Vincent woke abruptly to find his hands were tied to the arms of a really shitty rocking chair. One that was bolted to the ground, as Vincent found when he tried moving it. He couldn't even remember what had happened. He remembered leaving his small group while they weren't looking, but that was it. He swore, and looked around at his surroundings. He was in a really run down apartment room, judging by the fact that he could see nothing out the window directly in front of him, he was near the top, or middle, floors. He could tell this wasn't the same one from earlier, since that one was much shorter, so Vincent wasn't really digging the chances of a rescue. To get a sense of the layout, Vincent was at the wall in front of one of the only windows, and directly in front of the door all the way across the room. To his left there were two beds, and to his right, there was a door leading into a bathroom, that was next to an odd shelf-like table that had an old, destroyed TV sitting on it. Apparently looters never bothered to take the things that were bolted down. Vincent stared out the window for what felt like an eternity before he heard voices outside his room, and three pairs of footsteps came in. Vincent had already worked the arms of the rocking chair loose. One of them came over, and stood in front of the window.
great view, huh pretty boy? judging by his accent this man had to have been from the country. Albeit, his accent was kind of light. Vincent looked up and gave a sarcastic, smart a** smile before replying with
yeah, great. I gotta say, I've been taken on worse dates by creepier guys and moved to scratch his nose on his sleeve. The hay seed scratched it for him, and Vincent nodded. The man went back behind him, and started whispering with the other two for maybe five minutes before Vincent spoke up.
Hey, so you gonna kill me or do your own little 'Deliverance: The Concrete Jungle Edition'? he asked, making sure to pick Deliverance to make fun of the country man's accent. A heavy set of foot steps rounded on Vincent, and the man came back in to view. Have you ever seen Tallahassee, in that Zombie land movie? Think him, but much uglier, and a good bit fatter. The man punched Vincent square in the jaw, and then moved back to whisper with the others. Vincent had to use extra caution to make sure the chair's arms didn't break off before he wanted them to. He'd eyed that big revolver on the man's belt, and didn't want to be on the receiving end of that.
Alright, I deserved that, but seriously, there are some sick ******** out there, I'm genuinely asking if you're after my blood or my a**. Gotta prepare myself, y'know? he said, and stifled back a laugh. The man came into Vincent's view again, and hit him in the same spot of his jaw. He was tough, that was for sure, it was already starting to hurt pretty bad.
I don't know you, city boy the countryman began, but Vincent interrupted.
That's a good thing, everyone hates me he said, very matter of factly. The redneck gave a chuckle, and licked the back of his teeth, and inner cheeks.
Why do rednecks always have to do that? Vincent thought, but his train of thought was ended by the man speaking up again.
I don't know you, and you were just skulking around in my territory. Now my boys here don't like that, and I don't like that. And we been done in a bad way fer a long time now, nothin' good to eat. You see where I'm gettin' at here? The man said, and patted his beer gut. How he'd kept that thing in the apocalypse was a mystery up until just now. Vincent's eyes grew momentarily wide as he jerked his head back in a mocking manner, and said
wow you really are a sick ********, just in a different way than I imagined while shaking his head. His head-shaking was interrupted by a fist.
Them godless sons 'a bitches' gonna eat you anyway, so if one of us gotta be eatin', might as well be the man that's still got God in his heart, and one that's still beatin' he said, and raised his arms up like a preacher.
Y'know, I never read the bible, but I am pretty sure God said something about ******** eating people he said, and his head was met by another blow to the jaw. He was starting to get a bit dizzy.
'Kay, don't talk about God in front of a brainless cannibal redneck. Check that, someone? Vincent's face had another meeting with the redneck's fist.
Is this how you tenderize your meat? he asked in the middle of choking down a laugh, and burst into flat-out laughter. Before, of course, being punched in the jaw again. He let out a dejected
Oh. Which was more of a grunt than an actual word, and the redneck went back to his buddies to whisper a bit more. Finally, they left, but not before the redneck's fist kissed Vincent's bruised and swelling jaw goodbye, and Vincent was left to stare out the window, head hanging a little limp, and blood pooling on his shirt. He finally snapped back to reality, and worked the arms of the chair off. They were crudely socketed in, and then held there with glue. This was the kind of chair you'd get at an old flee market, back before the zombies showed up. In fact, he vaguely remembered him and Jeremy stealing one after having a bit too much alcohol one night, and Vincent riding on the top of it while Jeremy ran around the streets, carrying it on his back neighing like a horse. But that's a story for another time. Vincent slipped his hands out of the restraints, and took two of the wooden bars that had been used to hold the arms in place, and then put the arms back into the chair, and set his hands down on them like they were still tied. He waited in silence, a mischievous grin on his face as he stared out the window at the setting sun. The men returned. Vincent smelled a lot of pot, and booze, and almost busted out laughing when he realized how easy this was going to be. The man rounded on Vincent, and once again punched him in the jaw. Vincent allowed the arms to pop off as the large man jumped back.
The first improvised steak went into the man's protruding gut, the second went into his eye. Vincent let go of the one in his gut in favor of grabbing the man's revolver. He cocked it while spinning around and put a round in the second thug's leg as a pistol round narrowly avoided his own head, and went crashing through the window. Vincent took the opportunity to shove the fat one out of the already broken window before approaching the thug on the ground and taking his gun away.
Where's yer friend? He asked, his voice cold and almost monotone. The man didn't reply, instead he spat onto Vincent's shirt. Vincent reacted by taking the man's knife off his belt, and jamming it into his knee cap.
How many of you are there? Tell me or I'll start popping knee caps off. Just, just the three of us, I swear, Jim's out getting supplies, oh god please get that ******** thing out of my leg the man cracked under the pressure. Vincent assumed Jim was the one who was missing. He twisted the knife outwards, and the thug screamed as loud as he could as his knee cap slid out and onto the floor. Vincent took the man's pistol, not wanting to waste his own ammo, and shot him in the head. Vincent stood up and quickly gathered his bag from the counter with the TV on it and rushed out the door. He didn't want to be there when the horde showed up.
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