Episode 1.3

A couple hours later, Joe was riding in the bed of the pickup truck, which was weaving through abandoned cars and boarded-up buildings. Mary was taking him on a practice supply run (as she'd called it) to figure out how well Joe would work with the team. The team, as he'd found out, consisted of Grayson (the brains), Mary (the common sense), and Gatorman (the muscle).

Mary and Grayson rode in the cabin of the truck, with Grayson driving. Joe sat in the truck bed, holding his backpack, which was filled with new supplies, and his lunchbox. Gatorman sat across from Joe, staring at the back of his head. Joe was acutely aware of him, and trying not to be.

Gatorman was as scary a man as there ever could be. He was muscular, bald, and over six foot five. He had three short scar lines running over his right eye and one long one on his shoulder. In his hand he held a wooden baseball bat with nails driven into it, which he was slowly palming as he stared at Joe.

Mary introduced the two of them before the car ride, but had only served to make Gatorman scarier. When asked why he was called Gatorman, she'd simply said: "Wrestled a gator."

Joe finally gave up on forgetting that Gatorman was there, and tried to break the silence instead. "So...nice weather we're having, huh?" he said, even though it was unbearably humid.

Gatorman nodded, unblinking.

"So...I heard you wrestled a gator."

Gatorman's face turned into even more of a scowl than it already was. It was the kind of scowl that could burn off your eyebrows. Joe feared for his life.

The truck made an abrupt stop and Joe scrambled out of the truck bed, tripping and falling flat on the asphalt.

"We're here," Mary said, slamming the car door. Joe had previously been unaware of that fact. He looked up from his prostrate position and saw an enormous shipping warehouse, sporting an orange and black logo with the words "Amazing Shipping Co."

"Isn't it supposed to be Amazon Shipping Co?" Joe asked.

"Can't have copyright infringement," Mary said.

"Copyright infringement...for what?" Joe asked, getting up off the asphalt.

Suddenly they heard a zombie snarl, running at the group from behind. Mary quickly unholstered her pistol and shot it right between the eyes. It dropped, moaning.

"Yeaugh…" Joe groaned, averting his eyes from the carnage. "...What were we talking about again?"

"I dunno." Mary reholstered her gun. "So Grayson, what's our plan of attack this time?"

"Skylight," Grayson said. "I put ropes in everybody's bags, we'll use them to drop down. Mary and I use the ever-so-graciously-provided forklifts to gather as many boxes as we can at the loading bay, while Gatorman watches our backs. Mary will then climb back out and bring the truck around. Then we'll load in the loot and scoot."

"Sounds good," Mary said.

Joe was a little distracted. "So...if Grayson's the brain, and Gatorman's the muscle, and Mary's the common sense, then...what am I?"

Mary and Grayson nervously glanced at each other.

"Wild card," Gatorman muttered in a thick russian accent.

"Oh cool." Joe stood up a little straighter.

"Right," Mary said. "You're the wild card so you go wherever we need you to be."

"And right now we need you to wear this." Grayson reached into the cab of the truck and pulled out a vest that had frying pans and jingle bells fastened to it all over.

Joe coughed. "Um, what?"

"It is imperative that you wear this Joe. The success of the supply run depends on it."

"Yeah but...what am I supposed to do with it?"

"When we open up doors, put it on and run in the opposite direction of the loading bay. The zombies will follow you, and we're free to load as many boxes into the truck as possible."

"Uh, I don't think…"

"Everybody ready? Break," Mary said, and her, Gatorman, and Grayson ran off across the parking lot.

Joe looked incredulously at the vest where Grayson had left it sitting on the truck seat.

Joe sat down in the passenger seat and closed both the cab doors. He put his backpack on his lap, unclipped his lunchbox, and peered inside at Colonel Crunchies.

"I don't think these people like me very much Colonel Crunchies. Which, like, fair enough--I'm not very likable--but turning me into bait for zombies? Harsh."

Colonel Crunchies' cellophane wrapper crinkled.

"That's not true! I have plenty of skills I could contribute. Like--" Joe paused, his fingers extended like he was going to list things. He dropped his hands after a second. "I've played tons of zombie video games, though," he said grumpily.

Colonel Crunchies didn't respond.

"Ok fine. Yeah. The skills I learned playing zombie video games don't track into the real world. But what about the skills I learned playing other video games?" Joe reached over to the driver's side, feeling around under the steering wheel. He went on doing that for half a minute, then stopped. "I was going to hotwire the car but it's already different from the hotwiring minigame."

A zombie shambled up to the passenger side and put both hands on the windshield, growling.

"Gross. Have some respect." Joe turned on the windshield wipers. The zombie was pushed unceremoniously off of the car.

He turned on the radio. He scanned the frequencies for about ten minutes until he found a station that wasn't just static. It was faintly playing "Take me Home, Country Roads" on repeat. He turned off the radio.

He sat around for about 20 minutes more, checking the digital clock on the car dashboard.

"You know Colonel Crunchies, even though these people hate me, and I kinda hate them, it's really good that someone found me. If they hadn't I would've probably been eaten by zombies without even realizing that they were zombies."

"Talking to a bowl of cereal? You really are insane."

Joe nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Relax," Mary said, opening the drivers' side door while casually wiping blood on her jeans. "Just me."

"Whose blood is that?"

"Zombie blood, duh. Anyways."

