"So....Reck'n they can swim?"

Columbus blinked a few times, having been absorbed in the world rushing past out the window, the burned out skeletons of cars, the red stained clumps dotting the shoulder, the items discarded along the way by panicking mobs.

"Pardon?"

"...The bastards.....Ya think they can swim?" Tallahassee asked again, casting a glance over at his partner.-2

"Well.." Columbus drew out on the last letter, taking the moment to change his course of thoughts. As one who couldn't swim himself, it posed a very interesting question. He knew swimming took a certain level of coordination, a calmed non-panicked state of mind (Surprise, surprise as to why the ability evaded him.), and the sense to keep your mouth above the water....And his hydrohpbia didn't help...

"First off.....I don't think they have the coordination ..Second, they don't really have minds...so I don't think they could think enough to remember to swim in water...Third, they wouldn't be thinking anymore, so they wouldn't try and keep their faces above water....And they make noises, so they do have to breathe...Which would drown them or something, I think...So my theoretical answer would be a no, zombies can't swim." Was Columbus's diagnosis of the question, punctuated here and there by a nod. He was all too familiar with making scientific guesses about the beasts. After all, he already had his "herd instinct" theory out there, didn't he?

Tallahassee's reply was a nod.

"Thought so."

"Hm..?" Columbus had already started entering his own world again.

"That the buggers couldn't swim...Wonder how to work tha' lil' tidbit into a kill."

Columbus almost smiled. Tell any other person a zombie theory, and he'll just blink and say "Okay then."....Tell Tallahassee a zombie theory, and he'll try to turn it into some inventive kill.

"I'm sure you'll find a way....You always do..." Columbus said in return, looking back over at him.

"Damn right I do." He snorted.

Columbus just smiled and shook his head with a chuckle of his own.

"Remind me why we're here again?"

"....I wanna go fishin'."

"So why are we here?"

"Kid, donchya know nothing? This is th' land o' lakes. There's over ten thousand of them in a place smaller than Texas, or some shit like that."

"You couldn't go fishing at another place?"

"Nope. I wanted to come here..."

"Welcome to Minnesota..." Columbus said aloud to no one in particular, watching out the window. They passed.. Trees... Fields of crops that continued their cycles even after their farmer was gone, pastures of dead and bloated equine and bovine. Yeah...There was NOTHING even remotely exciting about this place. No wonder why the Midwest was never on the news for anything big..

It was a day later when they finally reached a lake of Tallahassee's approval. Not too near any towns, nice dock, a lake house or two in the area to raid...

Columbus held still, watching his bobber in the water before sighing and reeling it in. He was standing on the shore, with Tallahassee on the dock. He didn't trust being over the water one bit....Who knew what was in it? How deep it was? How clean it was?... And he couldn't swim. So water. Yeah, water was a big no-no.

"I think the fish are sleeping. Or dead. Or screwing with us." Columbus said, setting his pole down in the grass.

"Nonsense. We just haven't found the right thing to tickle their fancies."

"We've tried worms, grubs-" Columbus was cut off in mid sentence as he watched Tallahassee move back a little ways towards where the corpse of the zombie man, dressed in swim trunks, was laying by the rear bumper to the hummer, the only zombie they'd seen. Betchya couldn't guess what he died from.

"You're not gonna-!"

But it was too late. Tallahassee was...oh god, he was holding part of the thing's face, and with that big knife he was-

Okay. No way in hell was he ever letting Tallahassee pick something out of his teeth with that knife again. Ever. EVER.

Once Tallahassee had sawed off the rotting bits he wanted from the dead undead's face, he slipped one onto his hook, baiting it while he walked back onto a dock with so little a care for the death liquid teeming around him, and tossed the hook into the water.

"There's no chance that's gonna work." Columbus said, still a little green in the face as he watched the thin ripples spread out from where Tallahassee had tossed his cannibalistically baited hook in.

He was shocked to his toes, when aproximately thirty second later, a perch was pulled pulled up and out of the water.

