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"I don't believe in lists."
"Bullshit."
Little Rock didn't turn to see Tallahassee's eyes swivel to her from the road, but she could feel them just the same. "What the hell you mean by that?" he demanded.
She shrugged, watching the dark shapes of trees blur past them in the night. "Just what I said," she replied. "You've got all sorts of rules you live by, just like Columbus." This time she did turn, just to catch the appalled grimace he gave her.
"Me and that weenie, we've got nothing in common," he told her.
"Mmhm," she said skeptically.
"Nothing," he reiterated. "Do I look to you like I'm scared of my shadow?"
"No," she allowed, "but you sure do seem to have a whole list of what is and isn't cool to do."
He frowned. "It ain't a list," he objected. "I don't keep it written down anywhere." He tapped his temple. "It's all up here, baby."
"Not anymore, it's not," she pointed out. "Half of it's made it into Columbus's little book by this point, and it's only a matter of time for the other half."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "Kid's been stealing my material?"
She reached into the backseat to pluck the notebook from beside Columbus, where he was slumped against the window, snoring faintly. He didn't so much as twitch. She flipped through the pages until she found one to hold up in Tallahassee's direction. "'Rule #32,'" she read, "'enjoy the little things.'"
"Hm," Tallahassee said. "Guess I did say that, huh?"
She flipped a few more pages. "'Rule #38: nut up or shut up.'"
He chuckled. "Mark that one down as a rule he never follows. Guy wouldn't know how to shut up if his lips got superglued together."
She flipped a few more and snorted a laugh. The page was scribbled all over, with a note "I've got to edit this one down" scrawled on the back. "'Rule 41: you have to blow off steam in Zombieland, or else you'll lose what's left of your mind.'"
"Oh, that one's true," he said. He made a face. "A little long winded, maybe…"
"See? Rules."
He glared at her. "There is a difference," he said stiffly. "Between rules and a code. A man's got to have a code."
She gave him a withering look. "Sexist much?"
"A person," he corrected himself, clearly exasperated. "You've got one yourself, you and your sister, with your whole scam-laden 'us against the world' mentality, don't pretend you don't."
"I'm not the one pretending, here."
He squinted at the road. "What are you looking for from this?"
"Nothing," she replied easily.
He slid his eyes over to her. "Nothing," he repeated flatly.
"Seems to me", she said, "you and Columbus have been learning some things from each other. That's all."
He glared. "Lies and slander!"
"'kay."
He returned his attention to the road, glaring out at it as if every one of Columbus's stupid rules was painted onto the asphalt. The truck slowed as he took a curve near an offramp leading to a gas station, and Little Rock heard Wichita request "Bathroom break?" sleepily from the backseat.
Tallahassee hesitated, but swerved off the road toward the building, nodding to her in the rearview mirror.
They were all exhausted as they tumbled from the car, Wichita's hair sticking up at all angles, Columbus yawning hugely, gun cradled in his arms as if he'd been hugging it in his sleep. He might have been, Little Rock hadn't noticed.
Tallahassee hefted his gun, gesturing toward the restrooms. "You kiddos go along. I'll keep watch out here while I drain the lizard."
Checking the rooms was a whole production, even - or maybe especially - with Columbus half asleep, so it was no surprise that by the time they returned to the truck, Tallahassee was already inside behind the wheel. What was a surprise was the dull thunk of the handle springing back into place as Columbus grabbed it to climb in behind him.
"Hey!" he called, tapping on the window. Tallahassee was leaning back in the driver's seat, gun still clutched in his hands, but his hat was tilted down over his eyes as he let out huge cartoon snoring sounds in a parody of sleep.
Wichita sighed. "What did you say to him?" she asked.
"It wasn't me!" Columbus objected.
"Didn't say it was," Wichita replied, never looking away from Little Rock, who shrugged innocently.
"We were just talking!" she said defensively.
"Talking about what?" Columbus said suspiciously.
"You," she shot back just to see him blanch.
"What about me?" he demanded, at the same time Wichita tapped on the glass of the window.
