(Teabagging reference below, warning.
)
The bastards were streaming in now, lurching and grabbing thin air only to 'say hello and goodbye' to a bullet through the mouth. Ruben was not a violent man. But there was a certain sense of overwhelming satisfaction in blowing the head off of the death of his family. This subtle complacency that lurked just beneath his lips threatening to contort his lips into a wicked, gleaming smile. Strange? Perhaps not. In a way, although killing zombies did risk death and transformation, going on a killing spree actually helped with the stress and coping with the insanity that threatened to take over an individual's mind.
But Ruben knew he was better than that. He kept the fire up alongside the other three - Logain, James, and Mark - blasting heads off and tripping up some. He noticed the pale-faced, purple-dyed girl cowering off to the side. He sniffed. Lotta' weird people in New Yawk. But company, no matter what the person anymore, was welcome. Nowadays, you just didn't give a fuck. Let's face it. Like the Avenue Q song, everyone
is a little bit racist. Culture has taught us to judge anyone by their appearance these days, no matter what your moral values tell you to think.
It was different now. People Ruben probably would have shunned at the door he would welcome with open arms and a gleaming smile. It was different.
Meeting Mark though... that was an interesting experience.
- - -
Chilly day. Snowing. Ruben treaded softly through the crystallic blanket that peppered the urban landscape. His pistol at the ready, he stalked back home. He had just raided the ammo shop a couple of blocks down the street and he was not returning to base. Home. He shivered and zipped up his jacket. Christ, it was freezing. Ruben took comfort in the fact that zombies seemed to be a little slower in the snow compared to anywhere else. But he had to watch his step, and carefully. Zombies could be taking refuge just beneath this somewhat innocent and serene blanket of multi-layered white.
He heard a soft thumping sound.
'What the?' Ruben's heart beat faster. It was barely noticeable, that soft thumping sound. But it was there. Just around the corner in fact. Ruben nearly smiled, but he stopped himself. Fought off the urge. 'You don't know what it is yet.' He told himself. Carefully, edging around the corner, he breathed as the thumping became louder, more fierce.
He whipped around the corner.
'What the fuck?' Ruben hacked, in disgust. The young man, barely in his 20s, before him looked angry. Very angry. His brows furrowed, his fists tightly gripping the rifle in his hands, he repeatedly crouched into the zombie's face below him. A nice, bloody hole was carved in its forehead.
'Eat this, you son of a bitch!' He roared.
'What the fuck are you doing?' Ruben asked.
The man stopped. Looked up. Turned red. 'Oh, shit.' He stood up shame-facedly. 'Oh shit.' He held his hands up, and he seemed to be at a loss. Didn't look like he wanted to be held accountable for his reputable actions. 'Um...' He laughed. 'You know, I was...'
'Save it.' Ruben sighed, shaking his head. 'Just save it.'
- - -
It was amazing what people would do in uncontrollable anger these days. Later, Mark told him that he was teabagging that zombie. Some sort of videogame ritual. Ruben didn't get it. And he probably never would.
(I couldn't help myself.)