fic: Rules for Surviving Zombieland
Title: Rules for Surviving Zombieland
Author: slacker_d
Fandom: glee/Zombieland crossover
Pairing/Characters: Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana, zombies
Rating: R for language and violence
Summary: See title. Written for a prompt at the Glee Fluff Meme.
Disclaimer: Not mine. That includes glee, Zombieland and anything Hostess related.
Word Count: 9,900+
Spoilers: For the entire movie, Zombieland, but none really for glee.
Warnings: Zombies, Violence, Long Author’s Notes
Prompt: “Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana - Zombieland crossover”
Full prompt: here
A/N: Unbeta’ed, so all mistakes are mine.
2nd A/N: Okay, so don’t hate me, but I cut a few things out. The flashbacks of the Columbus’ run in with 406 and the girls pulling their ring scheme are gone. Buck is gone as well. Also, the Bill Murray stuff isn’t here. Two reasons. One, I wasn’t sure I could do it justice in this context. Two, I didn’t think that the glee girls would have picked Bill Murray and I couldn’t think of a better more appropriate celebrity.
I changed all the city names for the characters, put them in different cities in general, changed any other names mentioned and called Pacific Play Land something else.
There’s three different points of views here. When it’s in first person, (I), it’s Rachel. When it’s in second person, (you), it’s Quinn. And when it’s third person, (she), it’s Santana. I would have done one for Brittany, but I ran out of povs.
***
The United States of America. It wasn’t too long ago that we were one amazing nation; filled with great and noble people, but now we’ve become a country full of citizens willing to eat one another.
It all started about 3 months ago when patient X bit into a contaminated burger. The epidemic quickly spread and there was no hope of a cure. Partly because no one knows what exactly started it, but mainly because no one had time to attempt a cure. They only had time to attempt escape.
It’s amazing how things can go from bad to total shit storm so quickly.
Now there are barely any people anywhere.
I’m sure you’re wondering how I survived, what with my diminutive stature and overly boisterous personality. It’s simple really. I have a list of rules I follow, which I keep in a pink journal with a gold star on it, and they help me avoid becoming dinner.
Rule # 1: Cardio. Zombies live an active life style and so when this whole ordeal began, the first ones to go were the fatties. There were tons that made valiant efforts to run, but eventually the body just gives up. They make for easy pickings and only helped to spread the plague further.
Rule #2: Double Tap. As the plague spread it wasn’t just enough to be able to run fast. You had to get a hold of a gun and learn to use it. However, even that’s not enough. You can’t just simply shoot a zombie and move on, you have to make sure it’s dead. All it takes is another bullet, preferably to the head to ensure you’re not a meal. Plenty were goners because they didn’t follow this simple rule.
Rule #3: Beware of Bathrooms. As more and more people were killed, zombies had to adjust to find more prey. It’s easy to find people, unaware and vulnerable in many situations, but certainly the most common is while using a bathroom. So whenever possible, protect yourself and be prepared.
Rule #4: Wear Your Seatbelt. I know what you’re thinking. But safety first. You never know what’s going to happen, especially when fleeing. There were numerous of deaths that had nothing to do with zombie attacks, but rather people without seatbelts getting into accidents while escaping.
…
I’m currently in Strawn, TX on my way back to Albany to check on my fathers. Hopefully they’re still alive. It’s odd. When they were alive, we didn’t talk much after I moved out and started college, but now that there’s a possibility that they’re gone, I really want to see them.
I’ve always kind of been a loner, though that wasn’t necessarily by choice. People tend to find my intensity a bit too much to handle. And usually that’s fine. I’ve gotten use to being around people, but not getting close. Getting close is how you get hurt.
In fact, the only thing scarier than getting close to people is clowns. I know, how cliché, but I can’t help it. There’s just something about the bright red nose and crazy, colorful, curly hair. Or maybe it’s because a clown made me cry at a birthday party when I was four. Take your pick.
At the moment, however, I consider myself lucky. I have a car and this gas station still has gas. That isn’t always the case. I fill my car up and then head over to the restroom. You’ve got to take advantage of a bathroom whenever one’s available.
I approach with caution.
(Rule #3: Beware of Bathrooms)
It’s dark and very quiet, but that doesn’t mean anything. I stand outside for a moment and listen.
And then the door is flung open and a zombie is barreling out at me. I manage to get a chest shot, but it’s definitely not enough to stop him. I attempt another over my shoulder while running for my car. Except when I get there, I find another zombie. And so I take off in the other direction.
(Rule #1: Cardio)
I spend the next couple minutes running and shooting; my aim isn’t that great on the run. I manage to hit the bathroom one, make it back to my car and climb in. Driving away, I sigh in relief.
My reprieve is short lived as another zombie pops up in the back. I get off a couple of shots, but crash into a streetlight. It jerks me forward harshly and sends the zombie sailing through the windshield.
(Rule #4: Wear Your Seatbelt)
The car’s dead, but before I can even move, the zombie is on the windshield, reaching through the hole his body made. I get off a head shot and he rolls off the hood. Getting out, I quickly walk around the car to his twitching body and shoot him point blank in the head.
(Rule #2: Double Tap)
…
(Rule #7: Travel Light)
Walking down the highway with a pink rolling suitcase behind me isn’t ideal, but I don’t really have another choice. After smashing the car into that pole, it was pretty much useless. And while being on foot isn’t great, it is a good idea to keep moving.
Weaving in between the wreckage, I hear the sound of an approaching vehicle. Looking behind me, I see a black Escalade with a monstrous snow plow, barreling towards me. I head off to the guide rail and duck behind a car that’s been ripped apart, my gun ready.
The SUV stops and the door swings open revealing a Latina woman around my age. She’s wearing boots, jeans, a black wife beater and a leather jacket, hair in a tight ponytail. There’s a massive knife strapped to her leg. Pulling off her sunglasses, she just stares at me. When I don’t pull back, she whips a Winchester from her other leg and aims it at me.
We face off for a moment, guns both raised. After a moment, I stand, gun still up and wait. She just stares back. Figuring it can’t hurt, I raise my thumb in a hitchhiking manner. She purses her lips and then nods. Jumping quickly, I hurry around to the other side and climb in. Checking the back seat first, of course.
(Rule #31: Check the Backseat)
“Nothing back there, but my shit,” she says, looking at me.
I nod. “I figured as much. I just like to be sure, you know? I have these rules. I’m-”
“Stop right there,” she says. “I don’t want to know. Don’t need to get attached or anything.”
“Right. Of course.”
“So where you going?”
“Albany. You?”
“Pittsburgh.”
“Well, hey, Pittsburgh and Albany are both east, how would feel about hooking up for a bit?”
“Hooking up, eh?” she smirks. “I don’t think you could handle that.”
“What? No. I didn’t mean-”
“Relax, Albany. I know what you meant.” She’s thoughtful for a moment. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. I’m not looking for this to become a buddy movie kinda moment. I prefer to work alone. And honestly, I can already tell, just from looking at you, that you’re gonna annoy the fuck out of me.”
“I get that a lot.”
“Well, good. Glad you understand. But I’m a kind hearted sort, so I’m gonna let you stick around till Louisiana.”
“Really? Louisiana? That’s great,” I say, turning slightly to put on my seatbelt.
