Chapter 3: More Than A One-Night Stand

"Awww, isn't that sweet?"

The soft coo of Rochelle's voice roused Nick from his sleep. He rolled in the general direction of her voice, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from his eyes. When his sight was cleared, he found himself a foot away from Gnome Chompski's chilling smile.

Nick proceeded to do what any self-respecting man would do in his situation: shriek.

"Jesus, what the- get that thing out of my face! It's creepy."

Rochelle frowned, wrapping her arms protectively around the gnome. "He wouldn't be in your face if you hadn't moved, and he's not creepy. He's different."

"Are you..." Nick trailed off. There was no use in questioning the bizarre behavior of his companions at this point; they were certifiably, undeniably insane. Demanding explanations would only lead to madness. "Why are you still lugging that thing around? Seems like carrying it is more trouble than it's worth."

"Well..." Rochelle tapped her fingernails on Chompski's plastic hat in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. "I guess it's because we're alike, in a way."

Nick stared.

"See, I'm from Cleveland," Rochelle said. "I've never been this far south before, and it's just...really different. I mean, it's not just the zombies, or the collapse of civilization; it's the environment. It's so hot and muggy, and there are all these gross bugs, and the signs are weird...I feel like a fish out of water, you know?"

"Uh, I kind of feel like the whole zombie apocalypse thing would be more traumatizing than culture shock, but whatever," Nick said. He supposed it was her way of coping, or something equally useless.

"And Chompski- he's not supposed to be here either, I think." Rochelle continued as if Nick hadn't spoken. "In a carnival full of peanuts and pistachios...he's just an old-fashioned gnome looking for his garden."

"Rochelle," Nick said gently, "that is the biggest load of crap I've ever heard."

Rochelle looked positively heartbroken. Nick felt a twinge of remorse, or possibly the beginnings of food poisoning. "I thought you'd understand me, Nick. I mean, you like Lil' Peanut-"

"What the hell? It's a plush toy. A plush toy that I used as a pillow. How does this translate into liking?" He held the Lil' Peanut plush by one arm and waved it in Rochelle's face for emphasis.

"So you'll only sleep with someone if you can use them, huh?" Rochelle shook her head. "I should've guessed. You tried to ditch us at the hotel, and then you made fun of those nice people in Rayford- and when they saved us you didn't even say thanks!- and you hate cotton candy, and you're just a big dumb jerk!" She picked up Gnome Chompski and stalked away in a huff. However, given the size of the saferoom, her angry flounce came to a forced, quick end, and Rochelle's only option was to stare at the RIDE CLOSED sign in awkward silence.

Nick opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He prided himself on being able to read people, but he had no fucking idea if Rochelle was serious, or if she was just playing a really good joke. His initial reaction was to laugh, but if his failed marriage had taught him anything, it was that laughing at a woman at the wrong time would only bring misery.

Thankfully, at that moment Coach let out a jaw-cracking yawn, breaking the saferoom quiet. "Mornin', team!" He clapped his hands together, the sound waking Ellis with a start and drawing a few slavering zombies to the saferoom door. "Y'all ready to get rescued?"

Ellis actually yee-hawed in response, an act that instantly ruined Nick's morning. "Hells yeah, I'm ready!" For emphasis, Ellis grabbed his nearby shotgun and blasted the heads off of the recently-arrived zombies. Brains and other assorted bits of body showered through the door window; a disembodied hand managed to fly far enough to smack Gnome Chompski, still in Rochelle's arms, in the nose.

"Whoa, sorry about that, Ro. Didn't mean to hit your pal there," Ellis said sheepishly. Nick threw him a disbelieving glance.

"Did you just apologize to an inanimate object?" It figured that of all the people in the world to be stuck with, he'd get the ones who heard voices in their heads. Nick believed in God approximately none of the time, but right now he was sure some higher power was punishing him.

"Don't be an ass, Nick," Rochelle replied. "Just because you were brought up with no manners doesn't mean everyone is the same."

The urge to bash his head against the wall was overwhelming.

"Hey, now, don't be gettin' all snippy at each other," Coach said. He walked over to the ammunition table and began to load his shotgun, somehow managing to look both cheerful and intimidating. "What have I told you about fighting?" He paused, as if waiting for an answer from a nonexistent class. He was met with crushing silence. "Oh, come on, everyone! We went over this at least five times in the Jimmy Gibbs!"

"Uh...is it 'Don't try runnin' over that tank?' I know I heard that one a lot," Ellis said.

"Well, no, but that's close. It's: Don't do it, and the it means fighting. We're a team, and a team needs chemistry, and you can't build chemistry when everyone's hatin' each other's guts." Coach finished loading his shotgun and pumped it, the click punctuating his last words. "So cut it out and roll out!"

"That's cute, Coach, did you spend all night thinking of that one?" Nick dropped Lil' Peanut on the floor and picked up his assault rifle.

"Shut up, Nick," Coach said calmly. "I don't give a shit about you givin' me shit, so's you can save your breath for our nice, completely platonic stroll through the Tunnel of Love."

"Do I even need to point out how gay that sounds?"

Coach, true to his word, ignored Nick. "Okay, I'm thinking, this is a small ride, so there ain't gonna be any tanks. Everyone agree?"

He was met with a resounding eeeeeeeeeehhhhhh.

"You kids are a bunch of party-poopers." Coach shook his head sadly. He opened the saferoom door, a squishy crunch filling the air as the big man stepped on the dead bodies on the ground. Rochelle followed, still holding Gnome Chompski. At least she was still carrying her gun, Nick noticed with some relief. Ellis stood in the doorway, waiting for Nick.

"Let's go, Overalls," Nick said, trying to push past the other man. Ellis continued to block the exit.

"Aren't you gonna take Lil' Peanut?" Ellis pointed to the plushie lying forlornly against the wall.

Nick's hands tightened around his assault rifle. I am not going to shoot him I am not going to shoot him Don't Do Fighting. "Uh, no?"

"Well, he helped you sleep, so I think you should bring him along. Because sleepin' is good, and also Lil' Peanut deserves to be saved, y'know? Plus," Ellis said, walking over to the plush and picking it up, "he's easy to carry." Ellis stuffed the toy into Nick's shirt. "See? Now, you're stylin'!"

"You're wearing a shirt you made in high school, and coveralls. You are not even allowed to think the word styling." Nick grimaced at the toy just below his chin. One night's pillow duty had made it distinctly more disgusting; it had dirt spots and smelled a little like old sweat.

"I'm sure kids will like it," Ellis protested. "I betcha there's going to be lots of kids in the safe zone, so you should keep 'em."

I'm pretty sure most of the kids in the world are dead, Nick thought, but that would likely cause Ellis to cry and possibly faint from shock, and Nick would be stuck carrying him. By contrast, keeping a dirty, mouthy plush toy in his shirt was not a bad idea. "Um. Sure. Let's go."

Beaming, Ellis followed Nick into the Tunnel of Love.