"Her name was Beverly. Beverly Hills" said Columbus.
"You dog..." replied Tallahassee, slightly envious. He didn't entirely believe the little spitfuck's story about the Fed Ex truck, but hey, he'd play along. Who knows, maybe the twerp was more of a man than he let on. Maybe Miss Beverly Hills was a real broad. Stranger things happened these days.
"So, what about you?"
The question hung in the air for a while, conversation put on hold when they spotted what used to be a stuck up business woman munching on some poor, unsuspecting fucker. Tallahassee wasted no time in nailing her head with the car door as they passed, and Columbus just shook his head, once again thankful that he was at least on his companion's good side (or the closest thing to it).
Nearly an hour had passed before the question was finally answered. "There was this girl a few weeks back." He let out a hearty laugh, swerving for the hell of it, "Found 'er in a grocery store. I nearly blew 'er fuckin' head off till I realized she wasn't dead. You think I got a Twinkie thing? Shoulda' heard her go on about Red Vines." Tallahassee shook his head, "Well, anyways, picked her up and she rode with me for a while. Cute little fucker; red hair, jeans and a t-shirt, only thing she had with 'er besides her sawed off shotgun was this massive plaid bag. Swear she had a whole fuckin' convenience store in there..."
He never caught her name, nor did he care. He didn't wanna get too attached to her, and she seemed to have the same mindset. 'No more attachments' was a motto he held dearly to. Attachment simply meant someone close he'd have to take out eventually.
So he called her Ginny. It was the hair, he figured now, that stirred the name, and she didn't seem to mind. Judging by some of the patches on her bag, she was a Harry Potter fan, too. Of course, this was something Tallahassee would never publicly admit having knowledge of. But they were one of Bucks favorites, and he loved to listen to his dad read them.
Though the name may have created more of an attachment to this girl then he would like to admit, anything that was a good memory of Buck was considered alright in Tallahassee's book. Maybe it was because of this new fondness of this girl's name, or maybe Tallahassee was being nice; regardless she rode with him for a few days, glad to be off her feet more than anything.
"I've been walkin' for a week straight. Some little shit of a zombie decided to jump in fronna' my Mustang. Splattered my windshield, made me drive straight into a fuckin' wall. I never killed a kid before, but I let that mother fucker have it. You don't fuck with my cars, and especially not my 1970 Boss." While he didn't agree with her choice in cars, he could, at least, understood her passion towards 'em.
More than that, he sorta pitied her. She had the mouth of a sailor, a trigger happy finger, and plenty of battle scars to show she was tough; but there would be times that he'd wake up in the night and see her crying to herself, curled up in a ball with a few pictures in her hands.
He got the pictures away from her one night, after she was asleep. Not that he cared or anything, more of curiosity than anything. He could only assume they were the people she'd lost. There was a girl, taller than she was (and with bigger tits, too), and a chubbier boy, they looked like they were at an amusement park in that picture. In another, she was hugging another girl who was closer to her height; her hair was much longer here, and she had braces in it (she was a youngin', by his standards). One picture didn't even have people in it, it was just of what he figured used to be her room; there was a fat black and white cat on her bed. There were others, but he stopped after the cat. It was too personal, and he never got personal. It was one thing to have sex with her (oh, and they had, many times in many places - she was a freak), but he didn't want to know where she came from, what her story was. Things had gone farther inside his head than they needed to.
They parted ways about a week later, he didn't even know where they were exactly; all he knew was that she spotted a bike that she liked, she gave the him the roughest kiss goodbye he'd ever had, swiped his bottle of Jack, and was gone.
"Wouldn't mind runnin' into that one again." He sighed, then saw Columbus looking at him funny. "Yunno, cause she was a good lay. And the best shot I'd ever seen, comin' from a lady. She was nice to have around; she liked killin' them fucking zombies 'bout as much as me."
His thoughts went to the pictures in his wallet, of Buck, and one he'd nicked of her smiling, with that damn old Ford, to his nickname he gave her, then to the books he used to read to Buck. At that point he shook his head; God he wanted a fuckin' Twinkie...
A/N;; Credit for this story has to go to a friend of mine, who wrote up the mini drabble that inspired it and worked on the full one-shot with me. To David, my fellow Peppy Little Spitfuck. :]