ZombiePalooza - Anthology

#TeamVoodoo Pt. V - @elaroadshow's "Peach's Playlist"

PEACH'S PLAYLIST

By elaroadshow

"Dude. I'm tired. We're not that far from Vegas. Let's just power through," I pleaded. It was pushing midnight. But rather than another crappy night of sleep in the camper, four hours of driving would get me home to my bed.

"Exactly. You're tired. And I can't drive for much longer. Let's stop at the next place we find, grab a bite, and a catnap in the parking lot. It's only a few hours added to the trip. And we'll be safer."

Safer. Gary had played the safety card, knowing I'd find it convincing. No one knew me better than Gary Hastings, and two months alone together in the wilderness had only strengthened our bond. Just hiking, fishing, avoiding bears, and bonding. We decided to go off the grid for the entire summer between our junior and senior years of college. No work. No civilization. No people. Just return to nature, character building stuff. It was pretty damn primitive.

Primitive. I pulled the visor down and stared into the add-on, lighted vanity mirror. Yup. I looked primitive as hell. My dark skin dripped with sweat where it avoided the two days' collection of oil and grime. I closed the visor and did a quick pit check. The stench was repulsive. I didn't want to go anywhere.

"I just want to go home," I said.

Gary said nothing until five miles later when he pointed at a flashing billboard. Multicolor blinking lights announced that "Peach's" was a mile ahead on the right. "Killer brews and good times. You'll never want to leave!" it said.

"Please, Ty," he begged. "We pull in, clean up a little in the back of the camper, and eat something substantial. A little power nap, and then I'll get us back home. A beer, a burger, and a nap. That's all I need. I'm exhausted, man." He yawned for emphasis, yanking hard on my love for safety.

"Okay. Okay. If it looks it looks decent," I consented, doubting that a place named "Peach's" in the middle of the Nevada desert could ever look decent.

But to my surprise, Peach's looked more than decent. It looked modern, and cars filled the parking lot, and people swarmed the patio—young people, college people, and hot-looking ones at that. Most wore swimsuits and little else.

"Hm," I said. "We definitely need to clean up for this place, and that's probably the most surprising thing I've said in years."

Gary laughed and pulled our VW camper into the crowded lot. We rummaged in the back, used wipes to clean up our faces, slapped on deodorant and new shirts, and strolled toward the busy restaurant in the middle of nowhere. The desert was still blazing hot, and the short walk had me sweating again.

Thankfully, Peach's was equipped with mist machines that surrounded the restaurant's outside patio. The cloud of light spray cooled me the second I stepped through the patio gate.

One or two people looked our way, but most ignored us and continued with their conversations and drinking. The patio suggested Peach's was a college-friendly place. Spring Break-ish with a sand-filled area for beach volleyball, and a few tables for beer pong. Gary pushed his way through the crowd, and I followed in his wake.

Gary paused for a moment at the door. A large white guy with biceps as thick as my thighs and a "Clifford" name tag guarded the entrance to the restaurant. I fumbled in my back pocket for my wallet, expecting to need proof but the bouncer nodded and said, "Have fun, boys."

I said, "Thanks, Cliff," and followed Gary again as he weaved through the crowd inside Peach's. The place was packed. More of the same as outside. College-age kids, and all of them hot. Even the bouncers scattered throughout the restaurant, as big as Cliff or bigger, were twenty-something.