I Love It When a Corpse Comes Apart
by Mizhowlinmad (HBF), 2010
Disclaimer: The Zombieland characters and the special guest characters do not belong to me; I'm not doing this for profit, but just for a bit of brain-splattering amusement.
Dedication: To A.M., who convinced me that this could actually work.
The climate in and around the ruins of Trona, CA only had one setting: infernal.
Which meant you either grinned and bore it and drank a shitload of warm Gatorade or you lost your mind. There was no third option.
Through the shimmering layers of heat, only four figures moved, and even then, only when they had to. Somewhere, not far away, the vultures sat, watching with ravenous eyes.
The only mercy from the heat was a narrow, six-inch strip just below the doors of the big H3. Currently, it was occupied by the youngest of the odd quartet, the only one small enough to crouch fully in its respite.
"You've been there for five minutes. It's my turn."
"Go to hell," Little Rock shot back, sticking out her parched tongue.
"Aren't we already there?" asked Columbus helplessly. His shirt was tied around his head like one of those guys he remembered seeing on CNN what seemed like years ago. At his waist was a metal canteen, which was nearly empty, and a sawed-off 12-gauge, which was not.
Tallahassee, eclipsed by the left side of the Hummer and trying to replace its blown-out tire, hadn't said anything for those five minutes. That could mean one of several things.
"You okay? Need any help over there?"
The response Columbus got was not only mostly profane, but there was something in it about Twinkies. Oh, shit.
They had been on their way to Laughlin, Nevada, a straight shot across the hellish section of Z-Land once known as the Mojave Desert. Somehow Tallahassee had gotten the idea that Laughlin was the place to be. Maybe it was because of the casino flyer he'd seen for the Palomino, a brand-new resort on a manmade island in the middle of the Colorado. A natural fortress with natural defenses.
There was also, he'd recently found out through a bit of research, a Hostess distribution center in Bullhead City, a stone's throw across the river.
Jack-fuckin-pot.
Ever since the adventure in the park, and the six-pack of the golden delights they'd scrounged from a crashed RV, Tallahassee had been in the mother of all angry-ass moods. His having to change a tire in 120-degree heat without any Twinkies wasn't helping matters at all.
Wichita replaced her sister under the scant shade. "I can't believe I used to have to pay for a tan like this." She made sure her 9 mm was snug in her waistband, pulled her sunglasses over her eyes, and leaned back as far as she could.
Columbus, though he hadn't said so, was really getting nervous, and it had nothing to do with the heat, or the lack of food and water, or the buzzards.
Where were they?
It was tempting to think that this fierce inferno would just cook the bastards like S'mores. But it was just that. A fantasy. They were there, somewhere. They'd come out when they were ready.
"All right, I got us some good news, and I got us some bad news."Tallahassee emerged, wiping down the layers of sweat and grime from his body. "Which one you wanna hear first?"
Wichita looked to Columbus, who looked back to Little Rock.
"All right. I'll tell it straight. It's gonna be a half-hour at least," he said.
"That's the…um…bad news?" Columbus guessed.
The taller man shook his head. "Shit, no. Bad news is, I'm fuckin' starving and we're almost outta gas and I still gotta work out here while you three act like you're at recess."
"Recess?"
"Shut up, 'Rock."
Columbus did a panoramic sweep of their corner of hell. Nothing around for miles. If something was coming, he'd see it. He spoke in the politest voice he could manage.
"C'mon. Can't I at least help?"
Tallahassee glared, but then shrugged. "Fine. Just gimme some of your hooch first."
7 Minutes Later…
"You're shittin' me. You don't remember fuckin' Voltron? Defender of the Universe?"
If Columbus had been standing up, he might have cowered. As it was, he was squatting already, so all he bothered to do was blink in surprise.
"Um…I wasn't born until, you know, 1987."
Tallahassee had been rapid-firing him with a roster of names. Once in a while he did that. It was like his version of a pop quiz. Some of the titles had been vaguely familiar for Columbus, but most had just drawn a blank stare.
"He-Man?"
"Wasn't he, like, some wrestler?"
"Thundercats?"
"Who?"
"Jesus on a carousel horse, kid! Airwolf?"
Nope. Nope. Nope.
He had the feeling that, if it had been twenty degrees cooler, Tallahassee might have kicked his ass just for good measure. As it was, the two of them were just too tired and sweaty and covered in melted bits of asphalt.
"If you weren't such an asswipe dingbat and you actually knew some of this stuff, maybe Bill would still be with us today."
He still hadn't let that one go. Columbus was convinced he probably wouldn't.
"Look, I said I was sorry, man."
Tallahassee grunted back. He violently rejected that apology every single time.
"Guys?" Little Rock's voice thankfully broke through the tension. "Um, we might have a little problem here…"
3 Minutes After That
It was a problem, to be sure. Not one the four of them couldn't handle.
Hard to tell how many of them there were exactly, with the air twisted into shimmering strands with the heat, but maybe a dozen and a half. All dressed alike in orange. Probably from a prison transport somewhere, now hungry for brains instead of cafeteria meat loaf and mashed potatoes.