In seemingly one fluid motion Mary stuck the keys in the ignition, shifted into drive, and floored it across the parking lot. Joe clutched the seat to keep from falling off as they lurched into the loading dock.

"That...amount of velocity...was unnecessary," Joe said as Mary snatched the keys from the ignition again and hopped out of the car.

"Nerd. Now what are you waiting for? It's your time to shine." She gestured at the vest sitting on the floor of the truck.

"I--uh…" He stared at the vest. "Are you sure about this?"

"Do you want me to get my pistol out again?"

Joe took a deep breath, put down Colonel Crunchies, and saluted him. Then he put on the vest and took off across the lot at a brisk jog.

The zombies flocked to him like moths to a bug zapper. There were only a few following him at first, then a few more, then an entire mob of 30-40 zombies all tailed him, and the rest of the parking lot was empty.

If it were a normal day, then Joe definitely couldn't have run for that long. Fortunately, he was being chased by rotting corpses, and his adrenaline levels had never been higher. However, no amount of adrenaline could make Joe into an athlete, and the zombies were starting to catch up to him.

He looked over at the truck. It was only three quarters of the way full, but he couldn't keep up the pace for much longer.

"Screw it," he thought. "If I keep running I'll be eaten. If I get to the truck there's a chance I'll live. I'm going to the truck whether Mary likes it or not."

Joe took a sharp turn, and ran like he'd never run before.

In other words, he tripped and fell flat on his face.

The zombies surrounded him. They reached toward him, their bloody fingers inches from his face. Zombie hands clawed at his torso, too many to count. Joe covered his head with his arms and braced for the feeling of teeth sinking into his body.

He felt the weight of the pots and pans lift from his back. He heard a dull clang as they were tossed away.

Joe peeked between his arms. The zombies were dispersing. One of them reached down towards him and he flinched, but its hand stopped at its waist level and hovered there. It took a moment for Joe to realize that it was offering to help him up.

"Well I don't want to be rude," he thought vaguely, and took the zombie's hand. It helped him up briskly, gave him a pat on the head, and walked off.

Joe looked around. The zombies were paying absolutely no attention to him. Most of them had simply left after they'd removed the vest, and resumed aimlessly wandering around the parking lot. A few of them had noticed the truck and were shambling in that direction. Others were unfastening the pots and pans from the vest and carrying them away.

"Well, I'm alive," Joe thought. "Guess I'll go back to the truck."

Joe made his way across the parking lot, trying to act natural. He put his hands in his pockets and waved nonchalantly at zombies that he passed. Mary, Grayson, and Gatorman stared at him in disbelief the whole way.

"We should really get out of here," Joe said when he reached them. Mary nodded curtly and climbed into the driver's seat. Grayson and Gatorman got into the trunk, and Joe climbed into the passenger seat. Mary peeled out of the Amazing Co parking lot.

There was only the sound of the truck's engine and the muffled noises of Grayson's voice coming from the back. Joe took out his phone again.

"What did you do?" Mary asked suddenly.

"Hm?"

"Why didn't the zombies eat you? What did you do?"

"Oh. I dunno."

"You don't know?" Mary clutched her forehead. The car swerved a little bit, and Joe gripped the seat. "You didn't--like--say anything? Or do anything that turned them off?"

"No?"

"And they didn't say anything to you, right?"

"Nope. Just took off the jacket and patted me on the head."

Mary was visibly agitated. "We're gonna do an experiment when we get back."

"Alright." Joe looked out the window, then looked back. "Does it involve the pistol?"

"No. I'm not gonna kill you."

"Ok. I'll--um--take your word for it I guess."

"You're more useful now than I ever imagined you would be. It would be stupid to kill you."

"Cool." Joe grinned as he looked out the window.

...

"Not cool! Not cool!" Joe shouted as Mary shoved him through a chain link gate and shut it behind him. The zombie inside the chain-link cage turned its yellow eyes to him. Joe scurried backwards and pressed himself against the gate.

Mary, Joe, and Grayson were in Grayson's lab; a section of the storage facility where she'd set up some sciencey-looking equipment and captured a zombie in a cage for "research." Mary calmly loaded her gun and leaned against the gate while Joe tried to force it open.

"Stop being so dramatic," Mary said.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Grayson asked, eyeing the zombie as it got to its feet.

"He'll be fine." Mary cocked her pistol, holding the gate shut with her foot now. Joe still couldn't budge it.

The zombie dragged itself closer to Joe. He screeched and covered his face.

The zombie stopped and gave two loud shouts in quick succession, like the bark of a dog. Joe stopped screeching and peered through his fingers. The zombie grunted and shuffled back over to its corner.

"Mmm--" Joe started to whimper again. The zombie grunted at him loudly, and Joe fell silent.

"Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit," Grayson said, awed.

Mary took her hand off of the gate. Joe scrambled out of the cage. "They don't attack you at all," Mary said. "That one just seemed annoyed with you."

Joe moaned on the ground.

"Oh! Ohhhhh!" Grayson said quickly, grabbing her head in surprise. "They think you're one of them!"

"That...that's plausible." Mary glanced at the zombie, then back at Joe. "Very plausible."

"Hey...can y'all do me a favor, maybe?" Joe asked, rolling over. "Can you not try to kill me for, like, twenty minutes?"

Grayson put her hands on her knees. "Sir, this is the apocalypse."

Mary brushed her hair back. "So no promises."