Tuesday is also for Zombies

Two posts in one day. This is how you know work is horribly slow.

Anyway, I found this little snippet of writing in personal folder on my work computer. I had long forgotten where I had hidden it and was dreading re-writing this scene from Surviving the Multiverse only because I thought it sounded pretty good for a first draft. 

Doesn't really spoil anything in the fic I think. My apologies if it does.

* * * * *

Sonny threw her hands in the air with an exasperated exhalation of air.

“You are an idiot!” she spat, wheeling about to glare at Drake. “A straight up, flat out idiot!” She watched as he stiffened, pausing just a few feet away from her. A look of shame flitted across his features while he bowed his head slightly. For a brief second, she felt regret; she was being too harsh with him. He didn’t know what was going on or where he had landed. He had made that perfectly clear when laughed in her face at the mere mention of zombies. But he had seen them first hand now, come face to face with one.

Like a deer caught in headlights, he had frozen. And that had pissed her off. She had spent countless hours explaining to him the dangers, showing him photos of various infected victims so he would be prepared if one showed it’s ugly face. He needed to be desensitized, to be able to push aside that these poor bastards had been human once, but not anymore. Sympathy wasn’t a luxury they could afford.

She had warned him and he had ignored her.

Sonny snatched up the decapitated head of the creature that had barreled into Drake only moments before. She stomped forward and shoved the bloody mess of bone and hair and flesh into his face. He cringed, leaning away from the disgusting head, but refused to retreat. That was something to be admired, she supposed. He had enough pride to stand up for himself against the small woman. Every other man in town had learned to give her some breathing room; none of them were stupid enough to take her on nowadays. Not after what happened to Graeme.

“This just tried to turn you into the dinner special,” she snarled. “Why the hell didn’t you shoot?!”

With a frown, Drake snorted. “You didn’t give me enough time,” he muttered. “I was getting to it.”

“Bullshit.”

“Is it really necessary for you to speak like that?” he retorted huffily.

Sonny faltered. “Necessary to speak…?” she prompted slowly.

Drake sighed, taking it upon himself to gently nudge her hand (and the head) down and away from his face. “You curse all the time. It’s just…it’s very rude,” he replied. “And unladylike.”

“Oh, so now you’re gonna lecture me on manners, is that it?” she hissed. Her eyes narrowed venomously on him and she allowed the head to drop to the ground with a gentle thud before it rolled away. “Look here, Drake Mallard, I can speak any fucking way I damn well please and if you haven’t noticed, I am not playing house here! I’m hunting zombies!”

“Fine, just forget it,” He sighed and started to turn away when she grabbed his bicep roughly. Drake frowned down at her, rolling his eyes as he inhaled slowly through his nose. “Jeez, will you quit that?”

“So now you’re going to ignore me?”

“Well, stop cussing up a storm every time you talk to me!”

“I wasn’t talking to you! I was yelling at you, you infuriating, cowardly, piece of--”

Drake tore away from her grasp, eyes wide with a mix of pure rage and surprise. “Cowardly?!” he bellowed. “How exactly am I being a coward?”

She snapped right back. “You won’t take a fucking shot!”

Then the dam broke.

“Because it’s fucking wrong!” he screamed. “Fuck, it’s so wrong! Okay, are you happy? My own personal moral code won’t allow me to shoot the motherfuckers, alright?” He wilted before her eyes, shoulders slumping forward as he ducked his head slightly. Shame flashed across his face once more. His hand lifted mechanically, fingers tangling into his dirty blonde hair as he tugged at the short strands in frustration.

“Drake…”

“What?” he muttered.

With a gentle smile, she placed her hand on his shoulder. “You said a bad word.”

He frowned. “I’m having a crisis and that’s all you can focus on?”

She nodded. “Look, the only reason you’re having a crisis is because you can’t get over the fact that you are doing this to survive, not because it’s a game. Nate had the same problem. You can’t really blame him. He’s a doctor, after all…”

“You realize that you and the rest of those freaks back in Amity have a running score sheet, right? Someone dies and none of you bat an eyelash. You have something called Zombie Kill of the Week, for crying out loud.” He shook his head, gently pushing her hand off his shoulder. “I…I can’t be a part of that. I can’t. This may be some game to you now, but these were people at some point.”

Sonny lowered her eyes, shrinking away from him as the words sliced through her. “It sounds like you think we’re monsters, Drake,” she winced.

He paused and glanced at her. “Can you blame me if I do?”

Her vision blurred as hot tears swelled around the red rims of her dark eyes. She wrapped her arms around her torso and bowed her head so that he could not see the pain on her face; how could one little question physically hurt so much?

“It’s just,” he sighed before he continued. “It’s just that back home I kinda stand for something. I’m my city’s best defense against…well…against a lot of things. How can I go back there and defend the people against murderers and madmen if I’m no better than them?”

Sonny lifted her eyes to look at him through the thin veil of dark hair and tears. A weak grin tugged the corners of her mouth upward. “You make yourself sound like Batman.”

Drake blinked at her and she couldn’t quite tell if it was amusement or shock in his eyes, as if she had stumbled upon something she really shouldn’t have. She opened her mouth, the beginning of a lengthy interrogation settling on her tongue when a crooked smile lit up his face. “Close enough, I suppose,” he snorted. “I do hang around enough rooftops and alleyways back home.”