21.
At his side, Krillin was shaking hands with the men who had invited them into their camp only to kick them out first thing that morning.
Outsiders, apparently, weren't to be trusted.
Piccolo handed over their confiscated weapons and Guru clamped a meaty hand on Krillin's shoulder. Yamcha stood at Krillin's side, spine straight and expression even. As much as he didn't like the strangers for forcing them out at dawn, he and Krillin had come to the mainland for food and Guru & Co. had been unprecedentedly generous. His bag was filled with seeds and saplings, a fishing line, hooks, and two nets.
The little boy who'd helped bandage them up came running to say goodbye. With a big smile, Dende handed over a little white chicken. Krillin blinked as he accepted the animal.
"Uh," he said, staring at the frightening little bird. It flapped it's wings in his arms. "Thank you."
"Find a boat as quickly as possible," Guru advised. At his right Nail, the tallest, most boorish of the group exhaled.
"And stear clear of the main roads. That's where the Red Ribbon Army tends to scout."
Krillin and Yamcha exchanged a look. The bird squawked in Krillin's grasp, and he wrestled the animal feeling a bit like a crocodile handler. Even though the bird weighed only six pounds.
"The army? Isn't that a good thing?" Yamcha asked, ignoring the chicken-wrangling.
"No. They aren't associated with King Furry's army. They're a band of criminals who've taken advantage of the way things are now. They'd imprison you for your seeds, and kill you for that chicken."
Krillin thought about handing the animal over, make it all a bit easier because he didn't know the first thing about chickens anyhow, but Dende grinned at him and the bird gave another call, and so Krillin held onto the bird and offered a timid smile.
"Thank you all. For everything."
Without any further fanfare Piccolo showed them out, leading the way through camp. They walked up hill to where the barbed wire fence drew a square around the camp, pots and pans and ladles and spoons dangling. There was a slight breeze but nothing strong enough to make noise. The reanimated dead, however, would certainly tip them off.
"Take care," Piccolo said, and he held the fence as the two men ducked beneath the barbs. Krillin waved before cutting a path just south of the main road. He didn't know much about what the Red Ribbon Army might be like, but he'd bet his life that no other group they might run into would be as affable as Piccolo's.
Yamcha kept pace beside him. He wished they had a map, because using only the sun as reference he was ninety-percent sure they were heading in the wrong direction. He'd spent a good deal of his youth hanging out in the desert with no maps or clocks, but he'd left all that when he'd met Goku and Bulma. Since then he'd gotten… soft. He thought of his ex-girlfriend and smiled, because he knew without a doubt Bulma was fine out there. Somewhere. Between her smarts and resourcefulness, she would be fine. Maybe she'd even forgiven him for his last transgression and was out there looking for him. Looking for the island. Hope spread warmth through his chest. Krillin's chicken cawed and broke him from his daze.
"You okay?" Krillin asked.
He nodded. "Yeah. Just thinking about Bulma." And because that sounded a bit pathetic, he added, "And Goku. Our friends, just wondering how they're doing out there."
Krillin frowned. He didn't like to think of the people he knew. The odds weren't good, especially for people who made as much noise as Bulma and Goku.
"We're going in the wrong direction," Yamcha commented. The only sound that betrayed the silence was the clump-clump-clumping of their shoes on packed earth. Even the bird had gone still, nestled in the crook of Krillin's arm.
"The outlying towns will be less crowded. Once we have a boat we can head back that way."
"That makes sense. And-"
Yamcha's voice fell as a figure of a woman exited the woods. Blue hair flying behind her head, little red dress climbing up her slender thighs. Her cheeks were red with exhaustion, her hands windmilling circles to right her stumbling balance on four-inch heels.
Both men just stood, watching the scene with mouths agape until six walking corpses followed from the very clearing. Lumbering forward, the half-dozen figures followed the ridiculous woman, slowly gaining ground.
"Help!" she screamed. "Help me!"
Krillin raced forward first, getting close enough to lure a pair of corpses away from the screeching female. The first had graying skin hanging limp from its face. It moaned and lept forward. Forked said in one hand, chicken in the other, Krillin drove the spike through its brain. The second walking corpse stumbled over its counterpart's body, and Krillin took it out easily enough. They were slow, not posing much of a threat to his years of martial arts experience. Really his only disadvantage was his height as it made it a touch difficult to get at their brains. But if he could get them to lose their footing...
When he looked over, Yamcha had succeeded in taking out the four remaining corpses and was standing stiff in the embrace of the woman. She sobbed into his chest, blubbering skirt had ridden up to expose that she wasn't wearing any underwear. Krillin blushed and look away.
Prying her away so she stood at arm's length, Yamcha asked, "Are you okay?"
"Yes." She sniffled. "I got away from some of those icky Red Ribbon men, but then these monsters started chasing me. I hate them. They're so gross." And then an idiotic grin betrayed her features and she fluffed some of her tangled, blue hair. "And then you boys saved me."
"Er, yes," Krillin conceded. The chicken squawked.
"I'm Maron," she said. And thankyoukami she pulled at the hem of her skirt. It wasn't decent, but at least her plump little backside was hidden from his view. Roshi wouldn't care about food if he came back with her.
"I'm Yamcha, and this is Krillin. The Red Ribbon men, are they close?"
"Yes." She pouted. "I was with a group a few days ago near East City. We were having a good go at things. The boys put up some walls and the biters couldn't get in. Those things eat people. It's disgusting."
Yamcha nodded patiently.
"Well," Maron continued. "Then the Red Ribbon Army showed up and eliminated our camp. They kept me alive though. They wanted to take me with them, but I'm not a slave. I'm a model."
"Ah," Krillin offered. Of all the professions ill suited for this world, that might take the cake. "Stay with us. We have a safe place."
"Oh! Goody! I'm so lucky! You boys are cute."
Yamcha smiled kindly and Krillin didn't know where to look so he concentrated on her eyes. Maron winked and he felt himself flush. The chicken wiggled in his arms.
"Alright. Let's move."
The reanimated corpses seemed easy enough to kill, as long as they weren't in groups like they'd been in the coastal city of Yahhoy. However, they weren't the only threat. Sometimes the living were far scarier than the dead.
….
GUYYYYYYS. Stupidoomdoodles is doing a zombie apocalypse AU. She's done a few images of Bulma and Vegeta, and I've made one of the photos the cover for this story because it's freakin' awesome. There's a link to her tumblr on my profile to see the rest, (but you've already been there because it's GENIUS). But go and look and ask nicely for more. Kidding. Mostly.
Finally. WD fans:
CAROL. What are you wearing?