More crossover.
Because this is the part where the two fandoms meet. And also because I crave feedback the way a lion craves gazelle tartare.
They'd planned on taking Shawn's motorcycle for the journey out of town, in order to make traveling the debris-congested highways easier. The addition of a furry little tag-along hadn't figured into the equation, but the problem was easily solved once Gus figured out that the dog could ride quite comfortably in his backpack.
They wove through the streets, dodging remains both mechanical and human, until they slowed to a stop in front of the former Psych office. The building had been gutted, its once-cheerful facade blackened and crumbling. Only a few shards of glass remained in the window, and the torn blinds looked like a mouthful of shattered teeth.
For a moment, the only sound was the idling of the motor. Gus leaned over Shawn's shoulder. "You want to go in?"
"No."
They were working their way south hours later when they first ran into the other survivors. Shawn hung back behind an abandoned Jeep, observing the group. There were four of them - a skinny, curly-haired kid holding hands with a pretty girl who looked way out of his league and an older, taller guy carrying a younger girl piggyback-style. The skinny kid was telling some story, judging by his gesturing, and
the older guy had a scowl on his face that looked like it was trying to hide a laugh. All in all, it was an incongruously happy-looking tableau.
Except for the pack of hungry undead bastards trying to climb up the side of the overpass.
"Gus, hang on."
Throwing the bike into gear, Shawn darted forward, skidding to a stop in front of the zombie interlopers and unholstering the police-issue handgun he'd strapped on for just such an occasion. Behind him, Gus was drawing his own weapon with ease born of practice and necessity, and within seconds bodies were hitting the pavement with a sickening yet satisfying squooshy noise. For a brief, absurd moment, Shawn was reminded of David Letterman throwing stuff off buildings.
"Okay, that was cool." Skinny Kid poked his head out from behind the truck he'd been using for cover. "I thought you were gonna do the whole 'gun in both hands' double-action thing for a minute."
Shawn shook his head. "Nah, that's Hollywood stuff. It looks really good, but most of the time you're lucky if you hit anything you're aiming for."
There was no trace of amusement left in the older man's scowl now. Apparently this wasn't unusual, as the kid soldiered on brightly. "So, where're you guys headed?"
"My dad's got a cabin out in the mountains. We're going out there to check it out."
"You know, we're not headed anywhere in particular. Maybe we could-"
The hot girl grabbed him by the collar. "Could we have a word with you over here, please?"
What followed wasn't exactly an argument, but it looked like it was getting close. Shawn looked at Gus, who shrugged. "I don't have a problem with it."
The not-quite-argument took a brief hiatus when the younger girl spotted the puppy poking her head out of Gus's bag. Her face lit up and for a moment she looked like the innocent little kid she must have once been. The older man threw up his hands in defeat. "Alright, fine, but don't come whinin' to me when this all goes to hell."
"Been there, done that," the older girl muttered.
"Guess that's settled, then." The skinny kid turned back to Shawn and Gus, wiping a hand on his pants. "I'm Columbus. This is Tallahassee, Wichita, and Little Rock."
The confusion must have been apparent on their faces as he continued. "See, we started out using place names to avoid getting too attached to each other, and obviously that didn't work, but we're all kinda used to it now."
"Huh. That's... weird."
Gus gave him a look. "Weirder than introducing me as Rolf Edgar Flankenshtein?"
"Moderately, yes."
"I still get Christmas cards from those people!"
"Hey! If you three are done flappin' your gums, I'd really like to find some transportation before we all end up as lunch meat."
Shawn let out a small whimper at leaving the bike behind, but made a point of leaving the keys in the ignition. "Someone might need it."
Gus didn't have the heart to point out how unlikely this was.
They'd planned on taking Shawn's motorcycle for the journey out of town, in order to make traveling the debris-congested highways easier. The addition of a furry little tag-along hadn't figured into the equation, but the problem was easily solved once Gus figured out that the dog could ride quite comfortably in his backpack.
They wove through the streets, dodging remains both mechanical and human, until they slowed to a stop in front of the former Psych office. The building had been gutted, its once-cheerful facade blackened and crumbling. Only a few shards of glass remained in the window, and the torn blinds looked like a mouthful of shattered teeth.
For a moment, the only sound was the idling of the motor. Gus leaned over Shawn's shoulder. "You want to go in?"
"No."
They were working their way south hours later when they first ran into the other survivors. Shawn hung back behind an abandoned Jeep, observing the group. There were four of them - a skinny, curly-haired kid holding hands with a pretty girl who looked way out of his league and an older, taller guy carrying a younger girl piggyback-style. The skinny kid was telling some story, judging by his gesturing, and
the older guy had a scowl on his face that looked like it was trying to hide a laugh. All in all, it was an incongruously happy-looking tableau.
Except for the pack of hungry undead bastards trying to climb up the side of the overpass.
"Gus, hang on."
Throwing the bike into gear, Shawn darted forward, skidding to a stop in front of the zombie interlopers and unholstering the police-issue handgun he'd strapped on for just such an occasion. Behind him, Gus was drawing his own weapon with ease born of practice and necessity, and within seconds bodies were hitting the pavement with a sickening yet satisfying squooshy noise. For a brief, absurd moment, Shawn was reminded of David Letterman throwing stuff off buildings.
"Okay, that was cool." Skinny Kid poked his head out from behind the truck he'd been using for cover. "I thought you were gonna do the whole 'gun in both hands' double-action thing for a minute."
Shawn shook his head. "Nah, that's Hollywood stuff. It looks really good, but most of the time you're lucky if you hit anything you're aiming for."
There was no trace of amusement left in the older man's scowl now. Apparently this wasn't unusual, as the kid soldiered on brightly. "So, where're you guys headed?"
"My dad's got a cabin out in the mountains. We're going out there to check it out."
"You know, we're not headed anywhere in particular. Maybe we could-"
The hot girl grabbed him by the collar. "Could we have a word with you over here, please?"
What followed wasn't exactly an argument, but it looked like it was getting close. Shawn looked at Gus, who shrugged. "I don't have a problem with it."
The not-quite-argument took a brief hiatus when the younger girl spotted the puppy poking her head out of Gus's bag. Her face lit up and for a moment she looked like the innocent little kid she must have once been. The older man threw up his hands in defeat. "Alright, fine, but don't come whinin' to me when this all goes to hell."
"Been there, done that," the older girl muttered.
"Guess that's settled, then." The skinny kid turned back to Shawn and Gus, wiping a hand on his pants. "I'm Columbus. This is Tallahassee, Wichita, and Little Rock."
The confusion must have been apparent on their faces as he continued. "See, we started out using place names to avoid getting too attached to each other, and obviously that didn't work, but we're all kinda used to it now."
"Huh. That's... weird."
Gus gave him a look. "Weirder than introducing me as Rolf Edgar Flankenshtein?"
"Moderately, yes."
"I still get Christmas cards from those people!"
"Hey! If you three are done flappin' your gums, I'd really like to find some transportation before we all end up as lunch meat."
Shawn let out a small whimper at leaving the bike behind, but made a point of leaving the keys in the ignition. "Someone might need it."
Gus didn't have the heart to point out how unlikely this was.