Chapter Text
Dear Frontflipa,
I hope my handwriting isn’t too awful. I hope that wherever you are, you’re doing well. Maybe you’re even reading this! Maybe you’re smiling down over my shoulder. That’s a nice thought.
It’s day 99 now. I know I said I would stop counting the days, but you’re gone, so I don’t really see the point anymore. Tommy is sending an army. You remember him? You never met him, but I told you he was lost, right? He was a kid who didn’t know how to help himself. I don’t think he’ll ever find out how.
I tried calling for all those friends we made but no one showed up. I don’t think I’ll live beyond tomorrow. So, if you are reading somehow, I’ll find you. No matter where you are. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re in heaven or hell, God knows we’ve done enough to get into either, right? I’ll find you no matter what.
I love you, Flipa. You’ll always be my little girl.
To whoever else may be reading: keep surviving. I know my friends will.
—Charlie
Charlie closes his supplies chest and heaves a breath. His entire arsenal suddenly seemed meager in the face of what was soon to come. Not enough food, not enough potions, not enough defenses. He called for his friends and they didn’t have the decency to show up. How was he supposed to fight an army with a diamond greatsword and a wizard LARPer?
What kind of zombie apocalypse survivor was he? Always pulling through by the skin of his teeth, and now...
“I don’t even have my fucking daughter,” Charlie whispers, rubbing his eyes. What was the point of fighting Tommy, of fighting an entire zombie apocalypse if he didn’t have anyone left to fight for?
He takes a moment to breathe in, but he doesn’t cry. He doesn’t think he has any tears left, anyway.
“What am I going do without you, Flipa?” he mumbles, pulling out his photograph of her. The pair are grinning, taking a selfie in their enchanting room. Their faces are dirty, but their smiles are bright. A rare moment of peace for the two of them.
He stands up and puts the photograph back in his chest pocket, then brushes off his armor and opens the door. “Do I even have enough stuff by myself—” he wonders as he walks through his base, before he hears—
“Hello, Charlie.”
Charlie freezes. The blood immediately drains from his face and his fingers begin tingling with fear. Everything suddenly feels numb, like an ice cube to a nerve. “No,” he whispers in disbelief, then raises his voice to shout, “Hey, you’re just checking in, right? I still have a few more days, right?” He quickly strides to the wall of his base and crests the top of it, pinpointing the figure on the other side. A red shirt, mussed blond hair, a self-satisfied smirk. He knows that smirk all too well.
“Hello, Charlie,” Tommy says again. Charlie's eyes flick from Tommy to the crowd of zombies behind him, expressions of hunger painted across their faces. The sight of zombies is terrifying, but the sight of them standing to heel like obedient dogs is even worse.
“How about we take a few more days?” Charlie filibusters. “You were talking all this business about an army, how about we just call it off, you know? We don’t need all this. I mean, you’re obviously going to lose, your zombies aren’t going to make it through. I had five days to set up defenses—”
“Shut up,” Tommy snarls, taking a step forward. “Shut the fuck up.”
Charlie does.
“You don’t understand, okay?” Tommy says with a wave of his hand. His diamond spear glints in the dying light of the day. “I brought this curse into the world, not to make it worse, but to save it! And you’re getting in my fucking way, killing all of my boys and keeping your brain all to yourself. I mean—one hundred days? What were you trying to achieve? You’re fucking pathetic!” Tommy takes a calming breath, wipes the manic smile off his face, and says, “You’re dying today. You know why?”
“Why?” Charlie grits out, his grip around his sword tightening.
“I taught the zombies to do math.”
“I can’t even do math,” he mumbles, glancing down.
“Hey, look at me—look me in the fuckin’ eyes.” He waits for Charlie to glance up, then continues. “You have two options. Either you’ll fight me, and all my boys, or you give up.”
“No, I—I made it. I made it ninety-nine days, with the help of my... of my friends, and they’ll...”
Neither of them say a word.
The silence, save for the groaning of zombies, is deafening.
“They’re not here, are they?” Tommy says with a smile. His voice is dangerously sweet, like poisoned honey. “They’re not coming. Oh, you’re such an idiot. Just give up.”
