We stopped and got out of the car. The town around us did not look promising; if you could call it a town. There were few houses and far more crumbling remains strewn about the pavements than standing buildings. Shop windows were smashed and I could smell ash. It was a strong smell. I coughed and then proceeded to gawp at the place. It was utterly deserted. My hometown had become a ghost town.
"Kid?" said Tallahassee.
I clutched my rifle to my chest. It hid my crossed fingers. I gulped and strode forwards, nearly tripping over the rubble.
The others followed. I was thankful for their silence, I had too much on my mind to consider conversation. I was too busy hoping beyond hope that my parents were still alive. I knew how slim the chances were.
As I led the way I was ten times more aware of my surroundings and rules. I was breaking several just returning here, but I had to know.
When we arrived at the house gate all I could do was stare. The gate was all that remained. Wreckage cluttered the lawn along with a bloody, disfigured hand. My mom's wedding ring gleamed at me.
I closed my eyes and lent heavily on the gate.
"Oh my god." muttered Wichita.
I couldn't tell if that was a horrified response to the broken home or the state of me. I took a deep breath and turned to face her, not bothering to wipe the stream of tears from my eyes.
"Let's get out of here. This was a bad idea."
She nodded. That was when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I whipped round and found myself face to face with my zombie-fied dad.
"Christ!" I exclaimed and started to back away.
"I'll handle this –" Tallahassee began, raising his gun.
"No!" I said, fighting to control my voice. I couldn't let Florida hurt my dad - "I'll deal with him."
I spared a few seconds to wonder why I'd volunteered to murder my father before jamming the butt of my rifle into his stomach. He stumbled backwards which gave me little time to think. He was a zombie. He was already dead. No emotional attachments.
I braced myself and shot him, double tap - one bullet in his chest the other in his head. He flopped to the ground beside mom's hand. I marched back towards the car whilst the others exchanged worried glances. My tears had gone from a stream to a flood.
No emotional attachments.
Yeah right.
I got back in the car and let Tallahassee drive whilst I sat quietly in the back seat. The girls insisted on heading straight to Pacific Playland despite the distance. I think they wanted to lighten up my contagious mood. I didn't particularly care where we went so long as it was away from Ohio but Tallahassee wanted to stop at the next supermarket for yet another Twinkie raid. I could tell it irritated Wichita but she eventually agreed on the condition that he'd let Little Rock drive for a bit. I groaned inwardly at the memory of her last driving lesson and I could tell that even gun slinging Tallahassee wasn't too keen on the idea.
I said nothing. I hadn't said anything since I – well. Can you blame me? Those empty eyes are going to haunt me forever.
We stopped so the girls could take the front seats and Tallahassee joined me in the back. It didn't take long for the arguments to start and it wasn't even over Little Rock's driving technique. It was about which actors she had and hadn't heard of. I paid little attention to the conversation and tried to not think about the home I'd left behind. The family I'd deserted – no, destroyed.
"You haven't heard of Bill – "
He said the name. I exploded.
"DON'T SAY THAT!"
For a second there was a stunned silence.
"Jesus spitfuck! Why the hell not?"
"Bill was my dad's name."
"Right. Pull over at this station."
"What?" complained Little Rock.
"Just do it."
She pulled over, with a little directional assistance from her older sister. We all got out of the car and Tallahassee marched into the shop. We followed him and watched as he brutally killed all the zombies he could find; he was armed only with a pack of Cheetos. I've said it before and I'll say it again, Tallahassee turns murder into art. He turned to us.
"Watch and learn." He smashed the till onto the floor. Wichita grinned and followed his lead, smashing another innocent object. "Doesn't that feel good?"
I stared at my friends in bewilderment as they started to destroy the gas station.
"Come on guppy, it's fun!" encouraged Wichita.
What the hell. It's not like I had anything to lose.
I joined in with the rioting. I think the others were a little shocked by my enthusiasm but I certainly wasn't. I had a lot of steam to blow off. For just a moment I allowed my anger to take over. When I ran out of items to break I jumped on the wreckage underneath my feet, squashing it into the floor. I barely noticed the others staring at me. They'd stopped to admire the show. Tallahassee let out a low whistle.
"I didn't know our little spitfuck had that much fight in him."
I finally stopped smashing and turned to face the others.
"Let's go."
I took a step forward and nearly fell over. Shit I was tired. All that breaking had really taken it out of me. Sure it had been really satisfying but now I was exhausted.
When we returned to the car I virtually collapsed into the passenger seat. For a while I dozed, listening to the conversation.
"What was your best time in Zombieland?" asked Wichita. Tallahassee instantly went on a tirade about zombie kill of the week, Little Rock said driving and Wichita mentioned being able to take whatever she needed including parking spaces. Soon all eyes were on me. "Come on Columbus, we know you're not asleep."
"Erm…" I thought hard. My experience in Zombieland had been fairly horrific. I killed my hot next-door neighbour, I discovered my parents were dead; the best part had to be – "meeting you guys."
Wichita smiled.
"It was nice to meet you too."
"What was your worst time?" piped up Little Rock.
"Losing Buck." said Tallahassee with a sniffle.
He showed us the picture in his wallet. I gave him what I hoped was a soothing pat on the back, feeling guilty for not realising sooner that it was his son he missed – not his dog.
The girls said the same thing concerning the loss of their parents and I knew where they were coming from. Everyone is an orphan in Zombieland.
Once again all eyes were on me. I didn't need to think about the answer to this question.
"Shooting my dad."
There was silence.
"What?" said Little Rock eventually.
"That zombie I shot back in Ohio was my dad." I said, fighting back tears.
I'd done enough crying for one day so I closed my eyes and attempted to get some sleep. It worked alright. I could see my bloody, zombie parents running towards me. Mom was missing an arm but the other reached out to me. I was unarmed and rooted to the spot. Dad opened his mouth.