Fortunately, it didn't take Coach and Rochelle too long to get back. Whilst Coach helped Ellis to clamber out of the ditch and bandaged his head wound, Nick took the opportunity to get dressed. His mood immediately lifted upon seeing the garments- Rochelle had not only managed to find a near perfect match for the suit jacket, but had also found a shirt in a slightly deeper blue which Nick much preferred to the old one. They soon set off again, though at a slower pace to allow Ellis to keep up. He was still a little uncoordinated.
The mechanic fiddled absently with his guitar on his back, twisting the machine heads in and out of tune. The shock had worn off now, and really, he just felt embarrassed to have broken down like that in front of Nick. He recalled one time a few days ealier, in one of the long hours they had spent in a saferoom back in Savanah. They had discussed the mentality of the infected; whether they remembered that they were human or not, or whether they had any thoughts at all. The conclusion that they had reached was that they were driven purely on animalistic instinct; attack or be attacked, kill or be killed. So if that was the case, it was more like being humped by a dog than by a human being, he told himself. Just like the time where he and Keith had found some cover scent in Keith's garage, and Ellis dared him to rub it over his face. Of course, he knew that 'cover scent' was just a fancy term for 'doe piss', but Keith didn't. Every morning for the following week, he had woken up with his Mom's Yorkshire Terrier humping his head. Keith thought it was hilarious. He always did.
He missed Keith.
But despite his embarrassment, he did appreciate Nick's offer of moral support. He really hadn't expected any kindness from the gambler- neither had he particularly wanted it, but it was damn nice of him to offer. He was even close to wanting to tell Rochelle and Coach so that they could see that, for all Nick's faults, he was a good guy underneath.
And if he was completely honest with himself, he felt a little proud that Nick was finally beginning to reciprocate the friendship that he had been extending to him for all this time.
"Here we go." Rochelle said, and gestured towards a small bridge a little further down the road. Beneath it a canal ran through a concrete river bed, and to the side there was a sign with the words 'GEORGE'S WATERSPORTS' printed in round, friendly letters surrounding a red cartoon fish. Several wooden sailboats were parked unceremoniously on the driveway with not so much as a fence between them and the road, though they were a little too small for what they were looking for.
They crossed the parking lot with some caution. Although the infected were still relatively few and far between, they couldn't afford to be caught off guard again. Coach and Rochelle picked off a few stragglers near the entrance, and they slipped quietly in through the unlocked front door.
The actual store was rather eccentric. Glass fishing floats, surf boards, brightly coloured oars and canoes hung from the sea blue walls in a decorative fashion, and nets full of plastic fish were swathed across the ceiling. A hollow acrylic incarnation of the fish from the sign stood on it's tail just inside the door, with a welcoming smile plastered over its scuffed and faded features. Ellis patted it cautiously on the head before entering.
"It smells like a goddamn aquarium in here." Nick complained. Sure enough a few half empty fish tanks, their pumps long blown out, sat forlornly on a table by the checkout. One of them was at least ten feet wide, and the water was a sickly grey green.
"I had a fish." Rochelle said sadly, gazing over to it. "His name was Bubbles. You can call me crazy, but I know he answered to his name when I called it."
"You're crazy." Nick obliged.
"Hey!" Ellis exclaimed; his three companions raised their guns on nervous instinct before whipping round to see where the danger was, but the young mechanic was simply tapping on the glass of a tank on the other side of the room. They collectively sighed in annoyance, but given how close he had come to being seriously injured none of them had the heart to reprimand him for raising his voice needlessly.
"I guess there ain't no zombie fish in here." The mechanic continued obliviously, giving the glass a final tap. "But I tell you what; if ya'll got a fish tank and made a zombie Tank swallow it -" Nick groaned and turned away – "And then y' put the zombie Tank in an army tank, and then put the army tank in a Burger Tank..." He whistled. "That would make me a happy man, to see that. If ya'll wanna do that for me, I'll count it as my Christmas and birthday present."
"I'mma hit you on the head again if you don't pipe down, boy." Coach chuckled. He unhooked the length of rope that ran from the wall to the cash register and ducked behind. They watched inquisitively as he ducked down, and started to fiddle with something under the desk. After a small popping noise, he stood up again swinging a small key with a red cork fob on his finger.
"Forget the fish ya'll. We got a boat to catch."
"I know that sound, Coach. You just picked a lock to get to that key, didn't you? Must be my good influence at work." Nick said with a smug smile. Coach snorted and shook his head, though the smile that briefly crossed his face did not escape Ellis's attention.
The sun was riding low and pale in the sky by the time they managed to break the lock on the gate that the more expensive yachts and speedboats were housed behind. There was what looked like hundreds to choose from, but given that there had only been one key left in the cabinet this was more of a hindrance than a help. Ellis was pretty sure that he didn't want to risk hotwiring a boat in case it set off some kind of alarm and attracted a horde, so Coach and Nick had volunteered to try to find the lot space that matched the printed number on the key fob. Of course, the lots were not numbered in any discernable order. Nick lamented this loudly and repetitively. Meanwhile, Ellis and Rochelle sat on guard by the gate, performing the essential and never ending job of keeping the weapons clean.
"It's been nearly a week, you know."
Ellis looked up from the gun he was polishing to Rochelle. Her eyes were fixed on the gun parts in her lap so he couldn't tell for sure, but he thought that she looked a little sad. He cocked his head inquisitively; it wasn't like her.
"A week since what?" He asked carefully, and dipped a clean rag into the solvent that they had been lucky enough to find in a tool shed hidden behind some tall weeds. The woman sucked on her tongue, concentrating on rubbing the barrel of the shotgun to remove any trace of residue. She turned it carefully in her hands, admiring the sheen, and smiled ruefully.
