*Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to South Park.


Chapter 11

"I kissed you."

I don't know why Craig's answer surprised me. I mean…I kind of already knew that. What else would you call pressing your lips against someone else's? I guess what I wasn't expecting was the confession.

"Well why the hell would you do that?" I blurted out, maybe a little more venomous than I intended. I couldn't really help it though, Craig made it pretty clear in the past that he wanted nothing to do with me…in that sense.

"I don't fucking know." Craig mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as we trudged through the thick, dead trees. We were headed up a steep slope, and I was hoping that the road might be at the top of it. "I just got carried away, it was impulsive."

"Why are you telling me this?" I couldn't help but wonder. The last thing either of us wanted to bring up was our awkward relationship from before. If you could even call it that. We liked to bury it down like some sort of dirty secret and never dig it up again.

I'd like to say it was like water under the bridge, but it really wasn't.

"Because, I didn't bite you, at least, I didn't mean too." Craig shrugged, he was still facing forward as we climbed the steep slope. I could feel exhaustion start to reach me, but the idea of staying another night in this god-forsaken forest wouldn't let me slow down.

"What made—ngh—you think, that you had the right to kiss me?" I retorted, dragging my worn bat behind me.

"I already told you that I don't know." Craig responded, rolling his eyes. "It's not a big deal."

I refrained from spitting in Craig's face; after all, he had just dumped his nasty zombie blood all over me a few hours ago in order to save my life.

By the way, I was very eager to get that shit off.

So I opted for staying silent, pursing my lips and trudging along the dead forest floor in the cloudy daylight. My legs shook as we finally reached the top of the hill, and too my delight, a thin road sliced through the trees and stretched far down the landscape in either direction. I wanted to kiss it as I stepped onto it.

Craig looked from left to right, his black eyes narrowing as he tried to judge which direction we should go. Eventually, he turned right, and I simply followed him—too lost to know whether or not this was the correct direction.

And so we walked, burying the previous conversation deep in our dirt piles just like every other one we had.


It seemed to be about an hour until the road broke off into a small exit. Craig and I were eager to see where it led, hoping we'd find somewhere to rest. I was also praying that I'd find something to eat and maybe even be able to wash myself off. My feet moved with a new sort of swiftness that only happened with the promise of hospitality.

And in this world, hospitality can be defined as a crumbling house with rotten food in it.

The exit turned off onto another thin strip of road, but I could see clumps of what looked like huddled shacks in the distance. I held the baseball bat close to my chest in anticipation. Promises of food and shelter stuck to my thoughts. My body was trembling and aching with exhaustion from not sleeping for the past two days.

Garbage littered the cracked concrete. Old food wrappers and papers blew past us in the dull breeze. I kept my gaze trained ahead, my goggles bounced around my dirty neck with my quickening pace. The closer Craig and I got to our temporary destination, the more detail we could make out. What I first assumed were shacks, turned out to be a collection of run down trailers—a trailer park. I could tell that it stretched on for a few acres. The entire place looked abandoned save for the garbage I spotted on the dead grass. However, I simply couldn't assume it was safe. Craig and I would have to search between the small spaces separating each trailer just to be sure.

I assumed the trailers used to be white, but now they were a grayish yellow, covered in dirt and mud. A few had boarded windows; others had no windows at all. I looked over to Craig as we approached the first row. His expression seemed strange and it looked almost confused.

"What is it?" I asked, halting before taking another step further. I set my bat down against my legs, pulling my smudged goggles over my eyes. "Zombies?"

"No." Craig glanced over at me, he looked almost afraid. "People."

The only sound was the trash fluttering through the wind.

I understood Craig's wariness. Hell, even I was nervous of the idea. I hadn't fucking seen an actual person in days. And honestly, I didn't know what someone would do to me—even if they saw me alone. People were crazy in times of need, man. I'd seen movies…I knew what people would do to others in order to get what they needed. However, the fear was much more real to Craig. He was a zombie after all. Even though he may not have been as rotted at the rest of them, it was fairly obvious to tell what he was.

All it would take was a person with a gun to blow his head off. Then, bam, it would be over. He'd be dead (like dead dead), I'd be alone, and my chances of finding Bebe would be down to zero.

…Maybe I'd be a little sad too.

Or a lot if I think about it.

"P-People?" I whispered, my voice faltering. "Do you think they're the ones that took—"

"No." Craig shook his head, taking a tentative step forward between two run down trailers. His feet crunched in the brown grass. I shuffled after him, holding my bat to my chest again and looking over his shoulder curiously. The zombie snorted, glaring at me and pushing me away before raising his head, inhaling deeply through his nose.

