The Zimventures #2
Where We're Going, We Don't Need Roads
"Zim! Wake up!"
Zim groaned. It took every ounce of energy he had to open his eyes, and even then he felt the lids creaking when they moved. Fitz stood over him, sipping from an energy drink with one hand and checking his phone with the other.
"Zim, wake up. It's almost four. Don't you have to be at work in thirty minutes?"
Zim muttered something unintelligible, even to himself.
"Zim, you just got this job. Do you know how long it took you to get a job since you lost the last one? The night you accidentally saved the world? It's bad form to be late for your second day."
"I'll make it," Zim said. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "It only takes me twenty minutes to get there."
A slight smile danced at the corners of Fitz's mouth. "It'll probably take you longer today."
"Why's that?"
"It's snowing. The roads are pretty bad right now."
"Oh fuck!" Zim rushed to the window to see the winter wonderland. Flakes the size of fists fell, and the entire parking lot was covered with at least two inches. It would probably take him ten to fifteen minutes just to brush off his car.
"Good luck," Fitz said. "We're all counting on you." And he gave a Fitz-Whistle as he headed for his room.
Zim leaned his head against the window and gave a tremendous sigh. The glass fogged up, obscuring his view, which was probably for the best. It was going to be a long day.
He backed away, leaving a grease smudge where he'd placed his head, and he went to the kitchen for an energy drink. Something told him he was going to need it. After a few gulps he put on his coat and prepared to step into the hallway to put on his shoes.
That was when the doorbell buzzed. Shave and a haircut, two bits. Who the fuck rang the bell like that anymore? The thought wasn't even finished when the buzz came again, this time more frantic.
"Goddammit," Zim muttered. He went out the door to the apartment and went for the door to the building. When he opened it a madman rushed in, melted snow glittering like diamonds on his yellow duster. His wild gray hair pointed in every direction from the top of his hot pink headband. Balanced on the headband was a pair of ridiculous wraparound sunglasses with what seemed like blinking Christmas lights on the frames.
He leapt at Zim. "Great Scott! I thought I'd never find you! Hurry! We must go!"
Zim tried to pull himself free. "I don't even know who you are. I'm not going anywhere with you, you psycho. Let go!"
The madman gripped him harder. "There's no time to explain! Someone's been tampering with time! You must help me undo this alternate reality! Or the world is doomed!"
Great, Zim thought. Not again. "I'm done saving the world. Find someone else."
"It has to be you! You're directly responsible! If you can't do it, then the world will follow this alternate course, and America will become a dictatorship! World War Three will be started! Nuclear weapons will be launched, and only 1.5% of the human population will survive!"
"I'm not going to lose another job like this," Zim said. "I refuse. Let go of my coat and get the hell out of here!"
"There isn't time to argue, Mr. Fitzgerald! We must go now!"
"Wait, what did you call me?"
"Is this not the address?" The madman held up a sheet of paper with an address written on it.
"Yes, it is."
"Are you not John Fitzgerald?"
Zim laughed. Your turn, Fitz, you bastard. "Nope. Let me get him for you. Wait here."
He poked his head through the door. "Hey Fitz! There's some weird old guy here to see you. He yells a lot, and he's in, like, a hurry or something."
Fitz came out of his bedroom and swaggered over to the door. "Oh hey. You must be Doc Brown."
"Great Scott! How did you know?" the madman asked.
"Future Booze Jesus said something like this might happen. What's up?"
"You're in grave danger! In the year 2017 you get married, and your child grows up to become the first dictator of the United States! He starts World War Three and nukes the world! Billions die because of him!"
"Whoa," Fitz said. "I get married?"
"Yes!"
"Ha-ha," Zim said.
"And I have a kid?"
"Yes!"
"I'm not into that," Fitz said. "We have to stop this from happening."
"Someone has tampered with time! In the original future, you never get married! You never have kids! The world is not destroyed! We have to stop you from meeting your wife!"
"Okay," Fitz said. "How do we do that?"
"We must go back to the future!" Doc Brown swiveled, pointing to nothing in particular. His stare was very intense, though.
"Sweet," Fitz said. "I'll be right back." He ducked back into the apartment, and when he emerged he held two energy drinks. "Can't go to the future without 'em," he said.
Both he and Doc Brown went out the door, and Zim hunched down to tie his shoes. At least it's not me this time, he thought. He'd done his best to forget the incident with Krimskep, but sometimes it haunted his dreams. Sometimes Krimskep won, and Zim never got Tapateos.
He went outside and slumped through the snow to his car. When he opened the door, a clump of powder fell onto his seat, and he cursed. He hated sitting in puddles. With another tremendous sigh he leaned in and turned the car on. He put the heat on high, grabbed the brush and began to clean his car off. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Fitz and Doc Brown standing by a DeLorean, both doors up so it looked like the car had wings.
"I don't know," Fitz said. "The roads look kind of bad. Are you sure you can handle this thing at 88 mph in this mess?"
Doc flicked his sunglasses down so they covered his eyes. "Where we're going, we don't need roads."
Fitz shrugged. "Cool. Let's go."
They both got in, and Zim was not surprised to see the wheels fold under the DeLorean. He was not surprised to see the car fly up into the air and disappear into twin blazes of fire.
"Ha-ha," Zim said again. He resumed cleaning off his car, but the more he cleared, it seemed the more flakes came down to cover it again. It was almost impossible to deal with.
The air overhead ignited, and the DeLorean reappeared. It circled around, and the tires came down again. In no time it landed safely from where it had taken off. The side door opened, and Fitz climbed out. He wore sunglasses that would have looked at home on Geordi's face from Star Trek: The Next Generation. He was dressed from head to toe in a yellow slicker with a red scarf around his neck. He also wore a hot pink headband. His cheek was bruised, and his lip was split, but aside from that he seemed to be in pretty good health.
"Thanks, Doc," Fitz said. "Drive safe, okay?"
He closed the door, and the DeLorean took off. Fitz laughed and waved. Then he saw Zim, who was still clearing off his car, and approached.
"Don't talk to me," Zim said. "I'm going to be late."
"You missed out on quite the adventure," Fitz said. "They have some new energy drinks in the future, but I couldn't bring any back. They're pretty strong stuff. And the Wii 5000 is pretty cool, too. I can't wait for the future to get here."
"I don't care," Zim said.
"Don't you want to know what the future is like?"
"Not interested." He got into his car, but the moment he did the engine died. He looked into his rear view mirror, into his own eyes, and he wanted to cry.
Fitz got in the passenger seat. "Things haven't changed much. You're still living here with me. You have a different job, though. And you're going bald. Not badly, but noticeably."
"Do I ever get my other sleeve?" Zim asked. He held up a heavily tattooed arm, comparing it to his other—blank—arm.
"No."
"Am I getting laid, at least?"
"No. You have a new phone, though."
Zim glared at Fitz. "I don't like your implication."
Fitz laughed. "And who's to blame for that?"
Zim sighed and fumbled for his phone. "I guess I'd better call in."
"At least the world's not going to end," Fitz said. "We have that to go on, right?"
Zim looked at his phone and realized it, too, was dead. He'd forgotten to charge it the night before. "Fuck."
Cris Zim will return in . . . THE GREATEST WESTERN CROSSOVER IN HISTORY!