"Holy crap...that works?! What, is that a zombie fish or something?"

"It obviously works. And I think it has something to do with the fact that the "worms" you dug up...Were actually plant roots, genius...."

"Oh."

"Who taught you how to fish?"

"Well...um....This would be my first time, actually."

"Why am I not surprised, spit-fuck?....Why am I not surprised...."

"Today's the day....I can feel it kid, I'm actually gonna catch something worth catching..."

"Like a cold?"

"....A muskie, Columbus..a muskie...."

"What's that?"

"You really are a hopeless case, aren't you?"

Tallahassee sighed, glancing over.

"Hey! .....I'm not that hopeless...."

"Uh-huh.. Either way, I'm gonna go catch my big ass fish now.." With that, Tallahassee began gathering up the gear from where he'd stashed it in the back of the hummer, whistling to himself as he walked down the dock, cut off some fresh bits from a zombie he'd had to drag in yesterday for bait, and cast the line. Columbus sighed, shook his head, and went back to what he'd been doing while Tallahassee fished....Namely, nothing.

Just sitting there with an old copy of The Fellowship of the Ring, not really reading it, but staring at the words and thinking....About what?

Well....What do you think about in a zombie apocalypse?

Zombies. Whether the Kennedy Space Center was still standing. Whether or not World of Warcraft would work if he signed on.. if his parents had died quick or slow, undead or a meal..

Thoughts like the latter were the ones that gave him the most trouble. Muttering to himself, he slipped out of the car, loading his double barrel paranoidly, tucking the rest of his ammo into his pockets. Best do something that kept him in shape. Cardio couldn't jog itself into your being.

"Tallahassee, I think I'm going to go for a walk....Or a run....something to keep up cardio, anyways." He didn't step out onto the dock. He stood back on the shore, merely calling out to the man. Water lapped the shore, tiny sea shells mixed into the gravel...Thought technically...They weren't sea shells. They were lake shells, Columbus decided to himself.

"Wha'ever." Was the reply he got. Best not to disturb the fisherman.

"Okay....Be back in half an hour, max." It was always a good idea to give an ETA. That way, if something did go wrong, the theoretical rescue party could come drag you from whatever closet you'd holed up in to avoid the zombies. As long as the theoretical rescue party wasn't preoccupied with fish....

"A'ight."

Columbus turned around to face the road from the landing, and limbered up. Up, down, up down, left, right, left, right, went the shotgun, swinging around as muscles stretched and rippled beneath their thin layer of skin. With that accomplished, he set off at an easy jog past the small stand of trees near the landing, feet pounding the road faster as he sped up, heart and lungs syncronizing into their roles.

Columbus made sure to keep an eye on his wrist watch...He had allotted himself half an hour at the most, but it was nice to get back early, just to keep his schedule of....doing absolutely nothing....sound. Ten minutes into the run, he stopped and caught his breath, panting. Columbus made another time check, and leaned against a car stashed on the side of the road, actually looking like a normal car instead of the blackened husks they saw sometimes...

And nearly jumped out of his skin as the piercing wail of the car's alarm split through the air, crying out that someone was trying to steal the heap of metal.

Except the alarm served two purposes: Deterring thieves, and a dinner bell.

Acting just on that instinct he acquired in the past months, Columbus lifted his shotgun from where it had been leaning against the car's door, and proceded to shoot the hood. One shot, two shots, it was still keening away. Reload, then a third, and finally fourth shot shut it up. With a depressed sounding squawk, the noise died off, though the lights continued to flash.

He barely dared breathe as he listened for the reprocussions of the action. Maybe...If he was exceptionally lucky today...No zombies would come running.

But Columbus had never been that lucky. Not once in his short life.

In the field to the road's right, he saw a multitude of cornstalks (Well wouldn't you know....they actually grew higher without all the chemicals being dumped on them..) swaying, and the sounds he didn't want to hear. Wet wails, grunting groans, shivering screams, and two-toned shrieks cut through the silence, as the horde finally found something that smelled alive. Something that smelled alive, and yummy, and sweaty, that would be full of good things. Good things to eat.. Good squishy warm things to eat....

