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Columbus discarded the empty pill bottle somewhere around Seattle.
Discreetly, dejectedly, he dropped it in a ditch just outside of the rest stop on Interstate 90. It triggered a splash of black goo that propelled upwards and stained the bottoms of his jeans. Squinting, he watched the white square plastic bottle sink halfway into the muddy abyss, his full pre-Zombieland name crinkling with wetness and disappearing almost completely.
The bitter taste of his final dose lingered beneath his tongue, a reminder that soon he’d be facing the wrath of uncontrollable, mind-numbing depression. It had been years since he and this monster last met, thanks to the wonders of modern medicine. Then the zombies ate all the chemists and, presto chango, back to his own personal torture chamber.
Fucking zombies.
Tallahassee’s voice brought him back, for the moment.
“What the hell you doing over here, Spitfuck? You’re supposed to be on guard.”
Columbus answered with a convenient, truthful reply…
“Oh, uh, I have to build a log cabin.”
… and retreated to the bathrooms with his gun raised.
Three days later, the withdrawal set in. Tallahassee was in the middle of telling an epic fable about the time he killed a zombie with an egg beater when the bile began to rise. It filled Columbus’ mouth all at once, triggering multiple swallows that did nothing to stop the inevitable clenching in his gut. He had just enough time to grab Florida’s sleeve and utter a command through clenched teeth.
“Pull over.”
He must have looked pretty fucking green, because Tallahassee didn’t even argue. The hummer swung to the side of the road and screeched to a halt. Columbus practically fell out of the vehicle and crawled to the edge of the pavement, where he emptied his stomach of that mornings’ strawberry Pop Tart and juice. A piercing ring echoed in his ears as the heaving finally ended and left him spent over a puddle of sickening orange. He closed his eyes and sat up as the world spun, landing him against something firm and solid.
A strong snakeskin arm encircled Columbus’ chest and a calloused hand brushed the damp hair from his forehead, lingering briefly before resting over his racing heart. Florida’s diaphragm expanded against his back. He spoke directly and calmly, like a trained professional trying not to alarm his doomed patient.
“Well, you ain’t running a fever. What else hurts? Your head?”
Columbus managed a nod. Tallahassee patted his chest gently, his trademark method of comfort.
“It’s alright, Spitfuck. We’ll stop for the night. Find a pharmacy.”
They bunked down in a cabin in Eastern Montana in a town so small that even the zombies fled. Tallahassee was not thrilled at the remoteness of it all, “not even a decent fucking pharmacy here,” but Columbus’ skin had started to crawl by then and he couldn’t take another second trapped in the hummer. Florida cleared the house and the neighborhood before leaving Columbus for a quick supply run.
The look of utter pity combined with anger on his partner’s face was enough to make Columbus want to disappear in a ball of shaky despair. Instead, he curled up on the couch under a thick blanket and tried to ignore the increasingly masochistic thoughts piercing through the fog.
Even sleep couldn’t protect him, though. He’d nearly forgotten about the nightmares. They were different this time, though, more personal. In this night’s edition, Tallahassee packed up the hummer and told him that he should put his double barrel to his own head because he was a useless piece of shit who couldn’t even kill a zombie on the first try. Dream Columbus had dropped to his knees and begged the man to stay, to give him a chance, and then the undead came out of nowhere and pulled Florida apart, limb by limb.
He’d woken up screaming and Tallahassee, strong arms and all, restrained his flailing appendages and then pulled him into a desperate hug. Columbus’ brain continued to betray him, causing him to spew every horrible thought that passed through his thinning medicated barrier.
“I’m a shitty partner…I couldn’t save you. I shouldn’t have even survived this long. I’m such a fucking useless piece of shit.”
Tallahassee just held him close and whispered counterarguments into his ear, running steady hands through his hair and wiping away tears.
“Shh, no you’re not. You’re the strongest person I know, kid. You saved me so many times.”