It always looked strange when Craig would try to catch scents from the air. It was disturbing each time I witnessed it, because it was a reminder of what he was. But this particular time scared me the most and sent shivers down my spine.

Why? Because as Craig was breathing in the odor of the living, his lips were curved ever so slightly upward, his coal black eyes disturbingly wide, and his fingers curled in delight.

The people…smelled good.

Craig turned back to look at me, and I glanced away awkwardly in order to pretend that I didn't just witness what I did.

"They're close." Craig said. "But I don't think they're here anymore. They probably just stopped to rest like we're about to do."

I relaxed my tense posture.

"We should split up and make sure the area's clear." I said, swinging my bat over my shoulder with new confidence. "Then w-we can focus on supplies and somewhere to stay." I was also hoping that I could find some new clothes and maybe, maybe, rinse off.

Craig looked at me skeptically before agreeing. "If you need me, just yell."

I narrowed my eyes, muttering indignantly to myself that I "don't need some dead kid to protect me".

The first trailer I inspected had an unlocked door, which made it convenient for entering, but also dangerous. It swung open, giving me a partial view of the narrow space. I held my baseball bat far in front of myself, edging into the trailer slowly. Kicking the door shut, I quickly pressed my back up against it. I glanced left and then right, relaxing once I was sure that I was alone.

I pulled my goggles up and onto my forehead to get a better look around.

The place was a mess and looked like it was left in a hurry. The dirty white sheets were strewn from the queen-sized bed to my right and ended at my feet. The tiny bathroom door was open and I could see toilet paper bunched up on the floor and flooding into the hall.

To my left, the cabinets that made up the narrow kitchen were left open. Food rappers littered the wooden floors and small counters. I leaned my bat against the door, praying that some food was left over.

I scrambled through the open shelves and cabinets, my dirty gloves found little purchase. I even opened the fridge, immediately regretting the decision as a putrid stench slammed into my nose. "Oh my god." I bent double and dry heaved, slamming the refrigerator closed and trying to forget the unrecognizable green sludge that had been sitting on the shelf.

Something on the floor caught my eye, and I crouched onto my knees to pick it up.

It was a simple picture frame. The glass between the dust coated wooden frames was shattered, but I could still make out the photo just fine. An old plump woman stood with her equally old and plump husband in front of a picnic table. They looked like they were in some sort of park, and the sun was shining almost directly onto their faces, causing their old wrinkly eyes to squint toward the camera. It only made their smiles look bigger. The husband's pudgy arms were wrapped around the woman's round frame, and he held her so tight that I could feel their bond through the broken glass.

I found myself touching the damaged glass with trembling fingers. My lips were tugged up at the corners into a smile—the happiness from the photo infectious.

But then I began to wonder, where are they now?

Were they wandering around the countryside, moaning for brains and dripping black blood? Were they in some sort of safe house that I had yet to find? Were they badass zombie slayers, curing the world of zombies one smashed head at a time? Were they even still together in this time of chaos? Or, were they simply dead—maybe a passionate suicide signaling their departure.

And then I began to think of how many other people were like this: nothing more but photographs. They were nameless; the only proof that they had ever existed lay in my hands. Is that going to be me someday? Is my entire existence going to be wrapped up in an old photo? What am I, if everyone who knew me is already dead?

Oh no, I felt moister prickle at the corner of my eyes, and soon small droplets of water were falling onto the picture frame. I knew crying was seen as weak, but at that moment…honestly…I didn't care.


The search went on for a few more hours. Unfortunately for me, I didn't find anything to rinse myself off, but I did manage to put on some fresh clothes (a warm green plaid jacket and jeans) and even find something to eat (potato chips). Craig was too lazy to change his clothes, but he did find a meal (a dead cat, that tasted like "a shit took a shit").

It was beginning to get dark, so we decided to stay in one of the cleaner trailers that still had all of its windows and a nice lock on the door. I checked that it was secure multiple times before turning toward the bed, ready to flop down and never wake up again.

To my dismay, though, Craig was already laying on one side.

"I thought you were sleeping on the floor." I said, placing my baseball bat down in the small space between the mattress and the wall. Craig scoffed, sitting up and displeasuring me more by taking his hat and nasty t-shirt off.