Columbus didn't even want to bother facing this particular group of the undead. He didn't know how many there were, and when you were out in the open, where they could form a ring around you and start ripping into you, that was not a good thing to stick around and try.. Well. Maybe if you were Tallahassee it was, but Columbus actually had rules about this sort of thing.

Good thing he'd had his warm up.

"...Shit!" Columbus cried out, in a sprint faster than a hare could bolt. This time, he made the run in about six minutes, but with the undead fuckers close behind. He rounded the corner to the landing, yelling to his partner.

"Tallahassee! Tallahassee!" Okay, maybe not the most original thing to say, but it worked. But to his surprise, Columbus wasn't met with the redneck looking back his way immediately..He was..What was he doing, standing up, and whooping and hollering over Columbus's yells, with the rod tip bent almost to the water, and....Oh.....Yes. Tallahassee finally had his fish. The wet scales gleamed as they slid from the water and the big thing flopped on the wooden dock.

"TALLAHASSEE!" Columbus yelled, the top of his lungs well surpassed with that holler. Immediately, hand on his hat, the older man's head whipped around, pale blue eyes fixed first on Columbus, then the trailing zombies that stumbled into view.

"Well...Don't you have just fucking perfect timing!" Was the angry shout that greeted him. With an angered snort, Tallahassee swung the fish back onto the dry ground where sand clung to the slime of its scaly skin, the thing just going through past-mortem flops then, air-drowned. Columbus didn't answer, too busy with his lungs burning to try and get the words out. His feet hesitated a moment, a few seconds as they made the transition from safe, dry, zombie-infested land, to wood suspended over the deadly unknown water. His speed slowed drastically as his sneakers touched and continued on the wood, slowing.

Columbus took the moment to look behind him, his s tomach dropping.

Apparently, there were more zombies in the area than they'd guessed.

He swallowed nervously, Adam's apple bobbing with aprehensin as he reloaded, and just fired blindly into the mass.

"A'ight kid....Time to test that theory." Columbus was confused, and opened his mouth to ask what exactly Tallahassee was talking about, when it was answered for him.

There was a deep whoosh of a splash, water drops flying through the air. A very small percentage, two or three drops maybe, landed on Columbus's still exposed tongue, wetting a dry mouth slightly.

This sent Columbus into a fit of coughing, spitting, and hacking. Fish peed in that water...Fish and turtles and whatever the heck else there was in this hellhole, peed and pooped and died in that water, and it was in his mouth, and Columbus briefly wished for a moment that he could put Purel in there to clean it up...But that wouldn't taste good at all. Maybe he'd do it anyways. Then, he could hear the answering spew of air as Tallahassee's head bobbed back up, though missing his hat.

"Columbus?! What the hell are you doing?! Get your ass in here!" Came the strict sounding order. But Columbus, whiter than a sheet at the thought, merely shook his head at his comrade, lips pursed tightly.

Hands shaking, the shotgun in his hands was reloaded, then bore forward, to fire into the mass of the undead still rushing forward. The first two stumbled and tripped up the others at the front of the dock, both barrels smoking slightly as the chamber was frantically exposed again, two more rounds shoved in. He raised the gun, didn't even bother to sight, and shot again. Columbus could feel the way the dock shook under him as tens of feet pounded across it.

"Columbus, NOW."

Eyes wide, shaking like a leaf, breathing hard, and heart thundering somewhere in his throat, Columbus scrambled for the bag of ammo in his pocket, only to cry out and fumble with it, dropping the precious thing into the water where it sunk quickly to the bottom. He had seconds now, as the horde went across the dock, and he shied and clenched his eyes shut, raising his gun to bash it at them as a distant attempt to fend them off, but to no avail.

The shotgun clattered to the wood, and Columbus screamed.

Hmm....What could've happened?........Maybe I'll continue if people actually want to see more....If not, maybe we'll just let this be as it is....