*Summer-time Rose sneaks into view, glances around for Rebel Rose* "Okay, guys. I refuse to believe what Rebel Rose says about Gee and Bert. They're so awesome! And I don't believe her when she says I'll grow out of this. I'm posting. XD Don't tell her I was here...she might strangle me, and because I am the other half of her brain, she can't live without me. Okay. It's time for me to start running. Stay loud!"

"What was the question?"

"I think whether we made out for a long period of time."

~ Bert and Gerard, answering questions on Steven's Untitled Rock Show

NOISE AND KISSES

I've never really been one for parties. I've never wanted to be the center of attention, always hung back in the corners. Mikey had people skills that I severely lacked. But I hadn't really minded parties, if they were at someone else's house. I never threw parties at my own. I never think anyone will come.

Having everyone hiding out at my place was the most people that have ever been in my house at one time. Everyone stayed over that first night, which was kind of ridiculous. I don't think we would have been caught if some of the guys had gone home. My house isn't exactly a mansion; I have one bedroom and a sort of guest room...I suppose it's supposed to be a guest room or an office or something. I never use it. Toro and Frank eventually settled on sharing that room. Toro didn't mind sleeping on the floor, but Frank insisted on taking the cushions off the back of my couch and using them as a bed. Mikey then jumped onto the couch and declared what was left of it was his, no objections, no arguments, it's mine. Matt slept in the difficult chair, which he claimed was comfortable, although I imagine he was too exhausted to feel how uncomfortable it actually was.

I was standing in the living room, having just heard Frank close the door to the office, when I realized Bert was standing behind me, looking at me expectantly, waiting. "And of course I get to share a bed with you," he said, hugging me with a childish smile.

I hadn't intended for things to work out that way, but it didn't really bother either of us. Don't get the wrong idea, Bert and I...don't date. ...But we go out. We go out in a comrades-in-arms sense! Whatever, it wasn't creepy for either of us. He's one of my best friends.

Bert took his beer into my bedroom. I was exhausted. I used to think I was a mild insomniac, but I've changed my mind since we started hunting the living dead after dark. I glanced at the mirror and saw red veins standing out in my eyes. Bert's eyes were bloodshot as well, but his were usually like that.

He took a deep pull from his beer bottle and handed the rest to me. His eyes lit up with a childish glee when he saw my bed, and he ran and jumped onto it, landing comfortably on his side, supported by one elbow, watching me. I swallowed some of his beer and came to sit down, offering him the bottle. He took a swig and handed it back, sitting up to pull off his shoes. "So, when did you see that first zombie, exactly?"

I laughed. What was it, like, a week ago? "A week...maybe less. Something crazy."

"That is crazy. How did you know he wasn't alive, exactly? Like...how?"

"He...kind of...I don't know, he looked weird." I gave him the beer bottle and started unlacing my Converse. "And he saw me and his eyes sort of...focused on me. Like he couldn't see anyone else, all he knew was my existence."

"And he wanted you."

"Yes," I said, suddenly finding the idea funny. I took the beer away from him for another swig. The bottle was almost empty.

"But how did you know he wasn't just a loader or something?" Bert asked, trying to take his bottle back.

"I shot him."

"What? You shot a man in public?"

"He's not a man, he's dead. He's completely dead. And he was going to kill me, I swear, I had no options. So I shot him. And he didn't die, he wouldn't die."

I explained about realizing I had to run before someone called the cops, and realizing that I couldn't leave him there. Luring him, the chase, calling Mikey and Mikey not believing I was actually in mortal danger. "Actually, no one's believed I'm actually in mortal danger the first time I tell them."

"Hey, I did, man."

I turned to look at him. "No, you didn't."

"Oh, no, you're right. Sorry!"

"Doesn't matter."

Bert flicked his fingernail against the beer bottle. "But how did you kill it? You didn't have incendiaries back then."

"Toro had a flame-thrower. He was someone Mikey knew, so we kind of...well, we locked the living dead in the trunk—"

"You had a dead man in your trunk!"

"—and drove to Toro's house. We didn't even know if it would burn, we just thought we had to find a way to utterly and completely destroy it."

"So normal bullets have no effect at all?"

"None. Nothing."

"Hm." Bert swilled the last of his beer in the bottle, offered it to me, then drank the last in one quick swig. He dropped the bottle down on the floor. I listened to it rolling under the bed and across my room. Bert reached his arms around my chest and pulled me down on the bed. "Come here, my zombie hunter," he teased, kissing my cheek dramatically.

