Alex Hamato speaking here - ConnieNervegas has successfully conned me into posting a response to her own story, "Turtles vs Zombies." I tried to go for more humorous here, but it turned into a drama. I don't know how that happened. I suppose comedy and drama tend to co-exist very well. Not so much with zombies and people, though. They don't get along quiet as well. But enough of that. I hope you guys take a read at her work, it will help you recover from suffering through my own.

I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Nickelodeon does.

If there was ever a time that the universe decided to cater to the whims and wishes of millions of American fanatics, this was that time. Instead of Avon salesmen and tax collectors, the streets are being swarmed by zombies. Both moan a lot and bite at the heels of their victims as they chase them, but a turtle can only kill one. And that would be zombies. Unless that turtle is Raph. Then they're both screwed.

But not as screwed as the zombies that Don was currently running over with the battle shell. The pimped UP battle shell. Reinforced armor and a giant iron grate on the front made it easy to squish zombies. His brother would whip the wheel so hard that Mikey felt his eyes bulge as they almost veered off the highway, just to take out a short guy with a Bill Cosby-style sweater.

Let's just call him Bill. Because Bill was apparently too bloated to simply roll under or over the battle shell. Bill had to EXPLODE on the windshield. The meaty thump and splatter made his stomach turn. Then buck. Mikey stumbled to the back of the van to lose his breakfast while Don turned on the windshield cleaner fluid and wipers.

The zombie apocalypse was so much more fun on his xbox.

"I'd give the zombies another month, at most, to completely decompose. I'm actually developing an engine that runs on liquified carbon matter. There will be massive quantities of it after the zombies all rot into black sludge."

"Don... Don't... don't say that..."

"Say what? Zombies? I am getting genuinely attached to the term. At first I thought it ridiculous, but you cannot dispute it's accuracy."

"Dude, they're like... people. Can you stop running over people!"

Of course his brother had no idea what he was talking about. His face scrunched up like he was trying put coordinates on a fourth dimensional plane and graph it. His brother scared him more often then not, especially after the zombie apocalypse. Don was still trying to clean off the brown and black smears that covered their windshield. The wipers kept on going back and forth, back and forth. Smearing shit, blood, and whatever else zombies were made out of.

"Don, it's not working! We have to pull over and clean that shit off. It's... I'm going to throw up."

"You already did."

Mikey screamed. "PULL OVER RIGHT NOW!"

He swore he just saw an eyeball fly past his window. He will never eat grapes again.

Donatello, the-friendly-neighborhood-psycho, finally pulled over and Mikey flew out of the van as soon as he slowed down enough to where he wouldn't break his legs. Finally free of the cramped iron tin that made him feel more like a sardine than a turtle, he took a deep breath of air and then proceeded to dry heave for a good three minutes. Everything smells like dead people now.

"Wow, his femur is not only still intact, but it's embedded at least a six inches into the grate. I would mail this into Mythbusters if they weren't all dead." Don tugged at the white chunk of bone sticking out the front of the battle shell like it was a massive splinter.

"How can you talk like – like that! 'Oh, they're just DEAD. That's all.'" He felt like screaming again. Or punching Don in the face. Both would feel pretty damn good right about now. Instead he checked his phone, which was vibrating again, and saw that April had called them for the tenth time that hour. He sent back a text to let her know that they're still alive and that he will not forget her cramp and bloating pills. Mikey made a note to pick up some tampons or those diaper bottom things that he found in her underwear drawer. Back when she had an apartment that didn't have dead people crawling everywhere.

Don finally yanked out the femur bone and continued the conversation like it was never left off. "I never knew them personally. If I become hysterical or depressed every time some dead person was infected by the zombie virus, I wouldn't be able to think rationally about our situation."

"This is a ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE! Why do you care about thinking rationally!" Mikey flapped his arms like him, like he was trying to scare away a flock of pigeons.

Don didn't fly off or squawk like they did, though. "I have splattered zombie remains to mop up. You can go in the ditch over there and vomit more if you need too."

He didn't want to give his brother that satisfaction. Not that Don would care whether or not he puked. He'd seen them all do every possibly body movement, which was definitely not what he will tell the awesome new humans they'll probably meet. So Mikey wandered around since the sun was still high up and zombies tended to avoid sunlight. Don said something about them not having any natural defenses against UV rays since they're dead and can't make Vitamin D.

