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Your name is David. David Strider. Though you really shouldn't have to tell anyone that because you're honestly really fucking famous, or you were before legitimately everyone decided to try to make snacks out of people.
Admittedly, you are one hell of a snack. Hell, you're a whole ass happy meal, toy included.
Okay, wait, no, that was hella dumb. You do not come with a toy included, you're enough on your own, damnit.
"David, are you making the stupid happy meal analogy again?" The teal-blooded troll beside you huffs. "No, Linda. I am not making the happy meal analogy again." You flick the ashes of your cigarette over the edge of the roof the two of you are standing on. "You're absolutely making the dumbass happy meal analogy. I know you're doing it, you always do it."
Yeah, okay, maybe you've watched the ZombieLand series one too many times, so much that you're actually quoting it during the literal zombie apocalypse.
You're a director, it's a wonder you don't speak strictly in movie quotes. That or fucking Shakespeare, Shakespeare is your man. "Wouldst thou rather-"
Your secretary jumps to cut you off. "For Gog's sake, no!!" And she smacks the shit out of you with her polearm, and you *almost* drop your cigarette into the horde below, and you would not have been okay with that, it's your last one.
"Damn it Linda, unless you wanna go fight those fuckers for a pack of cigs-"
"Shut up, D. We're going to need your lungs in shape if we're gonna get the fuck outta this."
Which alls fair in love and war and all that, but you are one stressed motherfucker with a nicotine addiction. You have a very good reason to be stressed.
You take a drag and flick your ashes down into the horde again. You and Linda are safe up here, this is true, you blew the stairs on your way up. You used to work pyrotechnics before you got promoted, but you're quickly running out of supplies and options, and one of your kids is down there. You just hope he isn't part of that mass of wandering undead.
No, obviously, LA isn't the greatest place to be in an apocalypse, and it's been a few months since it started, maybe half a year? You weren't as adept with time as your younger counterpart, but you do know he isn't dead.
As the alternate version of him, he'd mentioned that in passing once. You'd feel when he died as if it were happening to you. He's a smart kid. Well... He isn't really a kid anymore, is he? Having grown up around Derrik, you doubt he had the chance to be.
The thought has you chewing on the inside of your cheek. You should've been there, should've paid more attention. Should've taken care of the boys yourself, but you hadn't. You'd gotten a call that Derrik had been arrested, for a whole host of things. You don't even remember most of them, child abuse and sexual assault were two of them, you remember that clearly. You don't let yourself forget it.
The Signless, or Carmine as he called himself now, had asked you to give him custody of your boys. You knew he'd take care of them, so you'd said yes, on the condition that you still got to see them. You aren't Derrik, you had told him, you'd never hurt those kids.
He told you he knew that, and of course he wouldn't keep them from you. The boys themselves wouldn't have it, and it warmed your heart to know that they didn't blame you for being away constantly.
"D." Linda snaps her fingers in front of your face, her claws are perfectly manicured, painted teal to match her blood colour, which she wears with pride. It wasn't because she knew her place on the caste, oh no. She'd go toe to toe with any troll or human that insulted her, you'd watched her kick many a highblood's ass, simply because they looked at her wrong. How?
She was strong, feisty, and could take down anyone twice her size. She was clever too-
"David for the love of all things holy, stop staring at me, and pay attention." You roll your eyes even though you know she can't see them. She'd know that you rolled them though, she's good like that. "Pay attention to what? There's nothin' going on down there-" You stop, and your eyes widen behind shades. "Shit."
You see a figure wearing red, and catch a glimpse of their blonde hair under a hoodie, leaping expertly from car roof to car roof, deftly dodging clawing, reaching, rotting fingers that go for their ankles.
You'd know that form, that agility anywhere. Dave.
You'd brought him to LA with you because he'd asked, tired of the same scenery, and he was more than a little attached to you. Maybe because you coming back down to Houston was the only protection he and Dirk had from Bro. Which again, you should have known was suspicious...
"Where's he headed?" Linda steps closer to the edge of the rooftop and looks down.