“You’re easily excitable, aren’t you?” Pittsburgh says starting the car and heading down the highway through the rumble and destroyed vehicles.
Normally, I wouldn’t consider myself a team player type. I’ve gotten very used to being alone, so to speak. But Pittsburgh seems like a safer option than going solo. She’s in the zombie slaying business. And business is very good.
Though, I learned quickly enough that she does have one dangerous weakness.
I find myself standing on the side of the road staring at a Hostess truck that’s apparently been driven off the highway.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
“Isn’t it obvious? It’s a Hostess truck.”
“I see that.”
“Well, I could really go for a Twinkie,” she says as she starts down the grassy slope. She turns to look at me as I continue to just stare. “You coming?”
“Yes. Uh, yes. Just a sec,” I reply.
Gun in hand, I begin a series of quick stretching exercises, arms and legs.
(Rule # 18: Limber Up)
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Limbering up. I find it helps. I’d recommend it.”
“Can’t say I believe in it. You think lions stretch before they take down a zebra?”
“Uh, couldn’t say.”
She heads down the hill and I try to keep up, with my gun out and ready. Pittsburgh pulls out her rifle as we approach. She whips open the back of the truck, but all there is an avalanche of Snowballs.
“Snowballs. Fucking snowballs.” Pittsburgh begins trashing the confectionaries as they slide out. “I need a god damn Twinkie!”
“I like snowballs,” I tell her, picking one up and opening it.
“Well, I hate ‘em. They’re pink marshmallow coconut balls shaped like a chest. It’s just not right.”
“I never thought about them, that way.”
“This Twinkie thing is far from over,” she tells me before heading back up the slope.
I pick up a few and follow her back to the Escalade.
…
We have to stop again, rather soon. The road is blocked with destroyed vehicles.
Jumping out Pittsburgh says, “I’ll push. You steer.”
I open the door, check the backseat and begin steering the car out of the way.
“Have you heard talk of there being a place that’s untouched by all of this?”
“Sure. Out west, they say it’s out east and vice versa. It’s that whole the grass is always greener crap.”
“Or it’s called hope,” I suggest.
“Hope just gets you killed.”
…
Pittsburgh, it seems, wasn’t kidding when she vowed to find some Twinkies. After seeing an unblocked exit, we find ourselves in the deserted parking lot of a grocery store.
She opens the back of the Escalade, pulls out a pick axe and gives a couple experimental swings.
“What are we, prospecting?” I ask.
She sets it down and picks up a spade.
“You’re nuts,” I tell her. “You’re going to risk our lives for a Twinkie?”
Pittsburgh’s decided on some hedge clippers which she shoves in her back pocket. She turns to face me, deadly serious. “It’s not just a Twinkie. It’s probably one of the last Twinkies left in the universe that a person could enjoy. Contrary to popular belief, Twinkies do have an expiration date. And that date is getting closer and closer. Besides, the only thing worse than having no Twinkies is eating stales ones. It’s a taste you just can’t rinse out of your mouth,” she tells me, slipping a hatchet through her belt. Next she grabs a metal bat and slings it over her shoulder before slamming the Escalade shut. “Time to nut up or shut up.”
The seriousness of which Pittsburgh takes Twinkies has me thinking. It’s more than just a Twinkie. It’s a piece of normalcy that we are desperately lacking. It’s almost as if she could get a taste of that comforting childhood confection, then the world would seem normal again, at least for a little while.
I follow her inside, cautiously staying behind. Because when Pittsburgh goes off on a zombie, she sets the standard for “not to be fucked with.” No fear. Nothing to lose. It’s fucking amazing to watch.
Once we make it past the checkout lines, Pittsburgh turns to me and says, “You said you sing, right?”
“I did. I do.”
“Well how about a little tune to help rustle up the natives?”
I nod and let out a verse of Defying Gravity and it’s not long before a large zombie is hurling towards us.
Taking a few steps forward, she flings the hatchet at him. It embeds itself right in the middle of his forehead.
Turning at a growling noise behind me, I see another zombie rushing towards me. All I can think to do is run at Pittsburgh and hope she takes him down. Seeing me coming, she raises the bat.
“Don’t swing. Don’t swing,” I panicky tell her right before I slide under the bat. “Okay. Swing. Swing.”
The zombie is right there and she swings knocking him on his back. She lets loose with a series of swings until the head is a bloody mess.
“Awesome,” I say.
“You owe me,” she replies. “Where do you suppose the Twinkies are? Twinkie, Twinkie, where could you be?”
And then we see a massive one rumbling our way. As I back away, Pittsburgh just pulls out the hedge clippers and charges him head on.
It’s an amazing thing to watch. Between all the kicking and dodging, I’m not sure what exactly happens, but the clippers seem to take the head off quite nicely.
Pittsburgh really is an artist of zombie killing.
We hear a noise behind us. Turning we find a beautiful blonde, about our age, looking sad. I don’t know what it is, but seeing that expression on her makes me just want to hold her until she’s smiling. I bet she’s got a terrific laugh.
All she says is, “Come quick.”
We follow, but seeing an emergency exit, I stop and tell Pittsburgh I’ll be there in a sec. Using an empty box, I prop open the exit, just in case.
(Rule #22: When in Doubt, Know Your Way Out)
I head into the back, following the maze of hallways until I find them.
Sitting on a metal prep table is a taller blonde, looking pretty sick. Pittsburgh approaches before I can say anything.
“Look, her sister’s been bit and it doesn’t look good, but try not to make a big deal about it.”
I nod and approach.
“Albany,” Pittsburgh says. “Houston.” She points to the sad blonde. “Tulsa.” She gestures to the tall blonde.
“You did all this for a Twinkie?” Tulsa asks, sounding almost impressed.
“No, not me,” I stammer. “She did. I’m not really-I’m more of a Sancho Panza type.”
Houston grabs myself and Pittsburgh pulling us aside.
“Uh, I don’t think she has long,” I say.
“I know,” Houston replies. “And she knows it to. We’re just looking for a quick easy way to…end it.” She gestures to the gun in my hand.
“What? No, I can’t.”
“I can hear you, you know?” Tulsa interrupts.
We break apart and all walk towards her.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I know you’re pretty sick. But your sister wants me to-”
“I know. It was my idea, okay?” She sniffles a bit before continuing. “Look, we already said good bye. We just didn’t have a way to-we don’t have a gun.”
“Sure. Yeah, but we don’t know for sure there isn’t a cure, right?” I attempt. It’s one thing to shoot a zombie. It’s another to shoot someone to stop them from becoming one.
“You’re just a coward,” Tulsa accuses. “Give her the gun, then.”
I look over at Pittsburgh. She nods and accepts the gun as I hand it over. I walk away and watch Pittsburgh raise the gun as Tulsa starts to cry.
“Wait. Wait,” Houston breaks in. “I should do it. She’s my twin. I should do it.”
I watch Pittsburgh hand over the gun, with a questioning look on her face. Houston just nods and wipes away a tear. Pittsburgh takes a step back. Houston goes to her sister one more time and they share a look. Tulsa nods and they hug tightly before Houston backs up and takes aim.
We watch her hold it in place as Tulsa cowers in anticipation. After a moment or two, Pittsburgh asks, “You need some help?”
