The drive through Georgia was a pain in the ass, believe it or not. Being forced into a tiny stock car, which was really only mean to hold a single driver with a little room for racing gear, with three other people wasn't exactly Nick's idea of a good time.
Then again, neither was the apocalypse.
Normally, he didn't like listening to the radio, but for once he wished that there was some type of background noise because anything was better than the awkward silence that settled over the survivors. He hated people in the first place; they were always so idiotic and he really didn't give two shits about what they had to say. But now he had to interact with them, without scamming them out of their money (it was kind of useless now anyway, god-dammit) and without attempting to shoot them when he got too annoyed.
They weren't the worst people he'd been around. Hell, they were better than the fucking tourists on the riverboats. They knew how to shoot a gun and they watched his back as long as he did and that's exactly what he did. The conman wasn't too keen on dying just yet.
The view outside the window wasn't that great: trees, abandoned cars, dead bodies, partially alive bodies, and more dead bodies. He sighed, turning his attention back to the inhabitants of Jimmy Gibbs Jr.
Rochelle was driving and not trying to play Hit The Zombie like the country bumpkin had been doing when he'd insisted on driving. Needless to say, that'd scared the shit out of Nick more than the freakin' zombies had when they first overran the riverboat he'd been on. She was pretty, but she didn't take shit from anyone and the way she talked to him sometimes scared the shit out of him. Just a little bit though, not that he'd ever admit it.
The kid, Ellis, was pouting in the back; he was pretty upset that they'd all coup'd him out of driving after his zombie killing escapade: auto edition. He was fidgeting, which didn't surprise Nick at all. The hick's mouth ran at a mile a minute and from the way he was bouncing his legs up and down, he didn't liked being in small spaces without doing something for too long.
And then there was Coach. The two didn't exactly see eye to eye. The big man was still worrying about other survivors and all Nick gave a shit about was saving his own skin. Minor differences. But he was a good leader and he knew how to get shit done, and he respected him for that.
There was a sound coming from somewhere behind him that sounded like humming, and sure enough, Farmer Joe was bobbing his head from side to side with whatever tune was vibrating in his throat.
Nick suddenly missed the awkward silence.
"Hey sport, how about we play the quiet game, huh?"
Coach and Rochelle promptly glared at him, which he gladly did back. He couldn't have possibly been the only one annoyed by the sound of Ellis' voice, right?
The hick didn't seem too phased; he simply looked at Nick through the rear-view. "D'ja say somethin', Nick? Hehe, guess I spaced out fer' a bit there, huh?" Ellis smiled, the conman's snide comment going completely over his head (what else was new)?
"It's fine, sweetie," said the former future reporter "You were humming and Nick was being a grump about it." She promptly gave him a stern gaze before returning her eyes back to the task at hand. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms further into his chest. She would take his side.
The young survivor quickly flushed. "Seriously? Damn, I was way more gone than I thought I was, that's 'fer sure!"
Coach chuckled lightly at Ellis. "It ain't the worst I've heard, I can tell you that much, boy! You should've seen my brother at our sister's wedding…" he was lost in the memory for a moment. Nick didn't particularly give a shit. A wedding was just the pre-ceremony for the divorce.
"Anyways," Ro interrupted his thoughts, "what song were you humming, sweetie? I think I've heard it before".
"Aw, I dunno, just somethin' I remember my mama always played on the radio. Something about a banana and a fi and a fo, I think?"
The non-grumpy passengers scrunched their faces in thought over something completely ridiculous. Who gave a shit what country bumpkin toddler song Ellis learned when he was in kindergarten? At least he got a moment of peace and quiet again. Who knows, maybe he'd actually be able to get some fucking sleep. He shut his eyes and inclined his seat back ever so slightly.
"Oh my god! I know that song!"
So much for sleep.
"The hell're you talking about, Rochelle?" he asked.
She ignored his rude comment completely and looked back at Ellis is the rearview. "It's the Name Game! My mama used to sing that song to me all the time when I was little."
"Hell, I remember that song! Used ta' play it for my nieces and nephews when I'd watch 'em. I know it started out with Ellis' name, but I can't remember the rest" Coach said excitedly.
"Woah, woah, what? I dun' remember my name bein' in any song, 'cept the one time my buddy Keith and I tried writing a song for our band instead 'a doin' covers, 'cause that gets boring after a while and he thought we should write one about all the crazy stuff we'd done, but then I said-"
"No, not you Ellis! Shirley Ellis! Beautiful woman with a beautiful voice she was. She was the one that wrote that song, youngin'".
The conman joined in. "This is all fascinating, but what does this have to do with anything?"
"Hey, maybe we could play a game 'er something. I mean, I already know ya'll's names and whatnot, but it's better than sittin' here doing nothin'!
He was sorry he asked. "Well you guys have fun building Legos with the other kids, but the adults are going to get some shut eye."
"Aw, what's the matter Nick bo bick?" Rochelle teased.
"Excuse me, sweetheart but what the hell did you just call me?"
Coach sighed loudly. "Nick, it's a part of the song! Actually, it's kind of fun to say. Nick, Nick, bo bick, bonana fana fo fick, fee fi mo mick!"
What just happened?
"Hey, yer' right, Coach! It is fun ta' say! See, that's what I've been thinkin' but I thought it'd be kinda weird ta' say, but when ya' say it like that, it's even better! Nick, Nick, bo bick, bonana fana fo fick, fee fi mo mick!"
Was this the fucking zombie apocalypse version of American Idol or some shit like that? "Haha, very cute, now how about we get back to-"
"Nick, Nick, bo bick, bonana fana fo fick, fee fi mo mick!" they all sang along like he wasn't about to jump out of the car window. Nick's fellow survivors kept repeating the same verse over and over again, occasionally replacing it with one of their own names before annoyingly going back to saying his verse fourteen fucking times.
And then he saw it. His salvation. Jesus Christ, there was a god after all! Or the universe knew that by now, he'd suffered enough for one car ride, thank you very much.
The hand-operated lever for the passenger window was at the bottom of his door, nearly touching the floor. As he opened it, the tone def trio barely registered the fact that he was trying to drown out the sounds of their song until the wind was blowing the maps every which way and they cried out in protest.
"Nick, you roll that damn window up right now before I turn this car around and shove you off the edge of that overpass we passed a couple miles back!"
God-dammit.