CH 16: Pie Charts & Propane
Day 15. Somewhere east-ish.
Carl walked with the confidence of a man who had no idea where he was going, but was too proud to admit it.
Behind him, the wagon creaked and squeaked under the weight of Ellie, two bags of canned goods, Nana's mysterious tool bag, and a potted plant named Brad.
"He's thriving," Ellie announced, misting Brad with a water bottle.
"He's a cactus," Carl muttered. "They don't thrive. They tolerate."
Ellie stuck a sticky note on the plant:
"Emotionally resilient."
---
Toby followed behind them, holding a big plastic toy sword and wearing one of Nana's oversized sun hats. He walked with the authority of a seven-year-old who believed he was 90% ninja and 10% raccoon.
"Nana, are we gonna fight zombies today?" he asked.
"Only if they're rude," Nana replied.
Toby nodded. "I will ask politely first."
---
They passed a neighborhood that looked like it had been looted by raccoons on roller skates. Mailboxes were bent. Wind chimes clinked eerily.
A mannequin dressed in a tuxedo stood on a lawn holding a sign that said "I PROMISE I'M NORMAL."
"That's the least normal sentence I've ever seen," Carl said.
"Toby wrote it," Ellie replied. "Yesterday. He says it helps the vibes."
Toby held up a thumbs-up. "Five stars on Yelp."
---
Their goal wasn't urgent. It never was. They just walked east-ish — partly because Carl once flipped a coin and decided that direction was "plot-worthy," and partly because Nana said if they stayed still too long, the mold in her socks might unionize.
So they walked.
Talked.
Collected weird things along the way: a solar-powered rubber chicken, half a chessboard, a sign that said "WARNING: GOOSE ZONE."
"Where's the goose?" Ellie asked.
"We don't ask," Carl replied. "It hears."
---
By noon, they stopped at an old playground.
The slide was crooked. The swing creaked like it remembered war. The see-saw had been claimed by nature and possibly ants.
But to Toby, it was a kingdom.
He leapt into the sandbox with a battle cry and started digging a "trap" that mostly just annoyed worms.
"This is my base," he declared. "No zombies allowed."
"What about frogs?" Ellie asked.
"Only if they pay taxes."
"Based," Nana said, sipping canned coffee with zero emotion.
---
Carl leaned back on the bench and watched the clouds. "You know, I used to be scared of days like this."
"Why?" Ellie asked, munching on a granola bar.
"Because nothing was happening. And when nothing happens, you start wondering what's going to happen. And in the apocalypse, it's never good."
Ellie tossed her wrapper into the trash. It bounced off and landed on the ground. A crow screamed somewhere in the distance.
"That was foreboding," she whispered.
"That was just Toby imitating YouTube again," Nana said.
Sure enough, Toby stood on the slide, arms wide, yelling, "LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE!" to no one.
---
After some questionable cartwheels and a brief attempt to catch a feral squirrel (Ellie swore it winked at her), they packed up and continued down the road.
They passed a billboard that once advertised shampoo. Someone had spray-painted over it:
"APOCALYPSE? STILL GOT GREAT HAIR."
Toby pointed at it. "That's gonna be me."
"What, hair model?" Carl asked.
"No. Billboard vandal."
---
The sun hung high, casting golden light over broken pavement and wildflowers growing through the cracks. It didn't look like the end of the world.
It looked like summer.
Weird, quiet, slightly sticky summer.
They reached an abandoned bus stop. Ellie found a milk crate, climbed on top, and shouted:
"It is now Story Time."
Carl groaned. "Not again."
"Yes again. Today's tale: 'The Great Banana Theft of Sector G.' Based on real, totally unverified events."
Nana sat down. "As long as it has a moral."
"It doesn't," Ellie said. "But it does have a car chase and dramatic betrayal involving a raccoon."
Toby was already taking notes.
---
The story was long, ridiculous, and suspiciously specific. It involved three banana smugglers, a sentient shopping cart, and something Ellie called "banana-based political unrest."
At some point, Carl just nodded off, and Nana whispered, "She gets this from your side of the family."
'You're my mother, woman. What do you mean?'
Carl replied with a quiet snore.
---
By the time they started walking again, it was mid-afternoon. The light had that lazy golden quality that made everything feel calm — until they passed a yard with thirteen lawn flamingos arranged in a perfect circle.
Each one wore sunglasses.
One had a tiny hat.
No one said anything. Not at first.
Then Carl muttered, "We're not acknowledging this."
"You already did," Ellie said.
"Crap."
They walked faster.
---
Eventually, they reached the edge of town — or what had once been town. Ahead, the land opened into wide fields and an old parking lot covered in graffiti, weeds, and two very determined goats fighting over a traffic cone.
They sat down on a curb to rest.
Toby flopped dramatically across Carl's lap.
"I'm tired and hungry and probably dying."
Carl patted his head. "You're fine."
"Tell my story."
