To say I came from a humble background, would be absolutely correct. I was a regular kid, growing up with a regular family, living a regular life. Normal two story house, nice green yard, nice dog, hell, nice everything. I kinda' hated it after awhile, but, it was alright. Now, how can I explain it. . . What. The. Fuck. That's exactly the reaction one would get when they step into this cluster fuck of a world. That once regular life is gone, no more two story house, or nice dog, not even a green yard within a god damn five zillion miles. The survivors call it Zombieland. Perhaps, coincidentally enough, it's because there's five more zillion zombies than there are miles. My name, well, my name's Brooklyn now. You wanna know why? Cause my destination is Brooklyn. Before we get started your probably asking yourself 'why would a nineteen year-old male want to go to one of the most populated cities in the world? Doesn't High population equal more zombies?' It's a rather simple explanation really. You see, I have this bomb here, nuclear to be exact. And what I'm going to do with this bomb is detonate it in the heart of New York. Killing every flesh-whore on that god forsaken island. Now why, you ask, I would want to do such a thing? That's a little more complex. I'm not telling you on our first date, oh no, I'm no cheap date. Does it look like I have blonde hair and a candy pink cell phone? Anyway, some say I want to do it for some sadistic zombie killing fetish, other's think I'm just messed up in the dome. I'm not, for the record. You get the point regardless. But that's far from my to-do list at the moment. Right now, I'm in California. Yup, almost depressing, huh? All the way across what used to be the United States of America. I know what your thinking 'Oh Brooklyn, your such a slacker.' again, your wrong. I spent most of my time looking for this nuke. I couldn't travel within that allotted amount of time, the two activities come at a crossroads. So this is where my journey begins. Good ol' Victorville Californ-I-ay Where they race uh. . . Robots. Well they used to, until a zombie apocalypse sort of happened and the robots were now controlled by thick bifocal-ed, human snack-pack craving, nerdy-ass bastards.
It was ten o' clock at night, the perfectly creepy time to be out and about. A deadening silence fell upon the surrounding area. A silence so silent it could only be caused by the undead, which was exactly what was going on. Brooklyn dug through a pile of canned food. Looking for tonight's non-zombie dinner. He was inside a convenient store, a rather large one considering the average convenient store size. The shelves were intact but some of the products were knocked over. In Brooklyn's isle the shelves were almost bare. Someone had obviously stormed through the nonperishable food section, looking for rations. The lights buzzed oddly as the store remained powered. The lighting then flickered dimly on the surfaces below before finally shutting off on it's scheduled timer. Brooklyn looked up briefly with his hand deep inside the pile of sustenance. Pulling out his hand he clasped on to a can of beans.
He smiled in self achievement "Bush's. Mmm I can hardly wait!" He said as he stood up, then threw the can into the wall next to him in anger. It slapped against the wall, flattening one side, then hit the tiled floor.
"Next time I find you again, I swear I will find another bomb and level your factory! You hear me Bush's can?!" After his voice echoed a shuffle sounded over the off-white metal shelves. It wasn't him, and it sure wasn't the can. Brooklyn turned his head in alert, his finger still pointed at the inanimate object. A defining scream suddenly sheered from behind him, the noise loud and frightening. It was a female zombie with tattered pink clothing.
"Hoh, shit." He sighed as he bolted forward then to the right. The zombie gave chase, huffing and wheezing behind. Brooklyn looked back as he continued to run and saw the rotting woman after him. Setting his head back to it's default position he saw another zombie, this time a male in flannel. Cocking his fist back he slugged the thing in the side of the face mid-sprint. It let out a snort as it fell backwards to the ground.
Stopping next to the zombie he looked down, taunting "Huh, you like that? You like that Paul Bunyan?!" He shrugged his arms to the side and slammed a kick into the side of the zombie. It gurgled as the impact landed in it's ribs. Jumping up and down the kid kept his fast feet ready. Brooklyn brought his gaze up to see the first zombie now within feet of him. His eyes opened wide as he sped off again. Shooting out of the front door he strode under the gas pavilion and out to the parking lot. A large black military grade flatbed truck loomed on the horizon. That was his destination. The zombie screeched as it continued to run after it's potential meal. Setting up for a jump, Brooklyn skipped for a few steps then sprung onto the bed of the vehicle. He stepped a few paces on the flat surface, spinning a large metal fixture toward the reanimated female. Brooklyn pulled out a Zippo lighter from his leather jackets pocket and lit a fuse. It sparkled in the night before disappearing. A thunderous boom echoed across the landscape as a large ball hurled into the zombie, engulfed by a plum of flashing white smoke. The undead flew backward with the ball, yelling as it went with break-neck speed. Finally the two almost lifeless objects hit a gas pump. Fire burst from the rupture before it completely exploded. A mushroom cloud of fire swirled in itself as it rose to the sky. All four linking gas pumps detonated, pounding Brooklyn's chest with concussive waves. Then an almost laser like stream of fire jetted from the ground.