“Now that you mention it,” Houston says, turning to point the gun at Pittsburgh. “We’ll take your weapons, your vehicle, and anything else you might have.”
Tulsa jumps off the prep table and grabs Pittsburgh’s rifle before she can react. “And if you have any marshmallow Peeps, we’ll take those too.” The Winchester is now pointed at the two of us.
“Wait,” I say. “Why are you doing this?”
“Self preservation,” Houston replies. “Besides, I’d rather betray you than you betray me.”
And so they prod us out, take our bags and toss them to us before peeling away in the Escalade.
It figures. I spend my whole life pre Zombieland never really trusting people because they will eventually stab you in the back, only to survive the apocalypse and maybe start to trust people a little bit. Except when I do, it’s maliciously thrown back in my face that people are untrustworthy by two hot blonde twins who take our transportation and my semi automatic.
“Nice move, genius,” Pittsburgh tells me.
“Whatever. You’re the one that handed over the gun.”
***
Driving away, all you can think is how gullible those two seemed. You’re definitely not thinking about how cute Albany was, even in the argyle sweater. Instead you check your appearance in the vanity mirror.
“Note to self,” you say out loud. “Stay away from mirrors.” You smack it back up.
“You look fine. I’m the one who was just mistaken for a zombie.”
That is true. Though you figure that’s more about the tears that the two of you are able to so easily produce. People often miss things when distracted by a pretty girl crying. It’s one of the many lessons you’ve learned over the years.
“You know what I could really go for?”
“Don’t,” You reply. “Do not say s-h-o-w-e-r. It’s useless. We’ll just get to where we’re going and it’ll be fine.”
“You think it’s true? About Pacific Play Land being totally zombie free?” she asks you.
“Only place west of Dallas, they say,” you reply.
“That Pittsburgh was kinda cute, don’t you think?”
“Doesn’t matter,” you tell her. “We’re not gonna be seeing them again.”
***
“…and since it’s winter and like zero degrees there, the water froze immediately it was easy to just knock their heads off.”
“Not bad,” Pittsburgh says. “But zombie kill of the week, I don’t think so. I met a minor league baseball pitcher. His fastballs were rarely below 90 MPH and so he’d just whip a ball at their head and decapitate them.”
“Whatever, let’s just try to find another car.”
“You know, it occurs to me that I never had any issues like this before you came along. I mean, it’s one thing to have a pretty girl point your own Winchester at you, but taking my Cadillac? It’s just not done.”
Turning, I see a decent mini-van and so I point it out to Pittsburgh.
“That is very nice,” Pittsburgh says, picking up a rock. “Lovely even.” She whips the rock at the back window shattering it. She then picks a metal pipe off the ground and begins wailing on it until all the glass is in tiny, minute pieces.
Pittsburgh is of the mindset that you have to occasionally blow off steam in Zombieland or else you’ll find yourself going ape shit crazy. I’m all for it. Whatever makes a person happy, I say. Plus if it keeps her from going after me in any way, shape or form, I’m all for it.
Eventually she jumps off of the vehicle and we begin walking again.
“Damn,” she says, limping a bit. “I think I pulled something.”
(Rule #18: Limber up)
We keep walking for a bit until we stumble onto a bright yellow Hummer.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Pittsburgh says, walking up to the driver side door.
I stay back a bit as she approaches the vehicle and assess the situation. It must be fine, because she opens the driver side door. I quickly follow to the passenger side. I arrive just in time to see Pittsburgh prying a pair of hands, just hands, off the steering wheel.
As she starts up the car, I investigate the backseat.
(Rule #31: Check the Backseat)
Only to find a large duffel bag full of various types of guns and ammunition.
“Thank god for rednecks!” Pittsburgh exclaims pulling out a Steyr Aug Automatic Rifle. “This is a really big truck filled with really big guns.”
And so I sit in the passenger seat while she screws around and tries out a few of them. Finally we take off. Pittsburgh seems to be in search of those blonde twins.
“You know they say he who seeks revenge should dig two graves.”
“Exactly. One for the tall bitch and one for the other bitch.”
“You’re like wicked excited now, aren’t you?” I ask. “Listen, can’t we just forget about those girls and head home?”
“Home?” Pittsburgh replies. “Let me tell you about home. Home isn’t a place. It’s a state of mind. Like that cheesy line, ‘Home is where the heart is.’ I always used to gag when my mother said it, but it’s true. Especially nowadays. It’s all about finding a place that fits, that feels right. Sometimes that’s a place you’ve already been and sometimes it’s not. Either way, I’m on the look out for a new home. Tomorrow, who knows? But today? A vortex six liter fucking V8, a box of hollow points, and hopefully, a god damn Twinkie. Gotta enjoy the little things,” she says, laughing.
I didn’t think I’d hear anyone else spout off advice that is worth putting on my list, but Pittsburgh’s right. I’m writing it down.
(Rule #32: Enjoy the Little Things)
…
We eventually stumble onto the Escalade, abandoned on the side of the road. We stop a quarter of a mile back to check it out. With some binoculars, Pittsburgh scourers the area for any sign of them, but it’s a barren landscape.
“Knowing those bitches,” she says. “It’s definitely a trap.” She hands over the binoculars. “Wait here. Drive down if I signal.” She turns and grabs the combat shotgun off the hood of the hummer.
“You’re not going to shoot them are you?” I ask.
“Only if they shoot first,” she replies, walking towards the Escalade.
I climb into the driver’s side and wait for the signal.
Of course, who should pop out of the back seat with the Winchester pointed at my head, but Houston.
(Rule #31: Check the Backseat)
“Bummer, huh?” she says.
***
Pittsburgh slowly makes her way towards the Escalade, gun ready. The driver side door is open, the hood is popped and there’s a shirt hanging off it. She scans it thoroughly, including underneath. Looking around, they don’t seem to be anywhere in sight, so she lets out a loon call for Albany.
The Hummer approaches slowly and Pittsburgh climbs into the passenger side.
“No sign of ‘em. Must’ve gone on foot. Just drive slow and keep your eyes open.” She then notices how nervous and quiet Albany is. “They’re in the back, aren’t they?”
“Just me,” Houston says, popping up.
“I’m really sorry. She was already back there, when I got in.”
“See? This is what I was talking about. No issues before you.”
“Gun, please,” Houston says.
“I don’t believe you even know how to shoot that thing,” Pittsburgh challenges.
The blonde lets out a shot just above her head.
“Damnit,” Pittsburgh says. “Don’t kill me with my own gun. That is so not cool.” She hands over the rifle, grudgingly.
“Honk the horn,” she tells Albany.
She does so. And out from behind a bush walks Tulsa with Albany’s gun.
“Get out,” Houston says to Albany, climbing out as well. “You get to ride shotgun.”
The four of them play musical car seats or something. And then they’re on the road again with Houston driving, Albany next to her; Tulsa in the back behind her with a gun pointed at Pittsburgh.
***
Is it wrong that I don’t completely hate Houston? And it’s not just because she’s hot. Sure, she looks like she was a cheerleader in high school. They both do. But she doesn’t seem like the super cruel, popular bitch I knew back then. Sure she’s a bit cut throat, but that’s sort of what people have become in Zombieland. I figure we’re just lucky they didn’t leave us on the side of the road.
“Thanks, Houston. Thanks, Tulsa,” I say, cause all things considered things could be worse.