You step up beside her, eyes scanning the street below. "I have no clue but, I hope he knows what he's doing." Linda looks at you, then back down to your younger self, who goes down on the roof of a truck, and seems to take a second to stare at the sky, either because that hurt, or defeat, you don't know. "Think we can help him from up here?"
You crouch at the edge and reach into your suit jacket, producing a gun. "I don't know, but we can sure as hell try." You're not Harley, English, or Lalonde, Roxy ways, of course, so you aren't the best shot, and you've never been able to hit a moving target, but you know these things are attracted to noise, and can't reach you. Unless they decide to pull some World War Z shit, which you really hope you didn't just give any higher power ideas. So you cock that gun, and fire into the horde. You and Linda are better with melee anyway.
---
Your name is Dave Strider, and you don't have time to humor any long drawn out train of thought, you have to keep moving because if you stop, these fuckers will pile over each other and manage to reach you. Not to the extent of World War Z bullshit, thank god, but they will manage to reach you. Hell, you're just barely out of reach now.
Fucking cities and their large populations, but at least Los Angeles, and subsequently Hollywood, has a few limos scattered around to give you something solid for a few steps.
How did you get up here in this situation? See, that is a very good question. One you wish you could spend time to answer, but you're kinda busy right now, thanks.
You land on another car, but the roof of this one is slick with blood, and you don't even let yourself wonder how the actual fuck that happened, because you slip, and fall hard on your back.
It knocks the breath out of you, of course, it does, just your fucking luck. You wish you could just lay there for a minute, catch your breath, mentally apologize to your boyfriend for getting blood on this hoodie, that he'd gotten you, because you'd been admiring it at a store, like the romantic asshole he was, fucking Karkat-
God damn it there you go, humoring a train of thought that's going to get you killed, you sit up, before your brain goes on a Karkat centered tangent, as it does more often than not.
Your brain is quickly shut up by a gunshot, that makes your ears ring, and you watch as one of the undead that managed to lift itself into the bed of the truck falls, and splatters you with more blood. You wipe the blood from your face and look up, for the source of that gunshot.
On the roof of a hotel, you see figures, one with a jarring teal theme, and the other wearing a red suit, with what looks like a cigarette between his teeth.
Linda and D. D's timing has always been impeccable. You'd even wager it was on par with yours. D pulls the trigger of his gun again, this time it doesn't hit its mark, the bullet just uselessly goes through the arm of a nearby Zed. But you assume it does what D wants it to, as some of the horde turn their attention to the noisy, more interesting prey.
You watch Linda twirl her polearm, as you get up, and start moving across the cars again.
D keeps taking potshots, drawing as much attention as he can, pausing only to smoke that cigarette.
It takes you a moment, but you realize Linda is actually pointing out cars that are safe to jump on, and least likely to make you stumble. You let her guide you because she's never let you or D down.
You were right, she doesn't let you down. Guides you from car to car, closer and closer to being safe. You'd actually been doing this for hours, and your legs were starting to ache from the constant jumping,
Glance up at Linda, jump, gunshot
Glance up at Linda, gunshot, jump
rinse, repeat.
You finally make it to where the Zeds have thinned out, along with the traffic, and breathe a sigh of relief. You're gonna live.
Then you hear that gunfire in rapid succession and then stops. Which gets the attention of the last of them. So you risk turning around, to look at that roof.
D's got the gun pointed above his head, and he fires a couple more times, straight up. "RUN KID!" Years of directing has made him good at being heard over, absolutely anything.
You blink. Raise an eyebrow, and frown. He can't be serious. You can't risk drawing attention to yourself, so instead, you open your arms in a 'what the fuck do you mean, run?' gesture, and hope the meaning goes through.
"YOU HEARD HIM, DAVE!" Ah, you'd forgotten that Linda speaks fluent nonverbal Strider. "WE'LL CATCH UP!" D adds."JUST GET THE HELL OUTTA THERE."
You flick your wrists in another silent 'what the fuck?' gesture.
You see D heave a heavy sigh. "JUST LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, PLEASE?"
You throw your arms in the air, flipping him off with your right hand. This one is a 'Fuck you, fine!' Then you turn your back on them and jump off the last car, but before you break into a sprint, you hear. "Dave!!"