New Hampshire was way more spacious than the big city. It was almost easy to forget the moist, sweet stench of rotting people out in the open plains and woodlands. The grass was waist-high, yellow, and dry enough to crackle noisily as he stepped through it. His toes dug into the thin, flaky soil and he closed his eyes. Maybe Raph was back home already. He had some tantrum about something and left. That was a long time ago, it seemed. It made him sad that he didn't remember what he was upset about, but he was sure Raph could survive hordes of zombies. As far as he could tell, since all of them have been bitten at least once, mutants didn't become zombiefied.

Ninja or not, Mikey could hear the crunching of his brother's steps as he waded through the grass behind him. He hoped that he didn't have to suffer through another conversation about his brother's theories on the effects of bottlenecking the gene pool of humanity.

"The van is all cleaned up. Did you eat an entire package of gummy bears before we left?"

"I didn't want Leo's eggs. He adds way too much water. Fluffy eggs are way different from sloppy eggs," Mikey sniffed his brother and made a grossed-out face. "You cleaned with vinegar."

"And baking soda. I actually found a zombie appendix that I may be able to sneak past Splinter. It would be great if I could get more data on the structure of the virus. I already sent some of my notes to the ambassador of China." His brother scratched his chin like Sherlock Holmes and asked, "Do you think that America would have survived if we forced subjects to be tested on, to find a cure? It would have definitely worked out more quickly. Democracy takes too long to decide on anything."

"If they did that, then this wouldn't be America. It'd be a big piece of land where assholes experiment on each other." He shoved past his brother with a scowl and stomped back to the battle shell. "But you wouldn't care about that stuff. You don't seem to care that humanity is like, wiped out. So whatever."

"Why should I care?" The sharp edge to the question made Mike stop and turn around. His brother continued with, "They never even knew we existed. What happens to humanity has no concern to us."

"To you, maybe. I happen to actually care about other people!"

Don shrugged, so Mikey pushed him straight in the chest. Then he yelled, "Stop talking like this is all normal, Don! Because it's not! You can't just rationalize dead people walking everywhere!"

"They are not people," he said curtly, "That is just the result of a viral infection that has taken over the frayed nerves of those bodies. Stop looking at what you see, and actually see what you're looking at!"

"I know that they're not people. It's just that," Mikey slid a sweaty palm down his face, "They used to be. That doesn't bother you? At all?"

"No." His face was impassive. It was always so hard to get a read on what his brother was thinking. "I don't understand why it bothers any of you. Humans are unable to accept any differences or appearance with each other. They would never have accepted us. I felt no need to become attached to them."

"Dude, April and Casey - "

"I said humans," Don interrupted, "As in, the race. There will always be a select few who do not share the same perspectives and views of their peers. Which is why I favor keeping them alive. The rest of humanity - I could go with or without. It makes no difference to me."

Then he broke Don's nose. His brother didn't even seem to be bothered, simply shrugging off the blow and snorting out some blood. So Mikey hit him again. And again. And soon they were wrestling around the tall grass, scaring field mice and prairie chickens. When they were done, they were sprawled on their backs with limbs folded with one another like a couple of pretzels. Don was huffing to catch his breath when he mumbled through a swollen tongue, "Let's call a truce. I will hack up the zombies while you hug them and explain the concept of diplomacy and co-existence."

Mikey was too tired to properly punch him again, so he dug his finger into his brother's ear until he yelped in pain. "Shut up. I beat you up, so now you have to agree with me."

His brother snorted, blood spraying his front and the side of Mikey's face. "Learn how to debate with Raph, did we? Because clearly, violence is the solution to any and all issues."

"No, just this one." Mikey struggled to sit up, wincing at the throbbing in his head and both shins. "Why does everybody always go after my legs?"

"Because you hop around like a rabbit. That is why Leo always get on you about keeping your base low when you fight." His brother spat out a tooth and picked it up, to tuck into a pocked sewn into the inside of his belt. "I wish I could be stupid instead of rational, sometimes."

"I'd say you were pretty stupid," Mikey mumbled.

His brother didn't respond. It couldn't be that hard to show some sympathy to all the zombies that they had to butcher through on their escape from the city. Raph is still out there, too. He would probably agree with Don. They're both idiots. But Don looked like his entire neighborhood on Sims got wiped out because some faulty patch, so Mikey figured that he'd forgive him. Because unlike his brothers, he's awesome like that.

"How about I drive this time?"

Don grinned at him, a front tooth missing. "Ten points if you roll over a zombie, fifty if they fly over the hood, and a hundred if it explodes."

At least this time he has an empty stomach.