And then Pittsburgh manages to get the Winchester back from Tulsa, which she aims at the blonde. Houston slams on the brakes and whips out a pistol and points it at Pittsburgh’s head, who response by aiming her weapon back at Houston. It’s a tense couple of moments and I just can’t take it anymore.
“What the fuck, people? Zombies? Ring any bells? Like we don’t already have enough problems. Oh no, they stole my Hummer. Oh no, we have trust issues. Get the fuck over it. Can’t we just drive down the road playing some stupid car game and not have any guns pointed at anyone? Fucking hell.”
“Whoa,” Pittsburgh says.
“I know.”
“Let me be the mature one,” she continues, slowly lowering the Winchester.
Houston follows suit and turns around.
“Good. Yes, this is nice.”
Houston starts driving again.
After a moment, I ask, “So, where you guys heading?”
“Funtastic Park,” Tulsa answers
“The amusement park? Just outside of LA?”
“Yeah. We went there as kids.”
“Hey, me too,” I say. “This probably counts as off season.”
“Plus we heard,” Tulsa continues. “That it’s totally zombie free.”
“Greener grass,” I hear Pittsburgh mutter.
“Well, zombies probably aren’t big on amusement park rides, anyway,” I say. “I mean, they’re not very patient; probably not great about waiting their turn in line. And they totally wouldn’t properly fasten their seat belt or harness or whatever. Then they’d fall out and block the track or jam something and then the rest of the zombies would get really pissed and probably start climbing out and that would be chaos-”
“I know a car game we can play,” Houston interrupts. “How about the quiet game? Starting now.”
I turn and watch the road, until something occurs to me. “Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Have you heard anything about Albany, New York?”
“Have you ever played the quiet game?” Houston asks.
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, well, they’re playing the quiet game there; total ghost town. It’s been completely burned to the ground.”
And suddenly a wave of despair washes over me. I’m alone; really and truly alone. I know it was stupid to hold out hope that my fathers would still be alive. There are days where I can’t believe I’m still alive. But that little bit of hope, well, it helped, a bit.
I see movement out of the corner of my eye. Pittsburgh is nudging Houston with her rifle. And the realization dawns on her.
“And you’re Albany. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”
I just shake my head. I’m not even sure why I was heading back there. It wasn’t as if I missed them, per say, more like I missed the idea of them. But I can’t really pretend anymore I was going to find what I was looking for by going home. I have no home.
“I really am sorry,” she tells me softly.
All I can do is nod. But I could tell she understood how I felt. We’re all orphans in Zombieland.
…
Day turns into night and it’s just me and Houston awake at the moment. Pittsburgh and Tulsa are cuddled together asleep in the backseat. It kind of threw me for a loop when I first noticed it. I spent the next five minutes, attempting to nonchalantly gauge Houston’s reaction to the situation in the back. Mostly because she seems so protective of Tulsa, even though the girl can obviously take care of herself. I figure maybe Houston’s the older twin and just takes that position very seriously.
“Look,” Houston says breaking the contemplative silence. “I know this Funtastic Park thing is kinda stupid. It’s just…that place is one of the few really good moments from our childhood. And what with the zombies and all, I just thought it would cheer her up a bit. I hate seeing her sad.”
“That’s not stupid,” I tell her. “It’s really sweet, actually.”
She smiles shyly.
“I always wanted an older sister when I was growing up,” I continue.
“She’s technically older,” Houston replies. “Forty-seven minutes. I’m just bossier.”
“Well, that’s certainly true,” I tease.
“Ordering you around at gun point isn’t bossy.”
“Uh huh,” I continue. “Then how come Tulsa never tells us what to do?”
“Maybe she knows you wouldn’t listen.”
The comfortable banter lasts until the backseat occupants wake up. You spend the entire time, fighting the urge to grab her hand. Still, you’re receiving a lot of smiles, so it’s not a complete loss.
…
“All this sitting is getting to me,” Pittsburgh says. “Let’s get out and stretch our legs a bit.”
“Is she serious?” Houston asks me from the driver’s seat.
“Just go with it,” I assure her.
We pull into the dirt parking lot of Kemo Sabe’s Trading Post that seems to sell all kinds of tacky Native American crafts and such. Getting out of the car, we all walk up to the door and pause.
“So who wants this one?” Pittsburgh asks.
I want to volunteer. It certainly seems like a good way to impress Houston, except it goes against one of my rules.
(Rule #17: Don’t Be a Hero)
“Why don’t you take this one?”
She nods, like she was expecting it. Pulling the very large buck knife off her belt, she uses it to ring the bell over the door. We wait a moment before a zombie runs into view, notices us and begins barreling towards us. I raise my weapon, as does Houston. However, just as he crosses the door frame, Pittsburgh swings out with the massive knife and decapitates him in one smooth motion. The body falls and the head rolls uselessly away.
“What’d ya think? Zombie kill of the week?”
Close but no cigar. Zombie kill of the week goes to Raymond Chambers for using a U-Haul truck as a bowling ball, managing to push it down a hill and taking out eight zombies at once. Though he was left with a nasty 7-10 split.
We stumble inside and split up, looking at the various and sundry knickknacks. Tulsa walks to the glass cases, Pittsburgh goes to the instruments, Houston begins trying on hats, while I spin the postcard and name key chain racks. My eyes are easily drawn to Houston trying on various cowboy hats and all I can do is stare. I don’t realize Pittsburgh has come up behind me until she chuckles in my ear.
“And just what are you staring at?”
“Nothing,” I stammer. “Just looking around.”
Pittsburgh’s eye follows my line of sight, then look back at me and then back to Houston again.
“Well, well, well. Hoping for a hook up, are we?”
It’s not so much the words, but the lascivious look on her face and tone of her voice that makes me blush.
“What? No, I, well, so what? You and Tulsa were practically in each other’s laps, earlier.”
“Yeah,” she grins. “I know. I’m so tapping that later.”
“Whatever,” I reply, cuffing her on the shoulder.
She stares at me incredulously.
And suddenly, I’m very afraid. “Let me begin my three part apology by saying you’re an amazing individual-”
“Uh uh, none of that,” she tells me. “I’ve tortured people for a lot less. Still, you amuse me, so I’m only gonna do it at half power.” And she punches me in the left arm.
It still hurts plenty and I stumble backwards slightly, bumping a display and knocking a vase off. It crashes to the ground and is extremely loud in the abandoned little store. The twins turn and stare at me, while I look at the broken pieces on the ground.
“Go ahead, do another,” Pittsburgh encourages.
I knock a plate off and it falls to the ground with a satisfying crack.
Houston smiles and follows suit, knocking over a bunch of toy tomahawks.
And then we all get into the act. Everything on the counters gets pushed off. Tulsa breaks the glass displays and knocks the pictures off the wall with a wooden walking stick. Pittsburgh sent a totem pole crashing into some displays. Houston and I get into a bead fight before flipping it and sending beads flying everywhere. I throw drums at Pittsburgh who hits them with a long tomahawk. Tulsa and Pittsburgh push over a shelf which starts a chain reaction domino effect knocking over the other three shelves.
Looking around at our handiwork, I can’t help but think that Pittsburgh is right.
(Rule #32: Enjoy the Little Things)
Even if that means breaking a lot of little things.