I couldn't stop myself from staring—not that he was attractive or anything, it was just that his pale bluish skin was covered in deep jagged scars. They were everywhere. It looked like a toddler scribbled all over his body. I could see teeth marks in some areas, but the rest of the scars looked like long mangled fingernails clawed them there.
Craig made himself comfortable, fluffing a pillow and lying down on his back.

"I'm not sleeping on the floor." He informed me. "Believe it or not, I like to feel comfortable, and since the last two nights I've been sleeping on the roof of a car and against a tree…sleeping in a bed will feel damn fine."

"Well I'm definitely not sleeping on the floor." I growled. Like hell I was. Sleeping on a bed would feel like a cloud, and I wasn't about to give that up.

"I'm not about to move." Craig said lazily. "So either you sleep on the other side, or you get the floor."

"What if you start chewing on me in my sleep?!"

"I already ate."

"No you didn't! Y-You barely ate anything from that cat!" I accused. Which was true, Craig just picked at it.

"That's because it was disgusting. I'm not meant to eat crap like that."

"So then you are hungry."

"I'm not hungry enough to eat your ass." Craig rolled your eyes. "If you're that afraid of me, you should just sleep somewhere else."

I huffed indignantly, pulling my goggles off and throwing them childishly next to my bat. I plopped down onto the mattress, causing Craig to lurch over toward my side of the bed. "I'm not afraid of you." I mumbled. I wouldn't be taking any of my clothes off though.

I slid beneath the sheets—slightly disgusted that someone else had slept here—but too overwhelmed with comfort to care. I turned onto my side, facing away from Craig. My body immediately relaxed into the soft setting, but despite my exhaustion, I found it difficult to close my eyes and drift to sleep.

I growled after several minutes and flopped onto my back angrily, staring up at the low ceiling. I was surprised to see that Craig was in a similar position, picking at the scar on his arm. I turned my head to the side and watched him curiously.

"Hey Craig?" I asked, my voice just above a whisper.

"Yeah?" Craig didn't look at me as he continued to poke at his skin.

"If you're dead," I saw him frown, "then why do you have to sleep?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "If I'm dead, then why do I have to eat?"

We were both silent, the questions were too complicated for our tired brains to figure out.

"Maybe you're half-dead." I yawned drowsily. I looked back up toward the dark ceiling, and could feel Craig shifting onto his side next to me.

Suddenly, I felt Craig's cold hand on my chest. I seized up immediately, my whole body going stiff and ready to push it away…until I felt what it was doing.

Craig's hand was moving slowly across my upper chest, as if it were searching for something—like a metal detector does through the sand. I knew almost instantly what he was searching for, and maybe that's why I didn't shove him away. His hand eventually stopped right above my heart. I could feel its cold temperature through my shirt. My heart was beating fast and strong, so much so that I was slightly embarrassed. I didn't turn my head to the side because I felt too awkward. But I knew Craig was close, I could feel his putrid breath on my ear.

"It's funny," Craig murmured, his hand remaining flat against me, "how something so simple can be so rare now-a-days, you know?"

I swallowed awkwardly. "N-Not really." I admitted; risking turning my head to the side and feeling surprised when I noticed that his eyes were closed.

"It's so disgustingly cliché for a dead kid to feel someone's heartbeat and say he wants one too." He smirked, his eyes still oddly closed. I wondered if Craig refused to open them because he was embarrassed. "But, it's true."

I inhaled shakily. "You d-don't have a heartbeat?" I whispered, even though it was fairly obvious. Craig opened his eyes then, but they weren't looking at my face, they were glued to his hand over my heart.

"No."

I then surprised him and myself by shifting onto my side, Craig's hand drew back in confusion. I peeled off my gloves, tossing them carelessly behind myself. Reaching forward, I pressed my palm flat against his frigid skin, right over where his heart should be.

I cannot explain how strange it feels to receive no pulse in return from a person that can move, breath, and talk just like you.

We both were quiet. My fingers twitched over his scarred chest, like at any moment his heart may start thumping once again.

Nothing.

I felt my eyelids growing heavy as I relaxed into the mattress. My hand had yet to move from Craig's cold chest, but neither of us did anything about it.

"That makes no sense." I murmured, my eyelids sliding shut.

"Nothing makes sense anymore, man."

And I was pulled into a dreamless slumber.


Oh ho ho ho things are about to get messy. So, what do you think, comments, reviews (please lmao)?

**Thank you Creek Grrl, Monthadog, reyrocks, Guest, Britnotmobile, The Scribz, Amberpaw1999, AnotherJack, Sandy x Maxwell 4ever, and Anon for your lovely reviews! I love them so much and can't thank you enough!