Title: An Everyday Hero
Summary: . . . I've been bitten. /Columbus POV/No pairings/Rated for language/Character Death/
Disclaimer: I do not own Zombieland.
IF ONLY I WERE A SLINKY SAYS:
Why don't you review after you're done, my pretties, my darlings, my Honey Bunches of Oates? Is all this sweet talking doing any good or do you respond to abuse better?
IIIII
A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes longer - Ralph Waldo Emerson
IIIII
Not four hours ago I saved Little Rock from a vicious attack and now I'm paying for it. We've been sitting at this school for the whole time, not talking, just sending desparate looks at eachother, silently pleading for one of us to have the solution to this problem. As of yet none of us has come up with a brilliant idea.
I thought I could protect my friends from everything but now its me who they're going to have to protect themselves from. Pretty soon, anyway. Right now I'm still partially lucid, mumbling incoherently and clutching my infected arm, trying to massage the poison out.
It's killing me. Literally and figuratively.
It's not like I thought this could continue forever. One of these days one of us would become a chew toy for one of the undead. I just never thought it would be me.
Not that I would wish this on one of my companions. My now family. The only stable, real family I've ever truly had.
Sorry Mom. Dad. But you didn't really teach me anything except paranoia and fear.
This family though, they taught me how to expand my boundaries. Taught me how to love, to protect, to fucking laugh and live. How can I not be grateful? This past year has been, ironically, been the best of my life. I never had many friends; always the loner, the nerd standing on the outside of the crowd hoping for someone to call my name. But somehow in this twisted, screwed up new world I finally made friends.
I can barely stand to look at them. It's not them I'm disgusted with, its me. I'm going to turn on them in a short amount of time and I have no control over it. I don't want to attack them, Goddammit! I dont' want to!
But I have no choice.
The hunger will take over and I'll be left a mindless creature, soul and reasoning gone. I'll only view them as a possible food source.
I'll never forgive myself if I turned one of them too. But I suppose I won't feel to bad about it if I have no conscience to worry with. It's better that I separate myself from them and finish myself off. Shoot myself in the damn head and make sure I do not harm anyone.
But Little Rock is crying, muttering "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" over and over again and I want to tell her that it's not her fault, because it's not. I was the one who pushed her out of the way. I was the one who didn't react to the zombie soon enough resulting in a bite on my forearm, pus and blood oozing out of the wound in little rivulets down my wrist.
It hurts so fucking much.
But I won't cry. I refuse to. Wichita has unshed tears in her eyes as she tries to calm down her sister. As long as she doesn't cry I won't cry. And if Tallahassee starts crying . . . well, if the damn apocalypse hadn't already happened, I would have ventured to say that was the first sign of the apocalypse.
"Columbus, please, I'm sorry," sobs Little Rock helplessly.
I lean my head back against the cool brick wall. This is where the firing squad composed of me will take aim and fire.
"Little Rock . . . it's okay," I say, licking my lips in hope of wetting them so I can talk. My lips are chapped my throat is dry.
The life is being sucked right out of me, I can feel it. I don't have much time left.
"It's not okay! You're dying, you retard!" she snaps at me, rubbing at her eyes with her hands. "You didn't have to push me out of the way. I could have shot him."
"It's doesn't matter," I tell her. "What's done . . . is done. You guys shouldn't stick around for the next . . . part. It's going to be a little messy." I try to smirk but it's lost on them.
"We're not leaving you," Wichita says firmly. She grasps her little sister to her and runs a soothing hand through her hair. "How could you even think we would? We're in this until the end, Columbus. We aren't letting you die all alone."
My legs buckle underneath me and I can't hold myself up any longer so I slide down onto the cement.
"I'm going to change," I gasp. "Soon. I can feel it. I don't want to . . . hurt any of you."
"Don't you dare give up!" Wichita snarls. "You fight it as long as you can."
"I can't beat something that has changed millions of people into . . . monsters," I respond. "I'm going to die and you know it, Wichita. I'm not sorry . . . either. Atleast you still have your sister."
"Should I thank you?" Venom is in her every syllable. "Should I be grateful that you got yourself killed? What the fuck am I supposed to think? Feel? Yes, I'm happy that Little Rock is okay, but you could have shot that fucking zombie instead of pushing her out of it's way!"
"There wasn't time. Besides, if I shot, theres a chance . . . I would have hit Little Rock. You all know I'm not . . . the best shot in the world."