You whirl and give him a panicked gesture, that involves opening your arms again, but this time it translates to 'dude, kinda busy, the fuck do you want?'
D doesn't respond to this gesture at first, and you resolve to cross your arms and silently tap your foot. You're a sitting duck out here, D. Get your ass in gear.
"I love you, 'Lil dude."
"We both do."
That's quieter than their previous shouts, but you can still hear them, skills developed from years on set.
All you can do is grit your teeth, make a heart with your hands, and hope they saw it because a Zed notices you as it shambles past to investigate what's causing all the commotion and you have no choice but to bolt. You broke your shitty ass sword on Zombie Ryan Reynolds.
~~
You lower your gun, as you watch Dave take off through the now thinned out streets, and rest your arm across your knee. "Hey, Lin?" You ask. "Yeah?" She answers immediately. "Do you think he's gonna be okay?" She's quiet for a moment before she lowers herself to sit beside you, on the edge of that roof where you'd made your final stand to make sure Dave got away safely.
"I think he'll be okay. He's resilient. Clever. Knows his way around weapons."
"Mm.." You don't look at her, just stare down into the horde, and drop the filter of your cig into it.
"David?" Linda mutters.
"Yeah?" You do glance at her now, and she's reaching into her shirt, and from there she pulls out.
.....
A pack of your brand. True love is real. Platonically of course. You're gay. Your Lalonde is an exception, but never returned your affection, which is fine. Linda is better anyway.
"Are you going to take one or not?" She huffs, opening the pack with a claw and holding it open for you.
You do reach over and take one out of that pack, and fish for your lighter in your pocket, she moves beside you, and taps one out for herself, which shocks you. You didn't think she smoked.
You do find your lighter, pull it out, flick it open, and light your cigarette in one swift motion, and take a calming drag, and exhale through your nose.
You feel Linda lean against your shoulder, and you look down at her as you take another deep inhale. She tilts her head up enough to reach the cherry of yours, to light hers off of, before she's pulling back and resting back against you.
That was, painfully intimate. As if reading your mind, she sighs. "Don't look too deep into it, D." You chuckle. "Linda, over thinkin' is kinda my thing."
You may have lied, earlier. Linda was not just your secretary. She was your closest confidant. She was your rock out here in the war zone that was the Hollywood scene. Your favorite person. You'd give your life for hers, and she, you. She was your best friend. "Hey, David?" "What's up?" She takes a long drag of her cigarette. "The sweeps I've spent working with you were the best sweeps of my life." You pause and turn your head to look at her, but she's staring off into the horizon, smoke slowly floating from her lips. "Bringing me coffee and listening to me cry over no one loving me were the best years of your life? Linda, sugar, you need to get a fuckin' life." She laughs at you, rolling her eyes, twirling a teal streak in her hair around her fingers. "What can I say, Mr. Strider, your drunk ranting about men who aren't even attractive is very entertaining."
"Someone get you a prize for dealing with me."
"Nominate me for an Oscar."
You hear the sound of glass shattering bellow you, and you look down to see what's up, and see the horde slowly filing into the building you and Linda have held yourselves up in.
"Well, that ain't good." You asess. "Nope." Linda agrees. "That is definitely in the bad things catorgory." She turns back to look at you. "You took out the stairs, right?" You nod. "Yep, I sure did. We should be safe up here, until we, yknow, starve." You pull a knee up to your chest, and stare down at the horde, watching it slowly disappear into your building. "Or they pull some World War Z bullshit." Linda comments, tossing the rest of her cigarette into the street below.
You finish your's shortly after and do the same. "What do you say we go out with a bang?" You ask her as you fish your lighter from your pocket again, flicking it open. It's a zippo, you're old fashioned like that. "You want to see if they'll catch fire, don't you." It's not a question. You shrug. "I mean, what's the worst that could happen?"