Final Part
Author: slacker_d
Fandom: glee/Zombieland crossover
Pairing/Characters: Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana, zombies
Rating: R for language and violence
Summary: See title. Written for a prompt at the Glee Fluff Meme.
Disclaimer: Not mine. That includes glee, Zombieland and anything Hostess related.
Word Count: 9,900+
Spoilers: For the entire movie, Zombieland, but none really for glee.
Warnings: Zombies, Violence, Long Author’s Notes
Prompt: “Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana - Zombieland crossover”
Full prompt: here
A/N: Unbeta’ed, so all mistakes are mine.
2nd A/N: Okay, so don’t hate me, but I cut a few things out. The flashbacks of the Columbus’ run in with 406 and the girls pulling their ring scheme are gone. Buck is gone as well. Also, the Bill Murray stuff isn’t here. Two reasons. One, I wasn’t sure I could do it justice in this context. Two, I didn’t think that the glee girls would have picked Bill Murray and I couldn’t think of a better more appropriate celebrity.
I changed all the city names for the characters, put them in different cities in general, changed any other names mentioned and called Pacific Play Land something else.
There’s three different points of views here. When it’s in first person, (I), it’s Rachel. When it’s in second person, (you), it’s Quinn. And when it’s third person, (she), it’s Santana. I would have done one for Brittany, but I ran out of povs.
***
The United States of America. It wasn’t too long ago that we were one amazing nation; filled with great and noble people, but now we’ve become a country full of citizens willing to eat one another.
It all started about 3 months ago when patient X bit into a contaminated burger. The epidemic quickly spread and there was no hope of a cure. Partly because no one knows what exactly started it, but mainly because no one had time to attempt a cure. They only had time to attempt escape.
It’s amazing how things can go from bad to total shit storm so quickly.
Now there are barely any people anywhere.
I’m sure you’re wondering how I survived, what with my diminutive stature and overly boisterous personality. It’s simple really. I have a list of rules I follow, which I keep in a pink journal with a gold star on it, and they help me avoid becoming dinner.
Rule # 1: Cardio. Zombies live an active life style and so when this whole ordeal began, the first ones to go were the fatties. There were tons that made valiant efforts to run, but eventually the body just gives up. They make for easy pickings and only helped to spread the plague further.
Rule #2: Double Tap. As the plague spread it wasn’t just enough to be able to run fast. You had to get a hold of a gun and learn to use it. However, even that’s not enough. You can’t just simply shoot a zombie and move on, you have to make sure it’s dead. All it takes is another bullet, preferably to the head to ensure you’re not a meal. Plenty were goners because they didn’t follow this simple rule.
Rule #3: Beware of Bathrooms. As more and more people were killed, zombies had to adjust to find more prey. It’s easy to find people, unaware and vulnerable in many situations, but certainly the most common is while using a bathroom. So whenever possible, protect yourself and be prepared.
Rule #4: Wear Your Seatbelt. I know what you’re thinking. But safety first. You never know what’s going to happen, especially when fleeing. There were numerous of deaths that had nothing to do with zombie attacks, but rather people without seatbelts getting into accidents while escaping.
…
I’m currently in Strawn, TX on my way back to Albany to check on my fathers. Hopefully they’re still alive. It’s odd. When they were alive, we didn’t talk much after I moved out and started college, but now that there’s a possibility that they’re gone, I really want to see them.
I’ve always kind of been a loner, though that wasn’t necessarily by choice. People tend to find my intensity a bit too much to handle. And usually that’s fine. I’ve gotten use to being around people, but not getting close. Getting close is how you get hurt.
In fact, the only thing scarier than getting close to people is clowns. I know, how cliché, but I can’t help it. There’s just something about the bright red nose and crazy, colorful, curly hair. Or maybe it’s because a clown made me cry at a birthday party when I was four. Take your pick.
At the moment, however, I consider myself lucky. I have a car and this gas station still has gas. That isn’t always the case. I fill my car up and then head over to the restroom. You’ve got to take advantage of a bathroom whenever one’s available.
I approach with caution.
(Rule #3: Beware of Bathrooms)
It’s dark and very quiet, but that doesn’t mean anything. I stand outside for a moment and listen.
And then the door is flung open and a zombie is barreling out at me. I manage to get a chest shot, but it’s definitely not enough to stop him. I attempt another over my shoulder while running for my car. Except when I get there, I find another zombie. And so I take off in the other direction.
(Rule #1: Cardio)
I spend the next couple minutes running and shooting; my aim isn’t that great on the run. I manage to hit the bathroom one, make it back to my car and climb in. Driving away, I sigh in relief.
My reprieve is short lived as another zombie pops up in the back. I get off a couple of shots, but crash into a streetlight. It jerks me forward harshly and sends the zombie sailing through the windshield.
(Rule #4: Wear Your Seatbelt)
The car’s dead, but before I can even move, the zombie is on the windshield, reaching through the hole his body made. I get off a head shot and he rolls off the hood. Getting out, I quickly walk around the car to his twitching body and shoot him point blank in the head.
(Rule #2: Double Tap)
…
(Rule #7: Travel Light)
Walking down the highway with a pink rolling suitcase behind me isn’t ideal, but I don’t really have another choice. After smashing the car into that pole, it was pretty much useless. And while being on foot isn’t great, it is a good idea to keep moving.
Weaving in between the wreckage, I hear the sound of an approaching vehicle. Looking behind me, I see a black Escalade with a monstrous snow plow, barreling towards me. I head off to the guide rail and duck behind a car that’s been ripped apart, my gun ready.
The SUV stops and the door swings open revealing a Latina woman around my age. She’s wearing boots, jeans, a black wife beater and a leather jacket, hair in a tight ponytail. There’s a massive knife strapped to her leg. Pulling off her sunglasses, she just stares at me. When I don’t pull back, she whips a Winchester from her other leg and aims it at me.
We face off for a moment, guns both raised. After a moment, I stand, gun still up and wait. She just stares back. Figuring it can’t hurt, I raise my thumb in a hitchhiking manner. She purses her lips and then nods. Jumping quickly, I hurry around to the other side and climb in. Checking the back seat first, of course.
(Rule #31: Check the Backseat)
“Nothing back there, but my shit,” she says, looking at me.
I nod. “I figured as much. I just like to be sure, you know? I have these rules. I’m-”
“Stop right there,” she says. “I don’t want to know. Don’t need to get attached or anything.”
“Right. Of course.”
“So where you going?”
“Albany. You?”
“Pittsburgh.”
“Well, hey, Pittsburgh and Albany are both east, how would feel about hooking up for a bit?”
“Hooking up, eh?” she smirks. “I don’t think you could handle that.”
“What? No. I didn’t mean-”
“Relax, Albany. I know what you meant.” She’s thoughtful for a moment. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. I’m not looking for this to become a buddy movie kinda moment. I prefer to work alone. And honestly, I can already tell, just from looking at you, that you’re gonna annoy the fuck out of me.”
“I get that a lot.”
“Well, good. Glad you understand. But I’m a kind hearted sort, so I’m gonna let you stick around till Louisiana.”
“Really? Louisiana? That’s great,” I say, turning slightly to put on my seatbelt.
