Post-Apocalyptic Barbie

2

“Drive,” she said.

“Where?” Mark asked, turning the key in the ignition.

Barbie clicked her seatbelt in place and stared forward for a few seconds. She tapped the bloodstained end of her crowbar against the dashboard, almost thoughtfully. “Away,” she said finally, putting a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Right.” Mark nodded, mentally slapping himself. “Of course.”

He tossed a nervous glance in his rearview mirror. His stomach started tying itself in knots. In the dim light of the parking lot, he could make out two zombies shuffling their way toward the truck. Mark's hand hovered over the stick shift for a second before he quickly gathered his resolve, kicked the truck in reverse, and smacked into the oncoming undead. There was a strangely satisfying whudawhump of corpses beneath his tires and in a moment of panic, he slammed on his brakes, pulse racing, both hands glued to the steering wheel.

“Murderer!” Barbie laughed and kicked her feet up on the dashboard.

Mark turned to her, pale. “That's...that's not funny,” he said shakily, putting the car in drive.

Barbie stifled a giggle. “I know,” she said.

                                                                  ∞ 

The night road yawned out before them, endless. Every now and then, they'd pass an abandoned car or a crash site or maybe a slab of meat on the side of the road that was barely recognizable as a human body. Mark kept awkwardly casting sidelong glances at Barbie.

“How did...” He cleared his throat. “How did this happen?”

“How it usually happens, probably.” Barbie yawned. She brought her feet down off the dashboard and stretched. There was a smear of dried blood and something else unidentifiable left behind—it looked like mud, but he kept getting a whiff of something rotting every now and then, and it led him to believe otherwise.

“You don't know?”

She shrugged and rested her head against the window. “Radiation from a passing comet. A military bio-weapon gone bad. Divine intervention.” She sniffed. “Something like that.”

Mark tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “It happened so fast,” he said.

“Not really. People had been getting sick for awhile. It was all over the news. They thought it was just some really bad strain of the flu or something, though.” She fixed Mark with a curious look. “Was your girlfriend sick or bitten?”

Mark's stomach dropped at the mention of Karla. “She was sick,” he said hesitantly.

Barbie tilted her head to one side. “You guys kissed, right?”

Mark didn't like where this was going. He shifted, uncomfortable. “Where is everybody?” he asked, changing the subject. “I mean, shouldn't there be more of us? More—” He paused, searching for the right word. “People,” he finally said. He couldn't bring himself to say survivors.

“Holed up somewhere or dead, I guess.” Barbie took her hair out of its ponytail and shook her head from side to side, letting her blonde waves cascade around her shoulders. “How long was she sick?”

“It's not important,” Mark said, teeth clenched. He instinctively put his foot down on the gas pedal. The speedometer jumped from forty to seventy.

“Slow down there, Speed Racer. We're not in a hurry to get anywhere.”

They passed a sign saying NOW LEAVING SUNNY LONGWOOD COUNTY, and Mark felt a lump in his thorat. A sharp pang of guilt tore through his stomach. In the heat of the moment, he'd forgotten—

“My parents,” he said, suddenly slamming on the brakes.

Barbie's seatbelt caught, preventing her face from smacking the dashboard. “Ow,” she groaned, rubbing her neck where the belt bit into her skin.

He'd been so wrapped up in himself, with getting away, with losing Karla. He patted his pants pockets. Cellphone. He had a cellphone—

Back at the hotel. The emotions tumbled in, one after the other. He hit his fists against the steering wheel and let out a frustrated yell. Pain flared up through his nose and tears welled behind his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“We're going back,” he said, wincing as he turned the truck around.

“I can see that.” Barbie's tone was flat. “Why are you being such an asshole?”

For a moment, Mark was at a loss for words. Finally he repeated dumbly, “Asshole?”

“Yeah.” The girl sounded bored.

“I can't just leave them,” Mark said, exasperated. Had it really been that easy for her? “Besides, we...we don't have any supplies. I only have a fourth of a tank of gas as it is, we'd barely make it to the next town before—”

“Then let me out.”

“What?” Mark put his foot down on the gas.

“Let me out.”

“No,” he said, hoping he sounded a lot more confident than he felt. He had to establish some sort of dominance here. “I'm not doing that.”

“Why not?”

He gripped the steering wheel. Because I need you, he thought. But out loud he said, “I can't let you go out there all alone. It's not safe.”

“You think I'm safe here?” the girl demanded. “With you?”

Mark swallowed. “There's safety in numbers,” he offered.

Barbie snorted. She muttered something he didn't quite catch, then crossed her arms and turned her attention out the window.

“What was that?”

“I'll leave you for dead the first chance I get,” she said to the window.

“I thought—” Mark swallowed with difficulty. Why was it suddenly difficult to speak? “I thought survivors stuck together,” he said, almost pleading.

“Have you never watched a zombie movie?” There was something like disgust in her voice. “Do you not know the number one reason people die?”

“No,” Mark admitted after a moment. He preferred to watch movies with toilet humor and hot chicks. Zombies weren't on the top of his interest list.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Barbie turn to look at him. He could almost feel her eyes on him, piercing, like daggers. “Idiocy,” she said, her face contorting as if the word itself tasted sour.

Mark opened his mouth, but stopped. Unable to find any words, he simply nodded in reply, though he wasn't sure why. He wasn't agreeing to anything.

An awkward silence settled over them as they drove rest of the way back.

Something in the back of Mark's mind told him this wasn't right. Barbie shouldn't be letting him go back so easily. But there were more pressing matters at hand, like running over the legless zombie dragging itself across the road.

                                                                  ∞

WELCOME TO BRIGHTON, the green sign welcomed as they re-entered the town limits. GO BEARS!

As they sped passed, Mark caught sight of an undead mob mauling one another, clawing and biting in a big pile beneath the sign. There was a crashed car on the other side of the road, giving off smoke. The thick smell of something burning met his nose.

“I should've just killed you in that hotel room,” Barbie said.

He might've taken her words a bit more seriously if her voice hadn't cracked.