I woke up with a beam of horrid sunlight heating my legs and waist. Ughh, sleeping in skinny jeans is not comfortable. I rolled to the left and felt Bert's back against my arm. He groaned slightly in his sleep and I carefully eased myself onto my back, trying not to hit him again. I didn't need to try; Bert was an enragingly light sleeper, and was awake already. He slowly turned to look at me, blinking, his eyes still red and bloodshot. "Gerard?"

"Bert."

He looked at me for a second. "Hey."

"Hi."

He rolled onto his stomach and lay still for a long time. I was still exhausted; my muscles ached from running so much last night; my shoulder ached from the kick of my revolver. I heard footsteps in the hall outside my door, and then Mikey's voice saying something, another voice saying something back.

"I wonder if we killed all those zombies," Bert said with a yawn.

I snorted. "Probably not." That gave me ideas. "Hey, maybe we could capture some of them."

"What?" Bert asked slowly, easing over to look at me.

"For experiments, I mean. We could figure out what kills them, what they have aversions for."

"Toro would like that."

"Mm."

I was finally awake enough to get out of bed. Actually, my want for coffee had finally gotten strong enough to overrule my want to stay in bed. Bert eased himself up in that slow, aching way he had and sat on the edge of the mattress, rubbing his temples and groaning himself into a more wakeful state. I picked up the empty beer bottle from the floor and opened the door to my room.

Mikey was just passing back down the hall. "Hey, brother."

"Hi, brother. Is somebody making coffee?"

"Breakfast. I hope Matt's making coffee."

I followed Mikey out into the kitchen, where Matt was putting bread in the toaster, eggs and bacon sizzling in the pan behind him. "Hey, Gerard. I raided your frige, hope you don't mind."

"You didn't put on any coffee!" I objected, reaching into the cabinet above the coffee maker.

"Oops. Sorry." Matt laughed. "Forgot you're hopelessly addicted."

Bert came into the dining room, his eyes still half-closed. "Did they make coffee? I could really use some coffee, I would love some coffee..."

"No, they're not as insane as we are."

"Come on, you guys," Bert complained, sitting down at the table.

"You're insane, too? I feel for you, man," said Matt, manning the frying pan again. "Actually, no I don't. But I am sorry for you."

Toro entered the room then, looking clean and awake, his hair slightly damp near his temple, as though he had just washed his face.

"Toro, what do you think about going back to that warehouse and capturing some of the living dead there? For experimentation," I asked.

"Ah, to find out their weaknesses?"

I nodded.

"Yes, I do like that idea. However, we may have to wait a few nights..."

"Yeah, the police might be watching the place," agreed Mikey.

"But it is an intriguing idea," said Toro, his hand resting on his chin. "How exactly would we capture them, and where would we keep them?"

We discussed the whole deal over breakfast. The ultimate plan was that we would capture them, bind them somehow, and yes, we would throw dead bodies in the trunk, again. Frank and Mikey's house had a basement with basically nothing in it, so we decided to lock them down there. There was some question about the humanity of what we were doing. But then we weren't certain these things were human, or at least that they were any more. We weren't certain they could even feel pain. I don't think they can. Or if they do, it's not pain like we feel it. I think what they feel is more of a sense of injury, a vague idea that what just happened to them damaged them in some way. I don't think they actually experience pain. Only the concept. Toro was a little put out that the living dead would not be stored in his house; he desperately wanted to perform experiments on them. For many parts of our conversation, his eyes were glazed over as though he was considering all of the different things he could try on them. Frank said he was welcome at his and Mikey's house whenever, which Toro appreciated. Matt shivered at the idea of zombies in his basement... technically, he lived in his basement, which wasn't really his, but his parents'. He was hoping to save enough money to go to college, and by not spending any on rent, he hoped to reach his goal faster.

"You guys are going to have the creepiest basement in the history of ever," Bert informed Frank and Mikey, steadily rolling the empty beer bottle from last night between his hands.