“You’re easily excitable, aren’t you?” Pittsburgh says starting the car and heading down the highway through the rumble and destroyed vehicles.
Normally, I wouldn’t consider myself a team player type. I’ve gotten very used to being alone, so to speak. But Pittsburgh seems like a safer option than going solo. She’s in the zombie slaying business. And business is very good.
Though, I learned quickly enough that she does have one dangerous weakness.
I find myself standing on the side of the road staring at a Hostess truck that’s apparently been driven off the highway.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
“Isn’t it obvious? It’s a Hostess truck.”
“I see that.”
“Well, I could really go for a Twinkie,” she says as she starts down the grassy slope. She turns to look at me as I continue to just stare. “You coming?”
“Yes. Uh, yes. Just a sec,” I reply.
Gun in hand, I begin a series of quick stretching exercises, arms and legs.
(Rule # 18: Limber Up)
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Limbering up. I find it helps. I’d recommend it.”
“Can’t say I believe in it. You think lions stretch before they take down a zebra?”
“Uh, couldn’t say.”
She heads down the hill and I try to keep up, with my gun out and ready. Pittsburgh pulls out her rifle as we approach. She whips open the back of the truck, but all there is an avalanche of Snowballs.
“Snowballs. Fucking snowballs.” Pittsburgh begins trashing the confectionaries as they slide out. “I need a god damn Twinkie!”
“I like snowballs,” I tell her, picking one up and opening it.
“Well, I hate ‘em. They’re pink marshmallow coconut balls shaped like a chest. It’s just not right.”
“I never thought about them, that way.”
“This Twinkie thing is far from over,” she tells me before heading back up the slope.
I pick up a few and follow her back to the Escalade.
…
We have to stop again, rather soon. The road is blocked with destroyed vehicles.
Jumping out Pittsburgh says, “I’ll push. You steer.”
I open the door, check the backseat and begin steering the car out of the way.
“Have you heard talk of there being a place that’s untouched by all of this?”
“Sure. Out west, they say it’s out east and vice versa. It’s that whole the grass is always greener crap.”
“Or it’s called hope,” I suggest.
“Hope just gets you killed.”
…
Pittsburgh, it seems, wasn’t kidding when she vowed to find some Twinkies. After seeing an unblocked exit, we find ourselves in the deserted parking lot of a grocery store.
She opens the back of the Escalade, pulls out a pick axe and gives a couple experimental swings.
“What are we, prospecting?” I ask.
She sets it down and picks up a spade.
“You’re nuts,” I tell her. “You’re going to risk our lives for a Twinkie?”
Pittsburgh’s decided on some hedge clippers which she shoves in her back pocket. She turns to face me, deadly serious. “It’s not just a Twinkie. It’s probably one of the last Twinkies left in the universe that a person could enjoy. Contrary to popular belief, Twinkies do have an expiration date. And that date is getting closer and closer. Besides, the only thing worse than having no Twinkies is eating stales ones. It’s a taste you just can’t rinse out of your mouth,” she tells me, slipping a hatchet through her belt. Next she grabs a metal bat and slings it over her shoulder before slamming the Escalade shut. “Time to nut up or shut up.”
The seriousness of which Pittsburgh takes Twinkies has me thinking. It’s more than just a Twinkie. It’s a piece of normalcy that we are desperately lacking. It’s almost as if she could get a taste of that comforting childhood confection, then the world would seem normal again, at least for a little while.
I follow her inside, cautiously staying behind. Because when Pittsburgh goes off on a zombie, she sets the standard for “not to be fucked with.” No fear. Nothing to lose. It’s fucking amazing to watch.
Once we make it past the checkout lines, Pittsburgh turns to me and says, “You said you sing, right?”
“I did. I do.”
“Well how about a little tune to help rustle up the natives?”
I nod and let out a verse of Defying Gravity and it’s not long before a large zombie is hurling towards us.
Taking a few steps forward, she flings the hatchet at him. It embeds itself right in the middle of his forehead.
Turning at a growling noise behind me, I see another zombie rushing towards me. All I can think to do is run at Pittsburgh and hope she takes him down. Seeing me coming, she raises the bat.
“Don’t swing. Don’t swing,” I panicky tell her right before I slide under the bat. “Okay. Swing. Swing.”
The zombie is right there and she swings knocking him on his back. She lets loose with a series of swings until the head is a bloody mess.
“Awesome,” I say.
“You owe me,” she replies. “Where do you suppose the Twinkies are? Twinkie, Twinkie, where could you be?”
And then we see a massive one rumbling our way. As I back away, Pittsburgh just pulls out the hedge clippers and charges him head on.
It’s an amazing thing to watch. Between all the kicking and dodging, I’m not sure what exactly happens, but the clippers seem to take the head off quite nicely.
Pittsburgh really is an artist of zombie killing.
We hear a noise behind us. Turning we find a beautiful blonde, about our age, looking sad. I don’t know what it is, but seeing that expression on her makes me just want to hold her until she’s smiling. I bet she’s got a terrific laugh.
All she says is, “Come quick.”
We follow, but seeing an emergency exit, I stop and tell Pittsburgh I’ll be there in a sec. Using an empty box, I prop open the exit, just in case.
(Rule #22: When in Doubt, Know Your Way Out)
I head into the back, following the maze of hallways until I find them.
Sitting on a metal prep table is a taller blonde, looking pretty sick. Pittsburgh approaches before I can say anything.
“Look, her sister’s been bit and it doesn’t look good, but try not to make a big deal about it.”
I nod and approach.
“Albany,” Pittsburgh says. “Houston.” She points to the sad blonde. “Tulsa.” She gestures to the tall blonde.
“You did all this for a Twinkie?” Tulsa asks, sounding almost impressed.
“No, not me,” I stammer. “She did. I’m not really-I’m more of a Sancho Panza type.”
Houston grabs myself and Pittsburgh pulling us aside.
“Uh, I don’t think she has long,” I say.
“I know,” Houston replies. “And she knows it to. We’re just looking for a quick easy way to…end it.” She gestures to the gun in my hand.
“What? No, I can’t.”
“I can hear you, you know?” Tulsa interrupts.
We break apart and all walk towards her.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I know you’re pretty sick. But your sister wants me to-”
“I know. It was my idea, okay?” She sniffles a bit before continuing. “Look, we already said good bye. We just didn’t have a way to-we don’t have a gun.”
“Sure. Yeah, but we don’t know for sure there isn’t a cure, right?” I attempt. It’s one thing to shoot a zombie. It’s another to shoot someone to stop them from becoming one.
“You’re just a coward,” Tulsa accuses. “Give her the gun, then.”
I look over at Pittsburgh. She nods and accepts the gun as I hand it over. I walk away and watch Pittsburgh raise the gun as Tulsa starts to cry.
“Wait. Wait,” Houston breaks in. “I should do it. She’s my twin. I should do it.”
I watch Pittsburgh hand over the gun, with a questioning look on her face. Houston just nods and wipes away a tear. Pittsburgh takes a step back. Houston goes to her sister one more time and they share a look. Tulsa nods and they hug tightly before Houston backs up and takes aim.
We watch her hold it in place as Tulsa cowers in anticipation. After a moment or two, Pittsburgh asks, “You need some help?”
“Now that you mention it,” Houston says, turning to point the gun at Pittsburgh. “We’ll take your weapons, your vehicle, and anything else you might have.”