Charlie’s grip around his sword loosens. Then, he tightens his fist.
“No. No, I’m not giving up. Not while I still live. Fuck you.”
“Oh, whatever,” Tommy says with a roll of his eyes. “Take him out,” he nods to the zombies. “Now you die, Charlie Slimecicle.”
Charlie readies his sword. Then, the onslaught begins.
In the end, Charlie’s friends do show up. The mega-joint worked, and he, Ronald, Florida Man, and Wizzly all face the zombie army together. They fight until the base is on fire, til Wizzly calls a meteor, til Tommy’s zombie horde runs out and Charlie corners him in the street. As Charlie backs Tommy against the fence, he sees dawn break over the horizon, its light washing the road in pink and gold.
“Hey buddy,” Charlie snarls, “were you going somewhere?” He holds Tommy at sword length. They're both battered and bloody, but the sunlight shines sweetly on the both of them.
Day 100. He made it.
“So this is it,” Tommy mumbles, staring down at the ground. Charlie watches his hands scrabble at the iron fence behind him. “This is where you defeat me. Just... just kill me already.”
“That’s the plan,” Charlie says, and swings his sword.
Then, he swings it again. And again. And again.
“Just get it over with,” Tommy despairs. “I don’t deserve to live.”
“Dude, I’m trying,” Charlie grits out, swinging his sword again. “It’s just, uh, just give me a moment.”
Tommy looks up and stares at the blade that swings at him but doesn’t cut his flesh. “Oh... how interesting.”
“No, not interesting! Stop moving, just give me a—” but Tommy takes a step forward, and Charlie takes a step back.
“You can’t injure me.”
“Well, if I try hard enough—”
Tommy loosens his grip from the fence and Charlie goes silent. He looks at the spear by his side, then back at Charlie.
“If my army couldn’t take you out, then I will myself.”
“You don’t need to do that, I me—WHOA!” Charlie darts out of the lunge of the spear, then turns 180 degrees and high-tails it off the bridge.
“Fucking get back here, you bastard!” Tommy shouts after him, but Charlie is too busy teleporting away to respond. “Why are you—how are you so fucking fast, damn!”
"Because,” Charlie exerts, “because, Tommy, as of today, I keep it fucking one hundred!”
“Stop fucking running away! I’ve won!” Tommy shouts.
“Yeah, maybe at the losing competition!” Charlie yells in response.
“Fucking stop!” Tommy screeches, but Charlie doesn’t say anything back. The world flies by in a blur of color. Charlie's face is set into a line of grim determination but his heart pumps with the excitement of the chase.
Please let this work, he thinks as he jumps down the steps of the laboratory and into the final room. He can hear Tommy fast on his trail, but he’s too busy searching for the lever to the machine to care. Where, where, where...
“Any last words, bitch?”
Charlie turns to face Tommy, his hand on the lever. Memories of Condi, his work with world-hopping, and of Flipa's smiling face flit through his mind.
“Yeah,” Charlie says. “If this goes right, you shouldn’t feel a thing.”
The world dissolves into white.
Charlie is standing on a hill. Tommy’s corpse is laid next to him, impaled by his own spear.
Did he... did he kill...?
Charlie can’t remember. His hands are coated with blood. He doesn’t know whose it is.
His gaze travels past his hands to the ground, which seems to be getting a lot closer. Huh, that’s strange, Charlie thinks right before his face smacks into the soft earth.
His eyelashes are crusted over with blood. He can barely raise his head, but he manages to tilt his eyes up slightly to see the sunstruck horizon beyond the trees. Pretty. Glad I can... see this before I die.
Then, a white splotch enters his hazy vision. A sigh escapes his mouth. He’s too tired to be scared of the threat of zombies any longer. He won. He's finished. He just wants to see his daughter again.
However, as the splotch gets closer, the face is not that of an undead, but of a white, bear-shaped mascot.
What fresh hell have I landed in now? is all he can think before the haziness overtakes his vision, his head drops, and everything goes black.