My Little Humie

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Fred came out of the derelict bathroom, having wiped off the worst of the slime with some disintegrating towels. There was no running water, which wasn't surprising, They needed to get into Hilldale, it was the utility zone for a hundred miles.

Hank was waiting for him in the storage room. "Imma be straight with you, man," he said. "I'm not good with decisions, but I'm right good with follow through. My brother's say I'm good sidekick material."

"You know, I don't think that was a compliment."

Hank shrugged. "Yeah, brothers." He pulled a can of gray spray paint out of his crinkly plastic bag. "So, here's the plan. We gotta travel at night, or you're, I don't know, going to melt. So, let's flip it."

Fred's expression must have said it all.

"No, no, think about it," Hank said. "It'll be dark. We'll walk along parallel to the road but back aways. It doesn't have to pass up close. Then I'll hole up at your place, figure something out."

"Even so. I don't know," Fred said. "You're a very... humany human."

"Nah, man. It'll fly. You'll see." Hank began to strip.

"Hey, hey. You don't need to paint anything that clothes will cover. And you need to start with the hair."

"What, why? You've got hair."

"But not like fucking Fluttershy hair. No, don't say it. 'What's a Fluttershy'. I had nieces you know."

He paused for a moment. It had been years since he'd thought about his sister and her two girls. All of the intervening zombie time seemed to vanish for just a moment as he remembered the screaming argument Nattie and Kirrie got into because they both wanted the Twilight Sparkle Micky Dee's toy not the Fluttershy one. Fred had felt kind of sorry for Fluttershy, somehow.

And then that fifty years just dropped itself back in place because that's how dead they were. Properly dead.

"Anyway," Fred said. "You need to cut the hair."


Fred got a few hours of sleep while it was still light. He woke up cramping and miserable. It was getting dark outside, so he fumbled around under the counter in the main dining area. He ate a few packets of salt, paper and all.

Hank seemed to have the sense to stay quiet and out the way until Fred felt strong enough to stand fully upright. Yeah, brothers? Older brothers I bet.

Hank coughed. "I got some water. I think it's okay, I got it rainwater from the like, holes in the... place out back." He had it lined up in old paper cups on one of the rusty tables.

This fortified Fred turned around and saw Hank clearly. He had hacked off most of the hair, but weird tufts stuck out. Ever part of him was painted grey, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked like an adolescent Gollum... if Gollum did a lot of cross-fit. His painted skin blended with the dirty denim shirt and jeans he was wearing.

"Did I miss anything?" Hank did a runway twirl.

"A few brain cells, somewhere along the way. You're no better at this than me."

"Well, it'll be dark out."

"Zombies can see pretty well in the dark."

"Shit, really?"

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