"It will be a footnote."
"Rude."
---
Ellie opened a can of corn. Nana passed around three crackers and a single gummy bear they found stuck to the bottom of the bag.
Carl split the gummy into four pieces.
"This is what society has become," Ellie whispered.
"Communism," Toby added.
"Delicious," Nana finished.
They all leaned against the warm concrete, chewing in silence. The sun dipped a little lower.
---
Toby quietly pulled a drawing from his pocket. It was crumpled and full of crayons — a picture of a house, a cat, a weirdly jacked stick figure (probably Carl), and all of them sitting under a big tree labeled "SAFE ZONE."
"Do you think we'll find a real safe zone?" he asked.
Carl didn't answer right away.
He just nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "Even if we don't. We'll make one."
Toby grinned.
Then pulled a second drawing.
It was just a scribble that said "ZOMBIE FART" in big letters.
"This is my backup plan," he said proudly.
---
Day 15. 3:47 PM.
They were still sitting on the curb.
Toby had just dramatically declared, "I am the king of nothing," while wearing his backpack like a cape.
Carl was half asleep.
Ellie was drawing fake coupons on sticky notes. One read:
"Free Escape from Reality – Redeemable Never."
Nana was sharpening a spoon against a brick and humming something that sounded vaguely like battle music from a 90s RPG.
---
Then the wind changed.
It carried a smell.
Rot.
Sweat.
Old barbecue sauce, maybe.
"That's not the gummy bear," Ellie whispered.
Carl sat up.
"Zombies?" Toby asked.
Then they heard it.
A groan.
Then another.
Then the unmistakable shhfff-shhfff of dragging feet on broken pavement.
Carl stood.
Nana stood.
Ellie finished writing a note that said, "This is not ideal."
Then she stood too.
---
From the overgrown gas station across the parking lot, they appeared.
Seven of them.
Wearing what used to be casual clothes. One had on a shirt that said "LIVE, LAUGH, LASAGNA."
Toby pointed at that one.
"That one's the leader."
"Agreed," Carl said, already gripping his wrench.
---
They didn't panic.
They never really did.
Instead, they slipped into that weird rhythm they'd built over the last two weeks — the strange, synchronized dance of a found-family apocalypse crew.
Carl turned the wagon around and pushed it toward Ellie.
"Defensive formation Memelord Bravo."
"Copy that," Ellie said, climbing in and immediately prepping her sticky notes like ninja stars.
Nana lifted her propane tank.
"I haven't named this one yet."
"Call it diplomacy," Carl said.
"Noted."
---
The zombies shuffled closer.
Toby picked up a traffic cone and put it on his head like a helmet.
"I am invincible!"
He immediately tripped over his own foot and rolled behind a trash can. "Tactical repositioning!"
---
Carl met the first zombie mid-lunge.
WHACK.
His wrench connected with its jaw. Something cracked.
It crumpled.
The others kept coming.
One reached for Ellie—only to get smacked in the face with a handful of sticky notes reading:
"DO NOT TOUCH," "NOPE," and "UNSUBSCRIBE."
It stumbled back, confused and slightly insulted.
"Paper cut to the ego," Ellie said proudly.
---
Nana, meanwhile, was in full battle mode.
She hurled the propane tank at a cluster of three undead, then lit a match.
"Boom therapy."
> FOOM!
The resulting explosion singed the weeds and sent the zombies flying into a nearby bush, which promptly caught fire and then rolled down a hill.
Toby stood up, fist in the air. "Nana wins the internet!"
---
The last two zombies tried to flank.
Carl ducked one, tripped it with his wrench, and kicked the other square in the kneecap. Ellie swung the wagon's handle like a flail, knocking it backward.
Toby threw a rock and yelled, "I have the power of memes and concrete!"
It hit Carl instead.
"Ow! Friendly fire!"
"Collateral damage! My bad!"
---
In less than three minutes, the field was clear.
Well, except for the bush, which was still rolling away in flames.
"Should we do something about that?" Carl asked, panting.
"Let it burn," Nana said. "It knows what it did."
---
They stood together in silence, surveying the scene.
Ellie pulled a juice box from the wagon, poked the straw in, and said, "Well, that escalated."
"I liked it better when we were drawing coupons," Carl muttered.
"Yeah, but now we've earned snacks," Toby said, handing him a smashed granola bar.
Carl took it and sighed. "This apocalypse is so weird."
"And violent," Ellie added.
"And weirdly satisfying," Nana said.
---
They walked on.
No injuries.
No trauma.
Just a few new bruises, an adrenaline buzz, and a sticky note Carl found on his back that read:
"Certified Zombie Bouncer."
He kept it.
Because why not?
---
End of Chapter 17 – Pie Charts & Propane
> Zombies came and went. The squad did what they always did: adapt, survive, and roast their enemies with propane. Not heroes. Not legends. Just a bunch of weirdos with decent aim and impeccable vibes.
---