The Zimventures #3
The Greatest Western Crossover in History!
Prologue
Zim, Do Not Fuck with This Thing!
When Fitz returned from the future he was not allowed to bring many things. But considering the danger he—and the world—had been in, Doc Brown left him with a device. It looked slightly like a flask. If any time-tamperers were to come after Fitz to put the future back on its dark and destructive path, he was to press the button on top of the device. He would be whisked away to another time where he would be able to rendezvous with Doc Brown.
At first Fitz decided to keep it on him at all times, but it got to be cumbersome after a while. He considered putting it in the living room for easy access, but he didn't want Zim to stumble on it accidentally. Instead he put it in his bedroom next to his gun and his Have Gun, Will Travel business card.
Despite this, one day he found Zim in his room, rummaging around. Sure enough, the fool was holding the time travel device.
"Nice flask," Zim said.
Fitz leaped over his bed and snatched the device from Zim's clumsy hands. "It's not a flask. In fact, don't ever touch this again."
"What? I was just admiring it."
"This is a very dangerous tool. Zim, DO NOT FUCK WITH THIS THING. If you need a flask, use my Boondock Saints flask."
"Fine."
"Besides, what are you doing here?" Fitz asked. "Didn't you just get a new job? Shouldn't you be going to work?"
"I got plenty of time," Zim said. And he did, for a change.
The two went their separate ways for the day, and the matter of the device was swiftly forgotten.
One week later Zim was feeling his oats. Though he'd spent most of his week either working or sulking—another girl had recently shot him down, this time in his apartment, no less. He'd managed to get her back to his place, but his drunken foolishness and puking turned her off. The next day he learned via Facebook that she'd just gotten engaged. It sent him into a downward spiral, but rather than sulk the whole time, he decided to take Fitz's advice. He was going to go out drinking.
Normally he only hit the bars with Fitz, but his roommate was currently out at the newly restored Tailgators with Brandon, and he was damned if he was going to that hellhole, especially after last time. No, he was going to go to a completely different bar this time, a place where he was unlikely to run into anyone he knew. But he needed a flask. Bar booze was too expensive.
Fitz usually kept his Boondock Saints flask by the alcohol bottles on the shelf in the living room, but when Zim investigated he noticed it was gone. Fitz had to have taken it with him to Tailgators. Just when Zim was about to curse himself he remembered that his friend had another flask, one that he kept by his gun. He rushed into Fitz's bedroom and picked up the flask. Then he remembered that he didn't have any booze to put in it. Had he really forgotten to go shopping for whiskey? This was unheard of.
Didn't Fitz have some Johnnie Walker Blue around here somewhere? He was about to start looking when he saw there was something strange about the cap on the flask. It looked more like a button. He thought maybe it was some kind of newfangled spring lock, so he pushed the button, thinking the cap was going to pop up and open.
Instead the world whooshed around him, swirling violently as everything he thought was real slipped away into a vortex of colors. There was a sensation of falling as his stomach tried to push its way out of his throat. Then something connected with his feet, and he collapsed to his knees. The world was bright—too bright—and the stink of dust was stuck in his throat.
Another scent overcame this first one: shit. Thick, fruity shit. When he looked down he noticed that he was kneeling in a giant pile of horseshit.
He gagged, puking onto the filth he already knelt in. He saw that he'd also managed to puke on himself. He screamed, "Why?! Why can't I ever catch a fucking break?!"
Someone guffawed. "Look at the 'tard flailin' in horseshit!"
Zim pushed himself to his feet, careful not to get his sneakers dirty. "Fuck you," he muttered. He didn't speak louder because he feared any kind of confrontation. Instead he cast his gaze around to find that he was no longer in Lisle; he stood in the middle of a dirt street with a row of old fashioned buildings all around him. Horses rode through the shoddy streets, and tumbleweeds crawled their way through the town. There was a door in front of him, and above it was a sign: DODGE HOUSE.
"Shit! I'm in Deadwood!" He assumed this because Deadwood was the only experience he had with the Wild West. He only knew this because of Fitz.
"You ain't in Deadwood, 'tard," an old man in a rocking chair said. He whittled at a hunk of wood. Nothing clear yet. "You're in Dodge City, Kansas."
Zim's stomach folded in on itself. What was it that Sam Beckett always said when he leaped into his new situation on Quantum Leap? "Oh fuck!" Zim cried. He knew there was no way in hell he was going to make it in to work on time tomorrow.