It was decided. We would keep track of the local news, in case they mentioned us or at least the gunshots from last night, and in three days, if all appeared calm, we would venture out to the warehouse for more zombies. We would bring duct tape, which we intended to use in excess, and pistols, which we hoped to use not at all. My and Toro's cars would be used, as Frank's was still in Toro's garage and he didn't want to risk driving it with it's current license plates. We did still have the stolen Camaro...but we would be insane to actually use it for this. Toro said he had a friend who could possibly acquire new plates for both vehicles. Frank was talking about getting his old Camaro repainted. Not the new one, though. It was just too hot.

"You think it's safe to go outside?" Mikey asked, leaning to look out my window as though he expected to see policemen searching for us on the street.

"Probably. Only one guy saw us, right?"

"Yeah, that cop by the door. And he didn't say he recognized us," mused Frankie.

"And it was dark," Toro agreed. "He probably doesn't know."

"We're probably okay," said Mikey, a little skeptically. "Besides, I need to go to work."

"Okay."

I agreed to drive Mikey and Frank to their house. Bert tagged along, although his house was completely out of my way, he insisted I take him there anyway. Matt and Toro lived not near each other, but on the same side of town, so they traveled together as well.

Mikey sprinted to his door when I reached his house, frantic not to be late for work. Frank followed at a more leisurely pace, having nothing else to do the rest of the day and looking forward to long hours of boredom.

Bert and I spent an unnecessary hour driving around the city, listening to the radio and talking about the living dead we had hunted the night before. We got coffee and hung out in the music store for a while. We skipped lunch; neither of us had brought much money, and neither of us could afford to spend any anyway. We did pause outside, and then briefly inside, a bar, watching the newscast on the small TV there. A blonde woman was standing outside the empty warehouse, explaining that the police had gone to investigate the building after reports of gunfire around nine thirty in the evening. They were aware of several hostiles being present at the scene, but they had escaped before the police could capture them. They had not made positive identification of the subjects, although one of them was reportedly short and claimed to be rich, and another had thick, curly hair. I was relieved those were the best descriptions the police had come up with. There were lots of short people, and lots of people with thick curly hair. They weren't about to arrest us. The woman went on to advise that one of the hostiles reportedly had a machine or possibly sub machine gun and that the building was not to be approached under any circumstances. I noticed then that the building had been cordoned off; the yellow tape flashed in the wind behind her back.

I returned Bert to his house then. He waved goodbye as he stepped out my door. "Hey, if you find any more zombies or anything, call me, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," I answered.

He grinned and slammed the door. I watched him walk up the pathway to his large front door. Bert's house had probably been very nice about two hundred years ago. Or at least, before he started living in it.

I shifted into first again, feeling a fierce wave of depression threatening to pull me under. I was returning to an empty house, nothing to do until I went to work in another few nights, no one to talk to.

I need a girlfriend.

I was calling almost before I knew what I was doing, or who's number I was dialing.

"Hey, in trouble all ready?"

"Hey, Frank. Can I come over for a while?"

"Sure. I'm not doing anything."

"Okay, I'll see you in a minute."

"Suffering from post-kill depression?" Frank asked slyly as I dropped my coat on the floor in the entryway.

"More or less," I muttered, coming in and letting myself fall on the couch next to him. Midday news reports played on the TV screen. Boring, and uninteresting, as midday news reports usually were. It took me several moments to realize that I should be paying attention in case they were talking about us, but just as I realized this, the screen went black.

"I've been watching for at least an hour," Frank said casually, reaching forward for something on the coffee table. "No sign of us." "Bert and I saw a report in a bar," I responded. "They only got vague descriptions for you and Toro; they aren't even certain how many of us were there last night." Frank eyed me quizzically as I said this, probably wondering why Bert and I had been in a bar.

"Awesome," he said casually. He tossed an Xbox controller into my lap. "Race you."

I felt a smile spread slowly across my face. I had made the right choice in coming here. "Game on."

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Hey, Killjoys! So, this is it. We have come to the end (FEAR NOT! Not the end of the story! :D ) of the pre-written part of The Way of the Walking Dead. I have some more ideas, but I'm not exactly sure yet which I'm going to use or in what order. There will be more, but the updates may not come as rapidly as they have before. Because...well, because I have to start writing again now :P I will try to be fast, but I can't promise. Creative writing doesn't like being pushed.

Much thanks again to Truthful Blasphemy - your reviews inspire me and keep me wanting to write. Hey to all of Blasphemy's friends reading this now - I hope you guys like it!

Love to everyone - blast it to the backrow!

xoxo,

Rebel Rose