"A week since everything went to heck in a hand basket. Back in Savannah." She replied, gazing across the lot.
"You sure?" He said, frowning. "Hell, it feels more like ten weeks. You guys are like a second family now, or some shit."
She laughed appreciatively, but was cut short by a string of expletives that exploded from behind a sailboat at the other end of the yard.
"What'cha doing over there, Nicky?" She called out, and gave Ellis a sidelong wink.
"I'm falling ass over tit on the pile of fucking ropes that some assclown dumped here, sweetheart. How about you?" The gambler bit back acidly. Rochelle rolled her eyes.
"Do you need me to send Ellis over there to hold your hand?" She replied evenly, eliciting a snort from the mechanic. A single, gold ringed index finger became visible from the top of the boat as he flipped them off.
"But yeah," she continued, turning her attention away from the floundering xonman. "We met on the twenty second, and it took us four days to get to New Orleans. So, that makes today day six."
"Well, goddamn." Ellis said simply. She was right, of course. And six days really wasn't a whole lot of time to get to know people when you were surrounded by zombies, even if you did spend every waking minute in their company. He'd told them a lot about himself, sure; but then, there wasn't an awful lot to say about his life. It had always been pretty simple. When he thought about it, it was sort of weird that he could trust his life to people when he didn't even know their birthdays, their favourite colours, or even...
"Shit, Rochelle!" He said, and nearly dropped the various pieces of gun that were resting on his lap to the ground. He grabbed her forearm and looked her dead in the eye, deadly serious. "I don't even know your last name."
"Rochelle Marie Fletcher. Nice to meet you. Though somehow, that name doesn't really feel like it's me anymore." She said, gently shaking his grasp off with a smile. She placed her newly reassembled gun back into the gun bag and sighed. Ellis nodded.
"Ellis Daniel Williams at your service, ma'am. An' I getcha." He said sadly, and began to reassemble his own gun. "Sometimes I feel like, I dunno, like we're some kinda zombie killin' robot things. Which is kinda badass, but, it also kinda sucks."
"That's a pretty good description, yeah."
Rochelle picked up the next gun from the bag and they continued to quietly clean them, each lost in their own thoughts.
The sun had well and truly set, but the boat was still nowhere to be found.
They took the decision to spend the night in a storage room at the back of the store. It was dark, dank and cluttered with fishing tackle and oxygen cylinders; but it was warm enough for their purposes, and had no windows for any ill intentioned creatures to crawl through. And what's more, whilst looking for supplies in an upstairs office Nick had uncovered a crate of beer. Coach and Rochelle remained unimpressed, but Ellis could quite easily have cheered.
So they found themselves sitting in a small circle, atop the piles of nondescript canvas fabric that littered the storage room floor. The light was generously supplied by a solar powered garden lantern made in the image of the store's fish mascot. Whilst it was better than eating in darkness, it cast a ghoulish green light on their faces and made their meal of cold creamed corn and sliced hotdogs look even more unappetising. Ellis was sure that he wasn't the only one to be glad that it was over when he finished off his last mouthful.
"What a day." Coach said, and stretched his arms over his head. He leant back and rested his large frame against the breezeblock wall.
"Ya'll get as drunk as you want now." He said, motioning to the beer. "Might as well prepare ourselves some for our sailin' careers."
"Don't mind if I do." Rochelle chuckled and took one of the bottles; Nick and Ellis quickly followed suit.
"Hey, Ellis," Nick said, and popped the bottle open with one of the fish shaped bottle openers they had found in a basket at the back of the store. "Here's a game for you, before you start boring us with some fucking campfire story. Do you know how to play 'I like my women'?"
Nick took the mechanic's gormless expression for a no.
"You say, 'I like my women how I like my...' Whatever. Then you say why."
Ellis nodded slowly, still not sure if he fully understood the appeal. Coach chuckled at his glazed look and leant forward to take a beer of his own; Nick handed him the fish-opener.
"The kids at school used to play that." He said, cracking the bottle open and taking a swig before handing the opener to Rochelle. "They'd go, 'I like my women how I like my coffee; strong and black .' Or somethin' like that."
"Oh, I get it." Ellis paused, and glanced around the room, looking for inspiration. Spying a pile of wetsuits in the corner brought a few lewd versions to mind, but he didn't figure that it'd be proper to say anything like that with a lady around. Maybe he could tell Nick later. His gaze fell to the gun bag, and like a lightbulb in a dark room, an idea came to him.
"I like my women how I like my guns." He said, grinning. "Lightweight, strong... With a big butt."
Nick and Coach laughed, and Rochelle giggled behind her hand.
"You catch on pretty quick, Ellis." She said, and took a sip from her beer. "I get the feeling that I'm going to regret Nick teaching you this game before the night is out, though."
The conman grinned devilishly at her and upended the bottle into his mouth; if he could even get a little drunk, that would be mission accomplished. It was nasty stuff compared to the expensive wines and spirits he preferred, but so long as it had alcohol in it he was willing to take what he could get. He lowered the bottle and breathed deeply, allowing it's aroma to saturate his senses.
"I like my women how I like my chainsaws," Nick grinned, swirling the beer bottle as you would a fine whisky before raising it in Ellis's direction. "Covered in the blood of my enemies... And turned on."
None of them could stop laughing at that one.
It may not have been a great day, Ellis later thought as he settled under his blanket to sleep, but it was already looking brighter. They'd find the boat, and in a week or so, they'd be at the keys and ready to make roots. And from there, well, the world was their zombie-filled oyster.
Even if he had to make it that way on his own, he promised himself: Tomorrow will be better.