With every beat of my heart, the infection spreads through my veins. It's acidic.
"You . . . !" The raven-haired woman throws her arms in the air in defeat. There's nothing more she can say. She has no clue as to what to do in this situation. What are you supposed to do as your best friend dies, having died saving your little sister? I'm not sure there's a manual for such a thing. Wichita doesn't know what to do. I know she hates not knowing.
So instead she does nothing. She stands there, her arms wrapped around her younger sibling, looking down at me, a dead look replacing her once playful, hypnotic gaze.
"You have to leave," I say more urgently while I can still speak. My head is spinning, losing itself in midst of the pain. When no one responds I lose more than just my head, I lose my temper.
"Leave! Just leave, fucking damnit! I don't want you here! I'll end up killing you all . . . and I don't want my final fucking act to be eating your goddamn brains!" I roar with as much force as my throat can possibly stand.
It's hard, because the desperate side of me is screaming - begging - for someone to stay with me. Stay with me because I don't want to die alone. I spent my whole life alone and now it's all being taken away. Don't let me die alone.
Then I realize Tallahassee hasn't said a single word yet. He's standing there with his pistol gripped tightly in his hand, a solemn look on his face.
"Leave," he gruffly says to the girls. His voice is thick with misery.
"What?" hisses Wichita. "We're not-"
"I said leave! We don't know when he's gonna turn and I'm already distracted enough with the fact that I'm shootin' him without having you two here to protect." His tone softens slightly as he adds, "Say goodbye."
Little Rock starts to sob harder into her hands. She takes a step towards me but Tallahassee puts a hand on her shoulder.
"Can't go near him. He could change at any second," he reminds her.
Little Rock looks at me, bites her bottom lip, then whispers, "I'll miss you."
"Miss you too," I say with a forced smile.
Wichita allows me one final glance at her face. The happiness has been drained from all of her features, and when she opens her mouth to say something it only snaps back shut. She looks too pained to say something to me. I don't blame her. If our places - God forbid - were switched, I'd be agonized over having to leave her behind.
The sisters take their leave and go in the direction of the car which is parked about a block away. I don't watch them leave.
My eyes are planted firmly on Tallahassee. And that gun.
"Give me the gun," I tell him, reaching out with a feeble shake of my hand. I'm getting weak but soon I'll be gifted with inhuman strength.
"You think I'm gonna let ya shoot yourself? No, you're a bad shot, remember? You'd miss your own damn head, spit fuck," says Tallahassee, walking towards me. He doesn't appear to be afraid of me.
As he comes closer . . . oh, God. There's fucking tears in his eyes.
"I'm going to shoot myself, Tallahassee," I try to growl but it comes out more as a strangled grunt. I try to get up but my legs won't cooperate with me. I drop back down to the ground and start to cough blood into my hands. I look back up at him, almost pleading with my eyes for him to understand. "Just give me the fucking gun."
Tallahassee kneels down so he's eye level with me. He reaches out and ruffles my hair much like an older brother would. Then he gets back up and says, "I'm not going to let your 'final act' be shootin' yourself. You aren't hurtin' anybody - includin' yourself - on my watch."
"So what, you want to shoot me?" I ask incredulously.
I get no response which, I guess, is a response in itself.
"I don't fucking believe this. You're worried about me hurting myself? . . . And here you're willing to go through the pain of shooting me?" I scoff. My head begins to throb. Probably the last stage of turning, affecting my brain, changing the signal to feed on flesh. "Why not just wait until I change, make it easier for yourself, so you don't have to feel bad for killing someone still partially alive?"
"I've went through the pain of shootin' my own son after those sons of bitches bit him," He says quietly. "I had to bury my own fuckin' son, Columbus. So I understand pain all too well. And while killin' you may only add to that shit I think it would be more cruel to let you become on of those fuckers. So I see myself as doin' you a favor."
"Should I say thank you?" I ask sarcastically, hoping it will be one final joke between us.
He smirks at me. "You could, I guess."
Tallahassee lifts his pistol and takes aim at my head.
"Tallahassee?"
"Yeah?" He adjusts his standing, obviously and blatantly unnerved at what he's about to do.
"Take care of them for me. And yourself."
"Consider it done." His voice is heavy, laden with emotion.
He cocks his gun.
"Close your eyes, kid."
I let out my final breath and do as ordered.
Bang.