"Hoooo-weee."
Nothing cheered up Tallahassee quite like the prospect of doing some superfluous zombie ass-kicking, no matter the lousy weather or his dearth of Twinkies. "You ready to have a little fun, ladies and gentleman?"
It had been bound to happen. They were overdue.
"What the hell is that?"
This time it was Wichita, and she wasn't pointing to the shambling little group of undead chain-gang escapees. Far down the road, something else was speeding in from the west. A black shape that seemed almost as big as the massive H3.
"Hunker down and shut the hell up. Y'all just let me handle this," Tallahassee said. He unslung his favorite machete from its leather sheath, lowered the brim of his hat, and stepped forward to confront both the undead and those who were still living.
Neither one of them has a chance, Columbus thought. Unless they just happen to have Twinkies.
The shape began to take form. A van, a big hulker with a spoiler and specialty rims. Hauling serious ass down the two-lane road.
Even from a half-mile away, they heard the chatter of gunfire. But it wasn't headed in their direction. These bullets were aimed straight into the horde of zombies. Several of them fell instantly, their heads exploding like overripe melons and spattering onto the tarmac.
The big van spun around, tires screeching as it did. One zombie went flying away as the passenger door smacked into its torso with a resounding thunk! Two men, both armed with subautomatic carbines, sprang out of the side door and began emptying clips.
Blood was everywhere, quickly turning the highway into a Jackson Pollack painting.
The biggest of the undead was a guy who might have used to play D-Line for the local football team. He made the mistake of wandering too close to the driver's side door, when…
WHAM!
"Nobody touch my ride and live to tell about it, sucka!"
The driver's meaty fist connected so hard with the zombie's neck that it simply snapped and rolled a few feet before stopping.
By then, it was over.
"Dammit, couldn't you save at least one for me?" Tallahassee bellowed.
"You won't be having any trouble with these guys any more." The man from the passenger seat pointed to the string of freshly killed and decapitated zombie corpses. He bit off the end of a fat cigar, lit it, and inhaled deeply. "Sorry for the mess."
"I don't FUCKING believe it…"
Columbus sputtered, "Who are these guys?"
"You're telling me you don't know?" Tallahassee's mouth was a perfect "O." "Man, we got some talkin' to do…"
5 Minutes After That
"So you knew we were friendlies all along, that right?"
"How could we not?" The handsome, sandy-haired guy winked at them and poured more of the water from his canteen. "You're up and around and driving, and you're not…" He did an uncanny impersonation of the zombies' grunting and groaning. "You just looked like you could use a hand."
The Hummer's flat tire was already changed and ready, thanks to the big guy who'd been driving the van. Wichita and Little Rock were hanging around him like two moons orbiting a giant planet.
"You're really good at that. Wanna stick around?" Little Rock begged him.
"Sorry. Gotta go our own ways." He reached into one of his vest pockets and handed her a tiny, plastic wind-up frog. "You wanna keep that?"
"Yeah!" She hugged him tightly, and he smiled.
Tallahassee had been pow-wowing with the two other men, the older guy and the one whose faded t-shirt read "Undead Or Alive." From what Columbus could tell, he seemed happier than a pig in shit. Whoever these other guys were, he was in awe of them.
"So you guys are just riding around? Freelance work, that kinda thing?"
"Sort of," said the older guy. "Not as many clients around, you know?"
"I kinda like it," offered the other one. "Every day's a new adventure, and the sight of blood never bothered me that much. It's the Big Guy there who really don't dig it too much."
"What are the odds that you guys would still be out there, just doing what you do? After alla this?"
A shrug from the older guy, and a laugh. "There's still plenty of slimeballs in the world, living or not. I just love it when a corpse comes apart."
Tallahassee chuckled. "You don't mind if I ask you guys for something, do you?"
"As long as it's not Dom Perignon. Afraid we're fresh out," the younger, goodlooking guy called out.
"You wouldn't be able to have any Twinkies in that van, would you?"
"Hey, what a coincidence!" The guy wearing the t-shirt beamed. "I love Twinkies. C'mon, brother, lemme fix you up right…"
And 10 Minutes After That
"You're shittin' me. Y'all are just shittin' me." The H3 was on its way to Laughlin again, Tallahassee at the wheel with a manic grin on his face and four Twinkies in his stomach. "You seriously didn't know who those guys were?"
"They gave me some Capri-Sun. Who cares who they were?" Little Rock shrugged, sipping and indulging in Cherry Splash bliss.
"They were all right," Wichita said quietly, secretly dreaming of the way the younger guy's blue eyes had caught the sunlight. "At least they fixed us up."
Columbus finished off the last of the granola bar they'd offered him. "Ummm…were they, like, the Dukes of Hazzard?"
"Didn't you guys ever watch The A-Team?"
In the rear-view mirror, he only saw two vacant expressions, matched by Columbus' own.
"Fuckin' kids. Ain't raised right."
And he started to whistle a tune…
Da da da, da da daaaaaaaa…..
"I gotta lot of education to give you yet. So listen up."
A battered sign was just outside: Laughlin, 99.
Plenty of time to fill them in on the basics.
Fini