"What did she do to piss you off?"
Tallahassee peeked out at her from under the hat, letting out another outrageous snore.
Wichita looked back at Little Rock, who crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not taking it back," she told Tallahassee. "You know I'm right."
There was a rattling sound from inside the gas station, and Columbus flattened himself against the back of the car, clearly torn between the impulse to pound on the window and the fear of making noise. "Tallahassee!" he hissed.
Wichita crossed her arms to match her sister, looking at Tallahassee through the window. "What do you want from us?" she demanded.
A grin spread across his face from under the hat. He pushed it back and reached for Columbus's notebook, abandoned on the dashboard.
"Hey!" Columbus objected, but Tallahassee flipped to the first empty page as if he couldn't hear him. He pulled the pen from the spiral at the top and scrawled across the page for a moment before holding it up to the window.
Rules are bullshit.
"Yeah, and?" Wichita asked.
Tallahassee pulled the notebook back fractionally before slamming it against the glass again, closer to Columbus.
Columbus sighed. "Unlock the door."
"Not 'til you say it," Tallahassee told him.
"Say...?" Columbus repeated in confusion before his eyes caught on the paper. He pointed at it. "You want me to...?"
Tallahassee raised his eyebrows expectantly.
Columbus's face screwed up in annoyance. "How is that going to help anyone?"
Beside him, Little Rock shrugged. "I don't know, I think it might be good for you," she said. When Columbus turned his glare on her, she clarified. "Admitting that you don't have all the answers."
"Of course I don't!" he objected. "Why would I be writing down the stuff this chucklefuck says, of all people, if I thought I knew everything?"
She returned the glare. "You think if you write down something in that little book, it's going to protect you. It's not. Just like he - " she turned to kick the car door, earning a muffled curse from Tallahassee and a renewed scraping sound from the building behind them, "thinks that if he doesn't write down all the stupid shit he believes, he'll keep being some kind of…I don't know, what do you even think you are?" she asked through the window. "A rebel? An outlaw? Something other than a washed up remnant of a world that doesn't exist anymore?"
"Aw, darlin', you're gonna hurt my feelings," Tallahassee said dryly. He returned his eyes to Columbus. "Say it."
He frowned at Little Rock. "This is your fault," he said severely.
"Rules. Are. Bullshit," she read off the paper as if she were in kindergarten, before turning a dazzling smile on him. "Your turn."
He sighed deeply, eyes wide and panicky on the building. "Fine," he muttered. "Rulesarebullshit."
"What's that?" Tallahassee asked. "I can't hear you."
Columbus spun around and started wrenching viciously at the handle to the door. "Rules!" he yelled, "Are! Bullshit!"
There was a clatter and a shriek from inside the gas station as Wichita and Little Rock scrambled for the other side of the car, starting to pull frantically at the handles as well until the doors sprung open.
"There," Tallahassee said, "I think we've all learned something here today." He caught Columbus's eye in the mirror. "Buckle up, cupcake," he advised as he peeled out of the parking lot on screeching tires, tossing the book over his shoulder neatly onto Columbus's lap.
"You could have gotten us killed!" Columbus objected, kicking his seat.
Tallahassee beamed back at him. "Didn't."
Columbus grumbled wordlessly for a moment, flipping through the pages of the notebook until he found Tallahassee's scrawl, tearing it out with a definitive ripping sound.
"Hey!" Tallahassee objected, glaring into the rearview mirror. "That's an important rule."
"I'm not leaving it in there," Columbus said. "It's redundant."
Little Rock wrinkled her nose. "I don't think that word means what you think it means."
"Redundant," Columbus reiterated, "exceeding what is necessary or normal; characterized by or containing an excess; characterized by similarity or repetition."
"Did you eat a dictionary at some point?" Wichita asked, and Little Rock tried very hard not to notice that she sounded impressed.
"Look!" Columbus thrust the book between the seats into Little Rock's hand. She held it up, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness before she could make out the words.
"'Rule 33,'" she read aloud, "'sometimes rules are made to be broken.'"