"Fair enough." Linda produces a flask from the pocket of her skirt. "Woman, what the fuck else do you have on you-" She laughs. "This is the last of my surprises, I'm afraid." She twists open the cap to take a drink, and then she passes it to you, and you give it an experimental sniff, nearly gag, and then hold it away from your face. "Jesus, what the fuck-"
"Don't you dare judge me, Mr 'I drink apple cider out of a wine glass because I don't actually like alcohol.'" She huffs. "Linda, you have issues, this is alcohol poisoning in a conivnent package-" You are so judging her. "It's also highly flammable, so don't drink it, throw it, you dimwit." So you do, you hold your lighter and Linda's flask over the edge, and drop them both, flask first, and then lighter. You know it'll stay lit, you had it custom made.
The flask hits a Zed on top of his head, and he stops to slowly looks up in confusion. It makes you snicker. "Wait for it-" Your lighter hits the ground in front of him, and the noise makes him look down, and the flickering flame draws him in, but the moment it touches him, it sets him ablaze, and apparently they have the mental capacity to panic, because he goes apeshit, running in circles and bumping into others of his kind, spreading the flame to highly flammable flesh.
It by no means gives you and Linda an escape, but it is satisfying to watch.
__
Dave again, you feel the need to announce to yourself, but you can't figure out why, you should be concentrating on running. Your legs hurt, Christ alive your legs hurt. You like to think you have a lot of stamina compared to most people, but you're running out of it very quickly. You haven't been eating right, no one has, but you have to push yourself, you have no choice. Sure, one Zed isn't a problem, they're slow, but unarmed with more than four after you? No, you're only choice is absconding.
And you're panicking, so your decision making skills aren't the greatest. You dive into an alleyway, and, against your better judgment, dive into the car crashed at the end of it, and manage to fold yourself onto the floorboard, hidden. Your quick thinking gets the five zed's that had noticed you lose sight and scent of you, and lose interest, shambling away after ten painfully long minutes. You let yourself relax, closing your eyes to groan, and wallow in your misfortune. Then you hear a groan from the back seat, and tense up again.
Change of scenery be damned, you miss small town Texas. You sit up so fast it makes your head spin, and yeah, you really are exhausted, and whirl to look in the backseat. There's a freshly turned woman there, hair matted, and blood dripping from her missing left eye. "O h come the fuck on." You mutter to yourself, as you scramble away from her, but she's faster, being less rotted than others, and she ends up pinning you to the front seat. You grab her shoulders and push her backwards with shaking arms. "This is not how I go out, no fucking way, lady. Find someone else to snack on, bitch!" You manage to pull your leg up in the seat, and plant it on her chest, and fucking push. This manages to get her farther away from you, but her hands scramble for purchase on your arms, and her grappling manages to roll up the sleeves of you hoodie, and then her nails are able to break skin. "Shit Fuck!" You manage to get your other leg up into the seat, and join it with your other one to force her back against the dash, ripping her grip from your arms. "That hurts, god. Screw you lady, ever heard of a nail file?" You insult her, though you know she couldn't give a single shit what you think, as you reach over to the console in between the seats to find something to kill her with, your fingers wrap around a letter opener, and who keeps those in their cars? It works, you don't care. You let your knees bend, and she graples closer to you, which is fine, because you drive that letter opener into her empty eye socket, and with a dying sound that if you didn't know any better could be classified as a last breath, she slumps down, dead.
Your head thunks back on the headrest behind you. "FUCK." You risk shouting. Then you shake your head. No, you're cool, you're fine. You are not dead, you're fine. You open the cardoor to kick your lady friend out, and crawl into the backseat in hopes you'll find something to take care of the bleeding. You do, you find a suitcase full of clothes, score. You rip up some of them for makeshift bandages, Bro having you and Dirk care for your own wounds after strifes prepared you for this moment, and for a split second your thankful for it.
With your arms taken care of, you crawl back into the drivers seat, and decide to see if this thing works. Can you hotwire a car? Of course you can. How did you learn that? You don't want to talk about it, you really don't.
The engine actually starting startles you, but despite your upbringing, it makes a grin break onto your face when you look at the gas tank, full. Fuck yes. Though you hate the idea of leaving D and Linda behind; you are tired of this shit, and you are getting the fuck out of dodge. They said they'd catch up, and, turning in your seat to look back to make sure you don't hit anything pulling out of the ally way and onto the road, which is for some reason sparse enough for you to manage to drive through. You, You chose to believe them, and step on the gas.