Chicago woke up early in the morning and changed into a pair of grey skinny jeans and a V-neck. She grabbed her jacket, pulled it on, and then grabbed a black backpack that she had packed the night before. Chicago slung it onto her back and then crept downstairs. She had just rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs when she came face to face with Wichita.
"Where are you going?" The older girl asked. She had noticed the backpack and the fact that Chicago had her boots on.
"I'm getting the fuck away from you." Chicago snarled, shoving past Wichita. She was stopped as the older girl yanked her backwards and slammed her up against the wall.
"Look, I'm sorry for freaking out on you last night. But you have kept every little detail of yourself a secret." Wichita whispered, careful not to wake the others in the house.
"You don't want to know anything about me." The younger girl replied somewhat bitterly. Wichita frowned.
"If you leave, my sister's going to flip. So you can either stay and have me trust you, or we can keep this little battle up." Wichita told her.
"Alright, alright. You want to know about my life? Fine. When this whole thing started, I lived with my dad and my little sister, who had Down's syndrome. And when the outbreak started, I got separated from her and my father, who always treated her like shit. So know I have to go back, even though I know he probably let her fucking die." Chicago's voice cracked once towards the end, and Wichita felt a pang of pity for the poor girl.
"I'm so sorry." Wichita said, releasing her grip on Chicago's jacket.
"Don't be. I didn't tell you to get a pity party. And if you tell any of them, I swear to God I'll walk out." Chicago warned. But she set her back pack down and took a seat at the kitchen table.
Wichita sat down in the seat next to Chicago and the two sat in silence for awhile. It wasn't necessarily comfortable, but it wasn't hostile anymore, like it used to be. They sat together until the others in the house finally woke up.
Tallahassee came down into the kitchen and then took a step back as he saw the two girls at the table.
"Woah. You two aren't goin' to try to kill each other again, are you? Cause I surely did not appreciate the three scratches I received last night trying to save one of you from getting their hair ripped out." The cowboy said, showing the three long scratch marks down his forearm.
"Sorry there Tall." Chicago said, smirking. He returned the smirk and then sat down at the table next to her.
"So what's the plan for today?" He asked, fidgeting with his hat. Wichita and Chicago turned to each other and shrugged.
"I guess keep going to Chicago." Wichita said. The other two nodded.
Later on, Columbus and Little Rock came down into the kitchen. They both looked at Wichita and Chicago carefully before sitting down.
"So, what happened last night? I heard everyone yelling." Little Rock asked curiously. She could sense something was off.
"Nothing. I'm going for a walk." Chicago said, standing up quickly. She took a crowbar and an automatic shotgun off of the kitchen counter and walked out the door.
Little Rock stood up after Chicago and followed her outside.
"Hi." The younger of the two said as she walked up beside Chicago.
"Hey." Chicago replied quietly. She couldn't understand why Little Rock was so attached to her. If it wasn't for the kid, she probably would have left the group of survivors behind without a second thought.
"So, why'd you decide to come along?" Chicago asked, trying to make conversation. She hadn't needed to talk since the apocalypse, since zombies aren't the best listeners, so the art of small talk had been lost somewhere along the way.
"I was bored. And I wanted to talk to you." Little Rock replied. She was about to continue when a growl cut her off.
Chicago put her arm out in front of Little Rock to stop her and listened intently. They were probably 100 yards away from the house, next to an overgrown patch of brush. Sticks and leaves crunching came from the thick foliage.
Chicago handed Little Rock the gun and gripped the crowbar. Soon enough, a small horde of zombies came staggering out of the brush, snarling and dripping with blood. Chicago turned and actually smiled at Little Rock before charging the pack.
Little Rock watched in awe as Chicago brought the crowbar down onto a zombie's head, cracking it open. She whirled around and kicked a boot into another of the undead's chest, sending it flying backwards. It died with a squeal as it crashed into a tree and one of the sharp limps drove through its chest.
With two down and two to go, Chicago turned to Little Rock. The younger girl tossed the shotgun to her, and the older girl immediately fired buckshot straight into one of the freak's heads. It completely blew off, and the body dropped.
Before Chicago could turn around quickly enough, the last zombie tackled her, and Little Rock screamed. The shot gun was knocked out of Chicago's hand and it skidded across the ground. Chicago shoved the crowbar into the zombie's gnashing teeth that were suddenly inches from her face. She pressed backwards, trying to push it off of her, but the zombie held its ground.
Little Rock quickly picked up the shotgun and aimed at the zombie. She squeezed the trigger, only to hear a soft click. Realizing the gun was out of shells, she charged forward and slammed the butt of the gun into the back of the zombie's head.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Little Rock struck with the gun again, hearing the crack of a rotting skull. She still hadn't gotten completely used to all of the gore of Zombieland, so she kept her eyes shut.
Suddenly, the sound of the gun hitting head changed, and Little Rock opened her eyes. She gasped when she saw that Chicago was unconscious. She had struck her instead.
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