Eventually, he drifted off again, this time to the tune of Tallahassee’s beating heart.
They continued their journey, regardless of Columbus’ steady decline, until they reached a bigger city in Wisconsin. Typically, they’d stay away from the more populated areas, but Tallahassee insisted that they needed to find a “real fucking town with real fucking drugs.”
Columbus didn’t have the energy to argue. The intrusive thoughts grew harsher and more persistent. By the fourth day, he had nearly run out of reasons not to listen to their demands. He’d taken to tracing the veins in his wrists with his fingernails, an old habit, and imagining how much blood he could draw. Then, while Tallahassee was busy beheading a zombie barista with a French press, he took the older man’s boot knife from the glove compartment and hid it in his sweatshirt pocket.
That night they stayed in an old creaky house with running water and electricity- a rare luxury in Zombieland. Columbus immediately called dibs on the bathtub, with Tallahassee barely managing a grunt before he left on yet another expedition to find…something. That detail didn’t really matter to Columbus anymore.
He took the stairs two a time and locked the bathroom door behind him. There, he carefully removed the small knife from his pocket and placed it reverently on the sink. It shined under the dull vanity lights and its tip bent slightly from the time he’d used it to pick the lock on a pantry filled with Twinkies. A ghost of a smile touched Columbus’ lips at the memory of Tallahassee’s prideful smile. No one had ever looked at him that way before.
Or kissed him like Tallahassee had that day. Their first.
He doesn’t love you. You’re nothing but a burden to him.
Exhausted gaze lifted, Columbus studied his reflection in the mirror- pale and with circles so dark under his eyes that they resembled bruises. His carotid visibly pounded beneath the thin white skin in his neck. His appetite had long since faded. Everything hurt. The heartbeat in his ears became nearly unbearable.
Go ahead, he’s better off without you dragging him down.
Tears slipped down his cheeks and he wiped them away with violent, angry fists. He told himself that if he had hope, any kind of hope, that he’d push on. An apocalyptic landscape held little of that, though, and certainly not enough medications to get him out of this bottomless pit permanently. If he couldn’t be functional, at the very least able to protect his partner, then he had no other option.
Resigned, he picked up the knife and climbed into the dry bathtub.
No need to waste water on a dead guy.
He laid back and touched the sharp tip to his fingertip, watching a bubble of red form with a sad smile. Eyes brimming with tears, he hovered the blade over his left wrist and swallowed a new lump of emotion.
“I’m sorry, Tal.”
Then came the crash. The door swung open. A strong grip yanked the knife from his shaking fingers. It landed with a clang somewhere across the room. Hands did a harsh triage of his wrists, still intact, and then warm arms moved underneath his shoulders and pulled him out of the tub. Now cradled against a heaving chest, Columbus’ body floated across a space and landed on a soft surface. It dipped to the left and then a heavy presence cocooned him with massive arms and legs and a torso. Wetness soaked his hair and Tallahassee uttered a desperate choking plea against his curls.
“Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me? Don’t you listen to those voices. They’re wrong and if you need proof of that you come talk to me.” The implore broke Columbus. He sobbed into the bedspread and Tallahassee pulled him closer. “I fucking love you, Jamie, and I don’t think I’d survive losing you. So, you need to keep fighting.”
They cried together until the sun went down. Only then, did Columbus really consider Tallahassee’s words. Slowly, he rotated within the embrace so that he could meet those warm gray eyes head on.
“How did you know my real name?”
Tallahassee’s arms loosened just enough to reach around and pull something from a plastic bag on the other side of the bed. A square white bottle returned with ‘Lexapro’ typed across the front. The pills rattled around inside, a noise so comforting that Columbus nearly cried again.
“This is it, right? This is what you need to feel better?” He paused, then whispered. “My ex-wife took these for her depression. Without ‘em she, well she needed ‘em.”
