Chapter 1: Road Trip

It was the third day since the outbreak. Adolf Hitler slumped into his chair, depressed. Zombies were over running Berlin, the American had jointed the Allies, and he dearly missed Joseph Stalin. They had not spoken for weeks now. Hitler had been forced to invade Russia because Churchill had made an embarrassing Facebook post about him and Stalin. Stalin didn't understand. Stalin never understands, but he has a beautiful moustache, Hitler mused to himself.

"No one understands mein kampf," Hitler cried. Tears streamed from his dark eyes.

Benito Mussolini burst into the room with a bloody crowbar in hand. His face was flushed and his bald head dripped with sweat. "The zombies are breaking through the storm-troopers, Hitler," he panted. "We must flee!" Mussolini grabbed Hitler's hand, pulling him out of the chair, and forcing him to run. Their boots loudly beating the floor. They ran down the hall to an exit door.

Wood cracked in a thunderous sound as the zombies broke through the door to Hitler's office.

Mussolini pushed Hitler out of the backdoor and they sprinted to Hitler's new Volkswagen. With Mussolini in the passenger's seat, Hitler revved the engine and sped away.

"Where do we go now?" Hitler asked, his eyes still red form crying.

"Moscow. Frozen zombies are slower," replied Mussolini.

Hitler and Mussolini drove for five days, taking turns sleeping in the back seat. Then they came across a gas station. Hitler looked into the backseat. Mussolini was dead asleep, hugging the bloody crowbar. His eyelids fluttered as he dreamed and his burly Italian chest rose as he softly inhaled. Hitler decided to decided to let him sleep. "Sweet dreams, Il Duce," he whispered.

He exited the Volkswagen. Leaving the car unlocked, he went into the gas station. To his surprise, Hitler saw two other men already in the gas station. One in a tracksuit who was putting bottles of water into a basket. The other was wearing a grey-blue uniform and gathering chocolate bars. A red star was sewn onto his blue cap.

"Hey you, what do you want?" the man in the tracksuit asked aggressively, while pulling a pistol out of the front of his track-pants.

Hitler instinctively lifted his hands above his head. "Whoa, whoa, I just wanted some food and some gas."

A few intense seconds crawled past. Then the man in the tracksuit's face softened and he lowered his pistol. "You have a car?"

"Yes, a Volkswagen," Hitler answered suspiciously.

The man returned his pistol to the front of his pants and offered his hand to Hitler, "I am Kim Jong Il."

Hitler shook Kim Jong Il's hand firmly, "I'm Adolf Hitler."

The other man stepped forward to get in on the handshaking action. "I am Mao Tse-tung."

The three dictators finished gathering supplies together and went to Hitler's Volkswagen. Hitler introduced Kim Jong Il and Mao to Mussolini and together the men drove to Moscow.

Chapter 2: Sleep Over

Joseph Stalin heard a knocking on his door. He signed and pressed pause on his remote. Right in the middle of GLEE and everything, he thought to himself. This better be important.

He opened the door to see a bald Italian, a sad German, a Korean in a tracksuit, and a Chinese guy. They all grinned hopefully at him, except Hitler, who just shot him a sheepish glance before returning his gaze to the ground.

"What are you doing here?" questioned Stalin.

Mussolini piped up, "Zombies took over Berlin, and we thought this would be the safest place, and we picked these guys up on the way, and -"

"Okay, okay," Stalin cut him off. "Come in, comrades."

The four dictators entered Stalin's warm house, removing their coats and boots.

"Do you have any wire coat hangers?" Kim Jong Il asked Stalin.

"Er, yeah," Stalin pointed to a closet. Kim Jong Il took five and settled by the fire place.

Stalin left to return his GLEE DVD to it's case. When he returned, Kim Jong Il and Mao had untwisted the hangers into - somewhat - straight lines of wire. Kim Jong Il took a bag of marshmallows out of his tracksuit. The two eastern dictators put some marshmallows onto the ends of the wires, which they held over the fire.

Hitler and Mussolini emerged from the kitchen. Each held a mug. Mussolini joined the men roasting marshmallows. Hitler gave Stalin a bashful smile. Stalin gestured for Hitler to come hither with his finger. Stalin led Hitler to a separate room.

"I'm sorry I invaded your country," Hitler spoke softly, clutching his mug of hot coco.

Stalin patted him on the shoulder. "No worries, comrade. You didn't get past Stalingrad anyways."

Hitler set his mug down and embraced Stalin. Their lips met. Their moustaches brushed together. Stalin gently nibbled on Hitler's soft lower lip. He felt Hitler's warm breathe as Hitler gasp slightly and run his hands down Stalin's back. Their kiss deepened. Stalin flicked his tongue against Hitler's upper lip.

Hitler pulled away. "We should probably rejoin the others."

"You're right, comrade."

Stalin and Hitler entered the living room to see Mussolini scowling as the other two rubbed his bald scalp with a towel.

"We going to make you shine," laughed Mao.

"Oh no, my marshmallows are burning," Kim Jong Il cried as he released his side of the towel to move the blazing sugary treats from the fireplace.

Stalin looked at his watch. Two in the morning. "I'm going to bed. Try not to burn my house down." He went into his room.

"It is rather late," Mao observed.

"I'll sleep on the couch," announced Kim Jong Il with him mouth full of gooey marshmallow.

Mussolini yawned. "I'll sleep in the kitchen." He took a pillow off of the couch with him.

Hitler followed Mussolini into the kitchen to put his mug in the sink. He passed through the living room to see Mao and Kim cuddling on the couch together.

He sighed and entered Stalin's room as quietly as possible. Blue moonlight spilled into the room through the window over Stalin's bed. His moustache looked perfect as usual. Oh god, that moustache drives me wild, Hitler screamed in his head. He slowly shut the door. It creaked, but Stalin did not stir. Hitler stripped down to his boxers and undershirt. He crawled into under the sheets with Stalin. He suddenly realised the Stalin was naked except for a very skimpy pair of boxers. Hitler wiggled into Stalin's lap.

"I had the strangest dream," Stalin spoke. The colour drained from Hitler's face and his body froze stiff. "A little German man entered my room and decided to spoon me."

"Um, er, well, ah," Hitler stuttered. Stalin put his arms around Hitler pulling him back. Hitler was now sat firmly in Stalin's lap. His back brushed up against Stalin's dark chest hair.

"Good night, Adolf," Stalin uttered softly. His moustache brushed up against the back of Hitler's neck, sending a swift chill down his spine. Hitler bit his lower lip to prevent himself from shuttering.

"Good night, Joe," Hitler whispered.