A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

A/N: Also, I know that it's supposed to be pronounced Zye-zix, but most of the characters are pronouncing it Ziz-ix. And yes, that is actually important to the story. ;P

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 1: The Road

"We're in the middle of nowhere." Chris Jericho kicked the tire of the car, then turned to stare at the driver. "I swear to God, Punk, I'm never riding with you again."

CM Punk sighed. "It's not my fault," he said. "You know I don't normally drive. And anyway, what did you expect me to do about it? The car's broken."

"Of course it isn't your fault," Jericho muttered. He sat down on the hood and stared into the distance. "The middle of nowhere," he repeated, shaking his head.

"Well," Punk said, settling himself near the front passenger tire, "maybe we can use this time for something productive."

"Like what? There's no cell service out here, and it's getting dark. Vince is expecting us in Vegas, and we're…" he looked around pointedly, then down at Punk, "in the middle of nowhere."

"I get it," said Punk irritably. "It's the middle of nowhere. I thought maybe we could go over the match we're having tomorrow night?"

Jericho said, "I expected to be at the hotel, downing Grey Goose tonight and now I'm stuck out here with you."

"Yeah, and you're my idea of a fun time, too," said Punk sarcastically. "The match?"

"We've been over it fifty times already in the car. I do not want to sit out here and talk about the damned match any more."

"Fine. Then what do you suggest?"

Jericho shrugged. "How about the car not being broken?"

"Can you fix it?" asked Punk.

"No."

"Me either. And I can't call anyone. So what else do you suggest?"

Jericho sighed. "Maybe we ought to walk?"

"To where? We're probably fifty miles from anywhere. I don't feel like running myself to death only to get hit by some idiot doing eighty on the Interstate."

"I saw a sign," Jericho said. "Where there's a sign, there's usually something."

Punk stared up at Jericho. "That's probably why there's no sign anywhere near your head."

"Oh, you're funny." Jericho pushed off the hood of the car. "So are we walking or what?"

"I think we should stay put," said Punk. "Someone will probably come along eventually."

"Okay then," Jericho said, smirking. "They'll probably murder you. It was nice knowing ya, Punk." He shoved his hands into his jean pockets and started to walk off, whistling.

Punk shot a nervous look at the interstate, then said, "Wait up, Chris." He grabbed a bag out of the car and followed the other superstar.

"What's the bag for?"

Punk said, "First aid kit."

"All right then," Jericho said, still smirking.

"Hey, if you get bit by a snake or something, you'll be glad I grabbed it."

"Maybe you should have grabbed a flashlight."

Punk grinned and dug through the bag. "Here." He handed Jericho a flashlight.

"Dork," Jericho muttered.

"What's your point?"

Jericho turned the light on. "Nothing. Just saying."

Keeping the light on the edge of the road before them, the pair walked away from the car and into the falling darkness. "Are you sure you saw a sign?" Punk asked, after twenty minutes.

"Well, I might have been wrong," Jericho admitted. "It could have been a mirage."

"And you're just now telling me this? We should go back," Punk said. "We've wasted enough time slogging through the desert, looking for a sign."

"Maybe you're right," Jericho said, sighing as he allowed the flashlight to slip down and shine across the ground in front of them. "Wait. What is that?"

Punk had turned away and was studying the deserted road. "What is what?" he asked.

Jericho took a couple of steps and kicked something, the clanging noise causing Punk to turn and glare at him. "That."

Punk shot an annoyed look at the sky, then stalked after Jericho, who was shining his flashlight at a sign half buried in the sand. "Looks like a sign," Punk said.

Jericho said, "Here, hold the light. I'm going to see if I can't clear it off."

Punk took the light and shone it down on the sign while Jericho eased it up out of the sand. He held it for a long moment in the light, a frown on his face. "What does it say?" Punk asked. Jericho turned the sign so that his companion could read it. "Zzyzx Road? What do you suppose that means?"

"Someone ran out of letters when making this sign?" said Jericho with a shrug.

"I'm in Hell," Punk said. "That's the only explanation."

Jericho mused. "Wouldn't it have been easier to put 'Hell' on the sign, then?"

"Definitely Hell," Punk said. He handed the flashlight back, then turned to stare down the road. Somewhere along the way, they'd managed to lose the main highway. He wasn't sure when it had happened; just a moment ago, he'd been looking at the slow trickle of traffic flowing by, but now, the main road was nowhere to be found. "It's so quiet."

"I expected screaming," Jericho said. "If it's Hell and all."

"As soon as I'm done going insane, you'll get your screaming," Punk promised.

"Oh, so you aren't done yet?"

"Not even close. Maybe we should walk back to the car. Where's the road, anyway?"

Jericho swung the flashlight back the way they'd come. "It's right… Uh… there?"

Punk nodded. "That's what I thought."

"That's a little weird," Jericho muttered, moving away from the sign to the dusty road that ran past them. "It was a highway a minute ago, wasn't it?"

"Maybe it's shut down because someone spilled toxic waste on it and we're slowly dying," Punk offered.

