed to have bottles of medicine lining the shelves. When he finally made it to the aisle, he let his eyes browse across the rows of medicine, smiling when he spotted a white bottle with a red label slapped to the front. Even run-down Arco’s catered to every woman’s need, it seemed.
He pocketed the Midol and made to turn around, but a throaty shriek made Ohio tense, causing the ex-college student to spin around on his heels, shotgun held out in front of him. A zombie, a woman this time, stood crookedly at the end of the aisle, her neck bent at an odd angle, bodily fluids dribbling down her chin. Her face was streaked with blood and some of the flesh was rotting and peeling in places. One arm hung limp at her side, the other spazzing and twitching beside her. She bared chipped teeth and growled, blood spattering on the floor with a sick squelshing sound. With one more piercing shriek, she sprinted down the aisle, her bare feet slapping against the tile.
Ohio shakily held out his gun in front of him, trying to pin-point her head. He was having a rather difficult time aiming. Columbus gave up trying to shoot when he heard her cries getting louder. He lowered his gun and found she was only a few feet away, limping her way after him. He spun around and booked it, tearing across aisles of chips and toilet paper, smacking into the link of refrigerators lining the back end.
“Tallahassee!” he cried, looking over his shoulder. The woman was hot on his heels.
“I got this’un.” Florida suddenly stepped from out of nowhere, twirling the hilt of the sledgehammer in his hand. Columbus slowly backed away, wondering why Tallahassee didn’t just run forward and slug the bitch, but of course, he should have known by now. Florida was the type of person who actually enjoyed killing zombies to some startling degree. The Southerner enjoyed dragging out a killing to immeasurable lengths. If Tallahassee wasn’t such a bad-ass at killing them, Columbus would have been slightly more worried.
Columbus could hear the zombie’s screeches getting louder, the hostile sound leaving a slight ringing noise in his ears. He winced when she accidentally rammed into a display case showcasing the Pennysaver. Tallahassee let out a laugh. “Alright,” Florida muttered, tilting the brim of his cowboy hat over his eyes. He drew his arm up and let the sledgehammer’s handle rest on the curve of his shoulder, the weighted top nearly grazing Ohio’s chest. The kid gulped.
Right when the zombie was merely a foot away, Tallahassee swung his well-endowed arm and slammed the sledgehammer to her forehead, her skull giving way with a sickening crack. Fragments of her skull pushed up through her skin, tearing through the flesh and shredding tendons and veins. Blood burbled and seeped down her face, running over his lips and staining them a revolting shade of pink. She stumbled and floundered to the ground face first, her fingers raking the floor. Her body lay on the ground, twitching every once in a while as a vermilion puddle of blood teemed from underneath her head. Tallahassee sauntered the rest of the way over to her, spitting at her writhing body. A deep chuckle rumbled through the older man’s chest as he held his hammer aloft, blood dripping from the top.
“Double tap,” Columbus offered quietly from the background. Florida pursed his lips and glimpsed back at the kid, rolling his eyes when Ohio made a “double tap” gesture by swinging his shotgun downwards.
“Yeah, yeah,” Tallahassee grumbled. Raising his sledgehammer, he swiftly brought it down upon the woman’s skull one last time, and then continued to do so again and again, and again, and again, until he felt Ohio’s hand on his arm. Florida dropped the hammer and let it fall the ground with a loud clunk. “I want my fuckin’ Twinkie.”
Ah, so that’s why Tallahassee had gone a little mental while finishing her off. Columbus should have known. When Florida had a hankering for a Twinkie, he could get a little irritable. It had been a good three weeks since he last had one anyway.
“I got the Midol,” Columbus muttered, shrugging his shoulders. “And I think I saw a Food4Less about a mile away. There’s probably some there. We could check and-- .” Ohio was cut off when he felt a rush of warm air and a pair of chapped lips pressed determinedly against his own. He sputtered and instinctively took a step back, but a strong, calloused hand snuck its way to the nape of his neck and held him firmly in place. Florida’s lips moved hungrily against him, kneading his lips until they felt numb and all Columbus could do was slump against the Southerner and surrender to the ferocity of the kiss.
“Best idea you had in a while, ya’ lil’ shit,” Tallahassee murmured, grinning as he pulled away. Ohio’s cheeks were stained a dark shade of red. The kid hurriedly wiped at his mouth, hugging his shotty to his chest once more.
“Y-yeah,” Columbus whispered, still in a daze.
“Come on spitfuck, yer driving us there,” Tallahassee said over his shoulder. He was already at the front door when he stopped and turned around, crossing his arms over his chest. “Git’ a move on, boy.”
Columbus nodded when Tallahassee turned away and stepped outside. Eyeing the comatose zombie at his feet, Columbus stepped around her and trotted towards the candy aisle once more, stuffing another Snowball into his pocket. At least he got the Midol.