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After a supply run getting back to their truck is easier said than done. They finally manage, covered in blood, and a little thrilled about the fight.
Well, at least Troy was. And what thrills Troy thrills Nick.
See Halloween is his favorite holiday. And busting up walkers has always been kind of a turn on. He knows it’s fucked up. Nick knows it’s fucked up. But he loves him the way he is. And indulges him, because it turns him on to see Troy turned on. So, what the hell?
They’re in the truck bed, covered of course; they’re not stupid enough to be caught without shelter but there’s no way they’re waiting for the long drive home either.
Let’s face it, that’s the only place where their bodies are going to fit. Especially with Troy in Nicks lap, hands clasped, breathing their way through release, when they start hearing gutteral moans from outside.
There’s really nothing stopping them though.
In fact, Troy bangs on one of the little windows, “Shut the hell up.”
“Having a hard time concentrating baby?” Nick asks, trying his best not to be too rude when he pushes his thumbs into the hollows of Troy’s hips to hold him still.
“No, you?” After a moment. “I’d swear they’re actually *knocking* now.” To the walkers he adds, “would you fucking knock it off? I’m not stopping here for nothin’.” Then back to Nick through gritted teeth. “Don’t you fucking stop or I swear I will leave you out there with them naked as the day you were born.”
***
Luckily they’re able to finish up before they hear the driver’s side window crack.
Before Nick has his wits about him, Troy already has his underwear on and is climbing through the cab window with a roll of duct tape.
Hastily reinforcing the spider-webbed glass, laughing like a maniac, unable to help himself from taunting the walker who almost got lucky.
Nick is settling into the passenger seat, using the tape to reinforce his own window, shaking his head with a smile at his boyfriend’s antics when Troy turns the key and…
The radio. Nick never could help himself, he was always screwing with the dials every time they found themselves in a vehicle, old habits die hard. He’s aware that it’s annoying at best, if not borderline depressing for some of his companions as it never fails to serve up disappointment. Troy loves his new world though, and doesn’t mind a bit but even he nearly stalls out the truck when they hear
“Now everything’s cool, Drac’s a part of the band
And my monster mash is the hit of the land
for you, the living, this mash was meant too
When you get to my door, tell them Boris sent you
Then you can mash
Then you can monster mash
the monster mash
and do my graveyard smash
then you can mash
you’ll catch on in a flash
then you can mash
Then you can monster mash…”
When the music cuts out, Troy and Nick just stare at one another; Nick can’t help but think of the video he once saw of Bobby Pickett and his wild facial expressions.
It didn’t matter in the old days where you were in the United States, you could hear that song, see that video, at least once if not more on Halloween. Hell, his dad used to project it on the side of the house.
Then, through the static,
A voice.
“Alright boys and ghouls, let’s hear that again. Why the fuck not, right?” The speaker sounds tired but slightly hopeful.
They drive toward where they think a signal tower might be, and as it cuts in and out at first they correct, maybe left turns and right turns. Finally, Troy pulls over. “What the fuck am I doin’?”
He gets out the night vision goggles. Walkers long gone he steps out of the truck and looks through the otherwise clear night, knowing that the light would be off- no one wants to draw attention to themselves (like *Madison* did at the hotel!). And air traffic is no longer a concern.
Finally, he spots it and hops in, gunning for the direction of the tower. When they arrive, it’s obviously boarded up and Monster Mash has played twice during the trip. Right now ‘Time Warp’ is on, Nick turning the volume down to not attract any unwanted attention.
They navigate through the, admittedly, kinda sad attempt at security, a few basic supplies on their backs. They can just barely hear the announcer say
“Hold on a minute folks, looks like I have company,” Nick and Troy rapping softly on the boarded up window where they can see the poor bastard DJing by candlelight. They hear a gun cock and know they must look a sight, covered in walker blood.
“Wait! Wait! Boris sent us!” Nick says, arms up in surrender. Troy laughs.
"Yeah, Trick or Treat.”
“Walkers don’t talk.”
“No shit, they also don’t carry food and water on their person. They usually find their provisions on the way.” A few loud thumps and the DJ is calling for them to hurry in from a window of an adjacent room.
“Happy fucking Halloween.”