Oh, did I mention I have a cannon? No? Well, that's why I have one.
Brooklyn stared in amazement. "C-c-c-combo breaker!" He shouted as he pumped his fist. "This just might be zombie kill of the week!" He kicked his feet into the air then did a little jig. Dancing in the heat of the explosion, celebrating such an epic event. More moans and grunts sounded from the darkness around the fires light. Loads of zombies were on their way to investigate the disturbance.
"Uh-oh. Looks like I alerted the horde." Brooklyn grimaced as he looked around the perimeter of the gas station. Then he stepped past the artillery piece and vaulted over a tarp covered box. Slipping into the back window of the cab he started the engine, the smoke stacks bellowing black smog. Then the vehicle began rolling away. Three zombies past by the outside of the vehicle as Brooklyn gained speed. Several seconds of driving down the street, the fire could still be seen in the rearview mirror.
Now I can't say I completely hate Z-land. It's not the most desirable place to be, but, it can turn your postpartum depression into postpartum aggression, if that makes any sense. Anyway it's a plus. Also; driving as fast as you want, that's a bonus.
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The next day the sky was dry of clouds to entertain the mind. The blue came in sharp contrast of the light brown that was the horizon. Brooklyn had parked out in the desert, wanting to sleep in a zombie free area. Nothing was right to Brooklyn about sleeping where zombies were, nothing at all. The fact that something can surprise you and kill you the way zombies do while you're unaware, no way. The kid let down the steel plates covering the windows. A torrent of light caused him to squint as he looked out. The flat sand surrounding the road drained energy just by witnessing it. The vehicle he slept in stood defiant in the monotony of brown coloring. He had customized the truck to be an ideal zombie outbreak vehicle. The window plates were completely inoperable from the outside. They were placed inside the window to be shut and opened from the inside. The truck was painted all black with two designs on the side doors and white flames coming from the grill. The cannon was fastened on a spinning table type device, able to shoot in any direction. The nuclear warhead was securely strapped to the bed in a box with black tarp over it. The only thing missing was a cowcatcher. Having seen few trains where he's been, he couldn't get his hands on one. Nor did he have the time to fashion one out of metal. Brooklyn stared out of the window, eyeing the Mojave desert. It was already heating up outside, even though the trucks clock read eleven fifteen. He laid on his side and turned his shoulder to the floor. Reaching an arm under the seat he pulled out a can of -
"Beans. . ." Brooklyn continued to stare at the can. "Well, I found more cannon ammunition." saying in a faux, happy tone of voice. He slung the metal cylinder down in the passenger seat leg area. Rummaging around some more, a plastic wrapped object felt interesting. He patted his hand on it to fell the right angle in which to grab it. Then he pulled it from under the seat, and to his amazement, it was a wrapped pack of powdered sugar doughnuts.
"Hostess, huh? This is rather fitting for breakfast. Almost too fitting. . ." He narrowed his eyes, sensing conspiracy.
Before you start calling me mentally insane, I do talk to myself. Let's get that out of the way first. Not till after the outbreak of course . . . Well. -It helps keep you sane -helps you cope. . . Er, don't judge me!
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"And the Jay-Z song was on, and the Jay-Z song was on, and the Jay-Z song was on! So I put my hands up, they're playin' my song! The butterflies fly away! I'm noddin' my head like 'Yeah'! Movin' my hips like 'Yeah'!"
No comment. . .
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After listening to the radio for a while, Brooklyn turned off the music as he brought his hand back to griping the steering wheel. Resting his shoulders down he looked out the windshield, keeping close eye on the road ahead. Then he checked the speedometer, it peaked at eighty miles an hour. Nothing entirely too fast, but fast for a vehicle of this size. The windows were rolled down, air roared into the cab. Sand blew in waves over the road, something cool to see, provided you've never been in a desert before. The weather was a cold, warm feeling. The kind you feel on an extremely sunny fall day. However the cool feeling only coming from the blowing air, not so much the temperature outside. It also smelled like dried earth. Thinking and revising, Brooklyn ran through his plan to get to New York one more time. His best bet of getting to the northeast was taking route 66, or what the road used to be called. He'd exit somewhere in Missouri and take a straighter road to New York. It was hair raising thinking about traveling to where he was going. Nothing was certain about the northeast, at least not to Brooklyn. Mysterious stories came from other survivors about it. Ranging from safe havens to total annihilation. Some even said volcanoes rose up from the ground and scored the surface with lava. Either way, Brooklyn was hell bent to complete his mission.