The One With Kenny Chesney And The Zombies

Prompt: “Your friend discovers an alternative fuel and the car makers try to kill him.”

‘Wait! I have to stop for a minute.’ I leaned against the concrete wall of the abandoned service station, hands resting on my thighs and gasping for breath, ‘How long have we been running now?’ My best friend leaned next to me, sliding down the wall to sit on the ground. “I don’t know,” she was trying to catch her own breath, “Two days now?” I joined her on the ground and we scanned our surroundings for a minute. The only sounds were the distant traffic and our labored breathing.

Beverly pulled a bottle of water from the backpack slung over her shoulder. She opened it and took a drink, then passed it to me. “This is crazy!” Only she used more colorful expressions, expressions so colorful that they’re not allowed in short stories and even some porn. I nodded in agreement – I was quite used to her colorful expressions, they only made me cringe a little now. “You did discover a new fuel,” I reminded her, passing the water bottle back to her, “One that would put half the big-wig corporations out of business. It’s no wonder they’re trying to kill us.” “How was I supposed to know that mixing mayonnaise and ranch dressing would make a car run?” Bev kicked at a rock near her foot, “I was just trying to jack up that SOB’s car for taking the last Twinkie at Circle K!”

I giggled suddenly, “You and your Twinkies. We should be in a zombie movie.” “Well,” she shot me a grin, “We did turn that whole laundry mat full of people into zombies when we threw that vial with the virus at them.” “I just wanted to see what it would do!” Gotta defend my actions, even if they were a little on the not-too-smart-there side.

“No worries,” Bev shot me a confident smirk as she lit up a smoke, “We’ll be fine when we get to Kenny Chesney’s place. Our contacts said he would help us out.” “You’ve been planning to kidnap Kenny Chesney for years now,” I rolled my eyes, “but Kayla knows her CIA agents and swears he’s one, so it’s worth a shot.” We stood and picked up our packs and shotguns. “Let’s go, before those whackos from the car companies find us again.” “Or the zombies,” Bev added, taking a last puff off her cigarette. We walked away from the station; it went up in flames behind us as she tossed her smoke over her shoulder.

We do like to make a scene.


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