Orthodontics in the Zombie Apocalypse

2. Dream Boy in Zombieland (1/2)

I tap my fingers impatiently on the dark gray steering wheel. "I don't believe this." The immense disappointment can even be seen in the subtle wilting of my carefully done curls.

The broken, bloody, depressed cranberry car slinks slowly through the mess of the wrecked parking lot. It's almost as though everyone who had been here scrambled to leave at once.

As if something terrible happened that they were escaping from.

Totaled cars line the pavement, singing their alarming song with lights dancing to the beat, and I am blocked from driving any farther. I don't get out for a long time once the car is in park. Instead, I sit and gape at the scene around me. Blood carpets the ground, turning white parking space dividers crimson. Scraps of different ligaments and appendages scatter across the pavement; things as distasteful to step on as LEGOS™. I finally reach the courage to place my shaking hand on the door handle and open my door. I look carefully before stepping down—don't want to accidentally step on someone's toes. I also don't close my door when I'm out of the car. Officer Roadkill seems to have left more than a ticket, so there isn't a clean place to touch the door. The key stays in the ignition too.

Inside the orthodontists' office is no different. Here there are more than small body parts strewn across the floor. Entire arms and legs can be seen tossed haphazardly in a pool of blood, and a former patient lays in the corner seat, an uneven pit torn viciously into his abdomen.

Guess that kid didn't brush his teeth thoroughly enough.

Askew footsteps clomp behind me. I turn to face another inhuman thing that resembles someone I used to know. Dr. Jeunger seems to sniff the air for the aromatic scent of live meat.

"Grrahhh," he says.

"Damn it!" I exclaim. "Why do you have to be a zombie too? Why couldn't you have been a survivor? All I want is to get these stupid braces off!"

As if my angry shouts hit a switch in him, he breaks into a run towards me.

I drop an expletive and begin a game of two-person tag with Dr. Jeunger, and he's It.

I sprint out the door, less than two paces ahead of the brainthirsty orthodontist. Bones crunch underfoot and something squishes beneath my boot on my way to the car. I dive through the open door, slam it shut, and turn the key. Before Dr. Zombie can even touch the car, the gear is thrown into reverse and I'm out of the depressing parking lot.

"Now how am I supposed to get my braces off?"