Tulsa jumps off the prep table and grabs Pittsburgh’s rifle before she can react. “And if you have any marshmallow Peeps, we’ll take those too.” The Winchester is now pointed at the two of us.
“Wait,” I say. “Why are you doing this?”
“Self preservation,” Houston replies. “Besides, I’d rather betray you than you betray me.”
And so they prod us out, take our bags and toss them to us before peeling away in the Escalade.
It figures. I spend my whole life pre Zombieland never really trusting people because they will eventually stab you in the back, only to survive the apocalypse and maybe start to trust people a little bit. Except when I do, it’s maliciously thrown back in my face that people are untrustworthy by two hot blonde twins who take our transportation and my semi automatic.
“Nice move, genius,” Pittsburgh tells me.
“Whatever. You’re the one that handed over the gun.”
***
Driving away, all you can think is how gullible those two seemed. You’re definitely not thinking about how cute Albany was, even in the argyle sweater. Instead you check your appearance in the vanity mirror.
“Note to self,” you say out loud. “Stay away from mirrors.” You smack it back up.
“You look fine. I’m the one who was just mistaken for a zombie.”
That is true. Though you figure that’s more about the tears that the two of you are able to so easily produce. People often miss things when distracted by a pretty girl crying. It’s one of the many lessons you’ve learned over the years.
“You know what I could really go for?”
“Don’t,” You reply. “Do not say s-h-o-w-e-r. It’s useless. We’ll just get to where we’re going and it’ll be fine.”
“You think it’s true? About Pacific Play Land being totally zombie free?” she asks you.
“Only place west of Dallas, they say,” you reply.
“That Pittsburgh was kinda cute, don’t you think?”
“Doesn’t matter,” you tell her. “We’re not gonna be seeing them again.”
***
“…and since it’s winter and like zero degrees there, the water froze immediately it was easy to just knock their heads off.”
“Not bad,” Pittsburgh says. “But zombie kill of the week, I don’t think so. I met a minor league baseball pitcher. His fastballs were rarely below 90 MPH and so he’d just whip a ball at their head and decapitate them.”
“Whatever, let’s just try to find another car.”
“You know, it occurs to me that I never had any issues like this before you came along. I mean, it’s one thing to have a pretty girl point your own Winchester at you, but taking my Cadillac? It’s just not done.”
Turning, I see a decent mini-van and so I point it out to Pittsburgh.
“That is very nice,” Pittsburgh says, picking up a rock. “Lovely even.” She whips the rock at the back window shattering it. She then picks a metal pipe off the ground and begins wailing on it until all the glass is in tiny, minute pieces.
Pittsburgh is of the mindset that you have to occasionally blow off steam in Zombieland or else you’ll find yourself going ape shit crazy. I’m all for it. Whatever makes a person happy, I say. Plus if it keeps her from going after me in any way, shape or form, I’m all for it.
Eventually she jumps off of the vehicle and we begin walking again.
“Damn,” she says, limping a bit. “I think I pulled something.”
(Rule #18: Limber up)
We keep walking for a bit until we stumble onto a bright yellow Hummer.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Pittsburgh says, walking up to the driver side door.
I stay back a bit as she approaches the vehicle and assess the situation. It must be fine, because she opens the driver side door. I quickly follow to the passenger side. I arrive just in time to see Pittsburgh prying a pair of hands, just hands, off the steering wheel.
As she starts up the car, I investigate the backseat.
(Rule #31: Check the Backseat)
Only to find a large duffel bag full of various types of guns and ammunition.
“Thank god for rednecks!” Pittsburgh exclaims pulling out a Steyr Aug Automatic Rifle. “This is a really big truck filled with really big guns.”
And so I sit in the passenger seat while she screws around and tries out a few of them. Finally we take off. Pittsburgh seems to be in search of those blonde twins.
“You know they say he who seeks revenge should dig two graves.”
“Exactly. One for the tall bitch and one for the other bitch.”
“You’re like wicked excited now, aren’t you?” I ask. “Listen, can’t we just forget about those girls and head home?”
“Home?” Pittsburgh replies. “Let me tell you about home. Home isn’t a place. It’s a state of mind. Like that cheesy line, ‘Home is where the heart is.’ I always used to gag when my mother said it, but it’s true. Especially nowadays. It’s all about finding a place that fits, that feels right. Sometimes that’s a place you’ve already been and sometimes it’s not. Either way, I’m on the look out for a new home. Tomorrow, who knows? But today? A vortex six liter fucking V8, a box of hollow points, and hopefully, a god damn Twinkie. Gotta enjoy the little things,” she says, laughing.
I didn’t think I’d hear anyone else spout off advice that is worth putting on my list, but Pittsburgh’s right. I’m writing it down.
(Rule #32: Enjoy the Little Things)
…
We eventually stumble onto the Escalade, abandoned on the side of the road. We stop a quarter of a mile back to check it out. With some binoculars, Pittsburgh scourers the area for any sign of them, but it’s a barren landscape.
“Knowing those bitches,” she says. “It’s definitely a trap.” She hands over the binoculars. “Wait here. Drive down if I signal.” She turns and grabs the combat shotgun off the hood of the hummer.
“You’re not going to shoot them are you?” I ask.
“Only if they shoot first,” she replies, walking towards the Escalade.
I climb into the driver’s side and wait for the signal.
Of course, who should pop out of the back seat with the Winchester pointed at my head, but Houston.
(Rule #31: Check the Backseat)
“Bummer, huh?” she says.
***
Pittsburgh slowly makes her way towards the Escalade, gun ready. The driver side door is open, the hood is popped and there’s a shirt hanging off it. She scans it thoroughly, including underneath. Looking around, they don’t seem to be anywhere in sight, so she lets out a loon call for Albany.
The Hummer approaches slowly and Pittsburgh climbs into the passenger side.
“No sign of ‘em. Must’ve gone on foot. Just drive slow and keep your eyes open.” She then notices how nervous and quiet Albany is. “They’re in the back, aren’t they?”
“Just me,” Houston says, popping up.
“I’m really sorry. She was already back there, when I got in.”
“See? This is what I was talking about. No issues before you.”
“Gun, please,” Houston says.
“I don’t believe you even know how to shoot that thing,” Pittsburgh challenges.
The blonde lets out a shot just above her head.
“Damnit,” Pittsburgh says. “Don’t kill me with my own gun. That is so not cool.” She hands over the rifle, grudgingly.
“Honk the horn,” she tells Albany.
She does so. And out from behind a bush walks Tulsa with Albany’s gun.
“Get out,” Houston says to Albany, climbing out as well. “You get to ride shotgun.”
The four of them play musical car seats or something. And then they’re on the road again with Houston driving, Albany next to her; Tulsa in the back behind her with a gun pointed at Pittsburgh.
***
Is it wrong that I don’t completely hate Houston? And it’s not just because she’s hot. Sure, she looks like she was a cheerleader in high school. They both do. But she doesn’t seem like the super cruel, popular bitch I knew back then. Sure she’s a bit cut throat, but that’s sort of what people have become in Zombieland. I figure we’re just lucky they didn’t leave us on the side of the road.
“Thanks, Houston. Thanks, Tulsa,” I say, cause all things considered things could be worse.
