Just a quick little snippet from my mind. Was sitting in Casa Ole watching UT bash OSU over the head with their pride when it occurred to me... why the number 3? So this is what I came up with...

Disclaimer: Zombieland obviously doesn't belong to me, yaddayadda, Columbia Pictures does I think.

Edit: I know that Earnhardt Sr.'s number was 3. I do live in America. However, Tallahassee does not strike me as a NASCAR watcher, and this was just an idea I felt like writing about, so please stop the incessant "Dale Earnhardt's number was 3, dummy..." reviews. Please?

Enjoy?

Ah, and it's from Columbus' POV.

"Why 3?"

In all the time I'd been with Tallahassee, I had never asked the question. The first time I saw it on the side of the Escalade, it wasn't much of a mystery.

Maybe he was keeping track of how many cars he went through? I found out that that wasn't the case when we got the Hummer.

Keeping track of the living humans he found? Me, Little Rock and Wichita make three, but that was after he had it first on the Escalade.

Maybe he was a race car driver before the zombie apocalypse, or it was his lucky number. But I wanted to know the actual reason. No more of my theories.

So I asked.

At first he gave me that, "what the fuck you blabberin' 'bout?" look, but then he realized what I was looking at- the number he was painting on the side of the F-350 two-ton that was replacing the Zombie-gore covered, windowless and heavily battered car that we had gotten from Bill Murray's place.

"... I need a reason?" He finally asked after considering me for a few seconds that seemed like minutes. The man's got this way of staring at you with those cool blue eyes that seems to see right through you. It can make you feel scared and safe at the same time, safe in knowing that the man you've got with you is a zombie-killing machine, and scared in knowing that he's also an unpredictable SOB that might decide it's better to be safe than sorry if he sees you get too close to zombie teeth.

"Well, no... I just... I mean..." yes, I stuttered, give me a break.

"I should have a reason?" He asked, still staring at me with that "wtf you blabberin' 'bout?" look.

"No! I ju-" I cut myself off when he smirked at my denial again and I reluctantly shrugged and nodded a bit. "Yeah... I guess..." was my meek answer under that calculating gaze, but now it held a hint of humor and maybe a touch of sadness. Maybe. But what was Tallahassee ever sad about? Then it hit me. "Oh... Buck..." I don't remember saying it out loud, but he nodded with a sigh.

"He'd just turned three when..." he trailed off and the paintbrush pulled back from his second semicircle as his hand shook minutely with emotion.

"Ah... three's a good number." I suddenly state and feel my breath catch as he raises a brow. Did I say something wrong? It wouldn't be the first time...

I start breathing again when his lips twitch in a smile. "Yeah... it is, isn't it?"