Speechless, Columbus took the bottle into his own hand and caressed it with reverence. His partner had given him his life back. He could think of no greater expression of love and devotion. His next question came out broken and cracked with emotion.
“You found my prescription?”
“I picked it up while you were in the crapper. Been looking for more ever since. Finally found ‘em here in town. Big boxes of ‘em, enough to last you a really long time.” Tallahassee’s hand found Columbus’ head and traced soothing circles on his scalp. “I’ll loot every pharmacy, doctor’s office, hospital, and medicine cabinet in the country. When they run out, I’ll learn to make the pills myself. Whatever it takes to keep you with me, kid.”
Tallahassee placed a single tender kiss on Columbus’ forehead and carefully scooted him up to a sitting position. They leaned against the headboard while Florida cracked open the fresh childproof cap and pulled a bottled water from the bag. Columbus held out his hand as the familiar pill fell into his palm.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he had hope. Then he met those watery gray eyes with renewed conviction and swallowed his medicine.
“Thank you.” He sniffled and raised his eyebrows sheepishly. “Hey, uh, I’m sorry that I’m such a fucking mess.”
Tallahassee gripped him gently by the back of the head and pulled him into a heated, tender kiss. Then the large comforting hand ran gingerly over Ohio’s cheek and he rested their foreheads together.
“You don’t gotta apologize to me, Spitfuck. You got an illness, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Now that I know, I can take better care of ya.” When they broke apart, Tallahassee uttered one last reassurance with a Yosemite Sam grin. “You know, I did find some other supplies at the pharmacy…something to distract ya until those pills kick in.”
“Oh, uh…” Columbus smiled crookedly at the innuendo. “I, uh, don’t know if I can right now…the withdrawal…it…”
Tallahassee laughed lightly, gently playing with curls on the back of his neck.
“Oh, I got those supplies too, but that’ll wait until you’re better.” From the comically bottomless bag on the other side of the bed, he produced a surprise. “That’s that show you’re always blabbering on about, right?”
Columbus felt his heart swell at the sight of the Battlestar Galactica DVD set. He took the gift in both hands, a seed of excitement blooming. “Yea, that’s the one. I, wait, are you actually going to watch it with me?”
Tallahassee rolled his eyes, his teasing smile still lingering.
“How the fuck else am I supposed to understand your nerdy yammerin,’ huh?”
Columbus leaned forward and kissed Tallahassee, pouring all of his gratitude and love into the action. Then Tallahassee swept him off his feet, literally, and carried him downstairs despite his own protest that depression didn’t at all affect his legs. He stammered like a teenage girl discussing Hannah Montana- “I think you’re gonna like this show, Tal. It’s got robots and guns and philosophy and romance”- and, for once, Tallahassee didn’t tell him to shut up. The older man simply sighed audibly, tightened his hold, and let Columbus go on about a TV show as if both of their worlds hadn’t nearly ended just an hour earlier.
Tallahassee accompanied Columbus everywhere for the next few weeks, “I’ve seen all your parts, Spitfuck. Keep the bathroom door cracked or I’m coming in,” doling out pills at the sound of his watch alarm and keeping all of his weapons close. Columbus used his partner’s overprotectiveness as a shield against the malicious feelings and voices. He took to grabbing the older man’s hand when they’d appear. This would trigger an affectionate response potent enough to counteract their power- a comforting hug, a gentle kiss, or a verbal proclamation. Somehow, Tallahassee always knew exactly which weapon Columbus needed to conquer his monsters.
Then, one morning, Columbus opened his eyes to the rising sun. He turned over to bury his face in Florida’s expanding chest and heard only that steady heartbeat and sweet comforting silence. The negative thoughts had retreated into the farthest corner of his mind, where the pills kept them under lock and key until the next jailbreak.
He snuggled further into Tallahassee’s embrace, and sighed contentedly. A voice, thick with sleep, rumbled from beneath.
“Okay, kid?”
“Better.” Columbus grew a genuine smile. “So much better.”