And then Pittsburgh manages to get the Winchester back from Tulsa, which she aims at the blonde. Houston slams on the brakes and whips out a pistol and points it at Pittsburgh’s head, who response by aiming her weapon back at Houston. It’s a tense couple of moments and I just can’t take it anymore.
“What the fuck, people? Zombies? Ring any bells? Like we don’t already have enough problems. Oh no, they stole my Hummer. Oh no, we have trust issues. Get the fuck over it. Can’t we just drive down the road playing some stupid car game and not have any guns pointed at anyone? Fucking hell.”
“Whoa,” Pittsburgh says.
“I know.”
“Let me be the mature one,” she continues, slowly lowering the Winchester.
Houston follows suit and turns around.
“Good. Yes, this is nice.”
Houston starts driving again.
After a moment, I ask, “So, where you guys heading?”
“Funtastic Park,” Tulsa answers
“The amusement park? Just outside of LA?”
“Yeah. We went there as kids.”
“Hey, me too,” I say. “This probably counts as off season.”
“Plus we heard,” Tulsa continues. “That it’s totally zombie free.”
“Greener grass,” I hear Pittsburgh mutter.
“Well, zombies probably aren’t big on amusement park rides, anyway,” I say. “I mean, they’re not very patient; probably not great about waiting their turn in line. And they totally wouldn’t properly fasten their seat belt or harness or whatever. Then they’d fall out and block the track or jam something and then the rest of the zombies would get really pissed and probably start climbing out and that would be chaos-”
“I know a car game we can play,” Houston interrupts. “How about the quiet game? Starting now.”
I turn and watch the road, until something occurs to me. “Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Have you heard anything about Albany, New York?”
“Have you ever played the quiet game?” Houston asks.
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, well, they’re playing the quiet game there; total ghost town. It’s been completely burned to the ground.”
And suddenly a wave of despair washes over me. I’m alone; really and truly alone. I know it was stupid to hold out hope that my fathers would still be alive. There are days where I can’t believe I’m still alive. But that little bit of hope, well, it helped, a bit.
I see movement out of the corner of my eye. Pittsburgh is nudging Houston with her rifle. And the realization dawns on her.
“And you’re Albany. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”
I just shake my head. I’m not even sure why I was heading back there. It wasn’t as if I missed them, per say, more like I missed the idea of them. But I can’t really pretend anymore I was going to find what I was looking for by going home. I have no home.
“I really am sorry,” she tells me softly.
All I can do is nod. But I could tell she understood how I felt. We’re all orphans in Zombieland.
…
Day turns into night and it’s just me and Houston awake at the moment. Pittsburgh and Tulsa are cuddled together asleep in the backseat. It kind of threw me for a loop when I first noticed it. I spent the next five minutes, attempting to nonchalantly gauge Houston’s reaction to the situation in the back. Mostly because she seems so protective of Tulsa, even though the girl can obviously take care of herself. I figure maybe Houston’s the older twin and just takes that position very seriously.
“Look,” Houston says breaking the contemplative silence. “I know this Funtastic Park thing is kinda stupid. It’s just…that place is one of the few really good moments from our childhood. And what with the zombies and all, I just thought it would cheer her up a bit. I hate seeing her sad.”
“That’s not stupid,” I tell her. “It’s really sweet, actually.”
She smiles shyly.
“I always wanted an older sister when I was growing up,” I continue.
“She’s technically older,” Houston replies. “Forty-seven minutes. I’m just bossier.”
“Well, that’s certainly true,” I tease.
“Ordering you around at gun point isn’t bossy.”
“Uh huh,” I continue. “Then how come Tulsa never tells us what to do?”
“Maybe she knows you wouldn’t listen.”
The comfortable banter lasts until the backseat occupants wake up. You spend the entire time, fighting the urge to grab her hand. Still, you’re receiving a lot of smiles, so it’s not a complete loss.
…
“All this sitting is getting to me,” Pittsburgh says. “Let’s get out and stretch our legs a bit.”
“Is she serious?” Houston asks me from the driver’s seat.
“Just go with it,” I assure her.
We pull into the dirt parking lot of Kemo Sabe’s Trading Post that seems to sell all kinds of tacky Native American crafts and such. Getting out of the car, we all walk up to the door and pause.
“So who wants this one?” Pittsburgh asks.
I want to volunteer. It certainly seems like a good way to impress Houston, except it goes against one of my rules.
(Rule #17: Don’t Be a Hero)
“Why don’t you take this one?”
She nods, like she was expecting it. Pulling the very large buck knife off her belt, she uses it to ring the bell over the door. We wait a moment before a zombie runs into view, notices us and begins barreling towards us. I raise my weapon, as does Houston. However, just as he crosses the door frame, Pittsburgh swings out with the massive knife and decapitates him in one smooth motion. The body falls and the head rolls uselessly away.
“What’d ya think? Zombie kill of the week?”
Close but no cigar. Zombie kill of the week goes to Raymond Chambers for using a U-Haul truck as a bowling ball, managing to push it down a hill and taking out eight zombies at once. Though he was left with a nasty 7-10 split.
We stumble inside and split up, looking at the various and sundry knickknacks. Tulsa walks to the glass cases, Pittsburgh goes to the instruments, Houston begins trying on hats, while I spin the postcard and name key chain racks. My eyes are easily drawn to Houston trying on various cowboy hats and all I can do is stare. I don’t realize Pittsburgh has come up behind me until she chuckles in my ear.
“And just what are you staring at?”
“Nothing,” I stammer. “Just looking around.”
Pittsburgh’s eye follows my line of sight, then look back at me and then back to Houston again.
“Well, well, well. Hoping for a hook up, are we?”
It’s not so much the words, but the lascivious look on her face and tone of her voice that makes me blush.
“What? No, I, well, so what? You and Tulsa were practically in each other’s laps, earlier.”
“Yeah,” she grins. “I know. I’m so tapping that later.”
“Whatever,” I reply, cuffing her on the shoulder.
She stares at me incredulously.
And suddenly, I’m very afraid. “Let me begin my three part apology by saying you’re an amazing individual-”
“Uh uh, none of that,” she tells me. “I’ve tortured people for a lot less. Still, you amuse me, so I’m only gonna do it at half power.” And she punches me in the left arm.
It still hurts plenty and I stumble backwards slightly, bumping a display and knocking a vase off. It crashes to the ground and is extremely loud in the abandoned little store. The twins turn and stare at me, while I look at the broken pieces on the ground.
“Go ahead, do another,” Pittsburgh encourages.
I knock a plate off and it falls to the ground with a satisfying crack.
Houston smiles and follows suit, knocking over a bunch of toy tomahawks.
And then we all get into the act. Everything on the counters gets pushed off. Tulsa breaks the glass displays and knocks the pictures off the wall with a wooden walking stick. Pittsburgh sent a totem pole crashing into some displays. Houston and I get into a bead fight before flipping it and sending beads flying everywhere. I throw drums at Pittsburgh who hits them with a long tomahawk. Tulsa and Pittsburgh push over a shelf which starts a chain reaction domino effect knocking over the other three shelves.
Looking around at our handiwork, I can’t help but think that Pittsburgh is right.
(Rule #32: Enjoy the Little Things)
Even if that means breaking a lot of little things.
Final Part