"Or someone slipped some mushrooms into your Pepsi and we're hallucinating," Jericho said, earning him a sharp look from the straightedge superstar. "What? Not me! But I wouldn't put it past that idiot Riley."

"Why would Alex Riley slip anything into my drinks?"

"Because Miz told him to?" said Jericho with a shrug. "Anyway, it's moot, right? We're out in the middle of nowhere with no working phone, no way back to the car and a road sign. What do you suggest we do?"

"Damn it," Punk sighed.

"I say we walk down this road and see where it goes," Jericho continued, as though Punk hadn't spoken. "It must lead somewhere. We can probably borrow a phone to call the car company, then get back on the road. Just a little hiccup, which will be a great story to tell the guys tomorrow at breakfast."

Punk shook his head. "Do you not watch horror movies? We're in the middle of the freaking desert. If we go down that road, we'll probably be eaten by inbred cannibals."

"I don't know why you're worried. You're too stringy to be eaten by inbred cannibals, Punk. Not to mention, you'd probably cause them lots of intestinal distress."

"…thanks?" Punk said.

Jericho grinned. "Come on. We're already a mile or more from the car. What's the harm in walking two or three more?"

Punk eyed him. "Were you doing crack at the last rest stop or something?"

"Not that I recall, no. Why?"

"Because…" Punk said, then paused, squinting down the dirt road past the sign. "What is that?"

Jericho turned. "I don't see anything."

"There's a light," Punk said. "You don't see it?"

"Maybe you're the one doing crack."

"I'm not," Punk muttered. "You honestly don't see it?"

"No?" Jericho said. "Hmm, wait. Maybe?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"I don't know," Jericho said. "I think I see something, but it could be the glare from your stellar personality."

"You are so funny," Punk said. "I don't like this, Chris. Where did that light come from?"

"Relax. It's probably someone's house and they just turned on the light. It hasn't been dark all that long, Punk."

"Right. Sorry."

Jericho followed Punk's uneasy gaze toward the light. "Maybe we should walk that way. What do you think?" Punk was silent, his eyes on the light in the distance. "Punk? Hey, Punk." Jericho nudged the other man.

"What?" Punk said, shaking his head.

"You seemed pretty spaced out for a minute there," Jericho said. "I am seriously starting to wonder why I let you drive this leg."

"Because you were tired," Punk said, his eyes never leaving the light. "And possibly a little hung over from last night's oversized frat party."

"Well, that would explain why I might be hallucinating, but not why you would be."

Punk finally looked at his friend. "No, it doesn't. So that must be real, then. And that makes it a danger."

"It's just a light, Punk."

"It's always just a something, Chris," Punk snapped. "Just a dog turns into Cujo. Just a car turns into Christine. Just a light turns into evil aliens who want to steal our bodies and probe us!"

"Uh," Jericho said, edging away slowly. "Did you sleep last night, buddy?"

"No," Punk said. "There was too much noise in the hotel, so I stayed up to watch old movies."

"Then maybe we're dead."

"How do you get that from me not sleeping?"

"Easy," Jericho said. "I'm napping in the car, sleeping off the drunk. You're driving on nothing but Pepsi, which is pure sugar and caffeine. They fail you and you fall asleep, thus crashing the car and killing us."

"Pepsi never fails me," Punk insisted.

"Well, maybe you had a stroke? Went into a diabetic coma? Swerved to miss a passing giraffe?"

Punk's eye twitched. "A… passing…. Giraffe?"

Jericho shrugged. "It could happen."

"Maybe if we were in Africa."

"Or near a zoo."

"Which we're not," Punk said. "We're not near anything but that." He indicated the light. "And I don't like it. I want to find the main road and get back to the car."

"Why?" Jericho said. "It's not like it's going anywhere."

"Unless the police tow it. Then we could be stranded out here until someone killed us and let the sun bleach our bones."

Jericho smirked. "You watch too many movies, Punk. Anyway, they've got light, so that means they're bound to have a phone too, right?"

"How do you figure?"

"Because they have light."

"What does that have to do with them having a phone, Chris?"

Jericho said, "I don't know. I'm assuming if you have lights, you have a phone. I mean, you have both, right?"

"Yes, I do. I also live in a huge freaking city and not out in the middle of the desert."

"Good point." Jericho stared at the light, a bemused expression on his face. "I suppose there's only one way to find out." He took a step, but Punk grabbed his arm.

"Are you crazy?" Punk demanded. "We know absolutely nothing about the light. We don't even know if it belongs to people or aliens."

"Pretty sure it belongs to people, Punk," Jericho said with a chuckle.

"Don't laugh!" Punk said. "It may sound stupid, but every single horror movie ever starts with someone making a huge mistake like this, and I do not want to die tonight, thanks."

"Quit being such a wimp," Jericho said. "I'm sure they're harmless, whoever they are."

Punk smirked and said very deliberately, "Famous. Last. Words, Jericho."

"Whatever," Jericho said. "Are you coming or what?" And with that, he stepped onto the faint dirt road they could see in the moonlight.

"You're an idiot," Punk sighed, as he followed Jericho down the road. "And so am I."