<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">Rule 31: Check the Back Seat</span></span><br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/>It had been only last night when Atlanta wandered into the parking lot of the Wally World supermarket. After having had checked a few random vehicles in the parking lot, there had been a dark Ford that had yielded to his tugging on the door handle. With his rifle ready, Atlanta jerked open the van door, and promptly stepped back with the nose of the Winchester pointing into the partially-lit interior. The backseat was a mess with chip and Cheeto crumbs. There were child seats but no children, and the sweet smell of baby formula permeated the felt seats. Stepping over to check the front through the passenger window, there were no dead parents or even blood. Lowering his rifle, Atlanta stooped to one knee and gave one final check beneath the van—no one. That was relieving.<br/><br/>It was that night that Atlanta decided to spend the night in the five-star secured vehicle. He had removed the child seats and laid out his hunter's coat across the second backseat. He had locked the doors and made sure the windows were at least cracked in case the wheezes of an undead predator were to alert him. With a relieved moan, Atlanta slid off his yellow, Tims and curled his right arm beneath his head. His bag and Remington were between the seats along with his travel bag, and his Winchester was sleeping next to him embraced in his left arm. Atlanta tilted the lip of his hunting cap down over his eyes to block out the yellow light of the lamps above, and it was that night he was able to sleep peacefully.<br/><br/><div align="center">~~~</div><br/>The van door popped open and someone plopped into the driver's seat. Atlanta's brown-sugar eyes opened with a start, and for a second he froze, his mouth slightly dry from his previous snore as he tried to listen for who or what had just happened. He heard the click of a seatbelt, and then the obnoxious blaring of the van horn. That had been enough to make the Southern boy squirm to a sit up. He first turned left, and then right, while lowering his right foot to the floor as he tried to maneuver in the snug space. His hands reached up and grasped the tops of the seats, and then he lurched upwards, sitting high enough to stare wide-eyed at the back of some young woman's head. For a moment, he had forgotten the whole situation. There was a human, a living one right before his eyes. It had been several weeks or maybe even a month since he last saw someone, he hadn't had a calendar, so he had no idea.<br/><br/>When the little woman stomped her foot on the accelerator, the sudden lurch of the van snapped Atlanta out of astonishment. He clung to the seats for dear life as he desperately searched for a seatbelt. Every time he reached for the ones hanging vertically to his front and back, the van swerved, and almost dumped him into the aisle between the door and the seats. "Shit!" Atlanta gasped as he clung to the seatbelt behind him like a rope. The van bounced over the bodies it struck like street bumps, flipping him onto his stomach as he then dug his fingers into the sides of the seat like a cat. Atlanta was thinking now that the human was not only a human, but a woman, and he always thought women and cars never mixed.<br/><br/>The van gave another lurch forward and Atlanta was dumped into the aisle between the seats. The bolt of the Remington prodded him uncomfortably in the back as he then arched his back to avoid it He managed to turn his hand beneath him to slide the rifle further beneath his bag to the vehicle floor. Until…BANG! The van had slammed into something and Atlanta brought his arms about his head as he was rolled forward against the first backseat, and then with the abrupt braking, back into the second. The ride had ended, leaving Atlanta trembling from the adrenaline that had poured into his body. He heard the front door open, and the woman step out.<br/><br/>The van door rolled open as Atlanta slowly crawled out and dumped onto the cool floor. With a soft groan, he dragged his Winchester free and slowly recovered to his sock-covered feet. “Jesus Christ,” Atlanta muttered as he soothingly rubbed his back and stretched his shoulder blades. He turned and started around the back of the van to the side where he thought the woman was going to be. He was actually desperate to meet her despite the beating she put him through, and couldn't fathom the idea of her disappearing on him. "Ya ever try checkin' the back seat?" he complained.<br/><br/><strong>Las Vegas had no idea that there had been a passenger in the seat, and nor did she take the time to assess that the guy was alive. Her instincts in the new world took over from the moment that he came around the side of the minivan. With a frightened war cry, the girl reared her metal bat backwards and swung it forward in an unconscious aim for his abdomen. Even if it was a mistaken to hit the man, at least afterwards, he could be thankful that Las Vegas didn't swing for his head, or worse, below the belt. If she had been successful in the attack, Las Vegas would continue to hit him; if the girl missed, well, she'd hit him again too.</strong>(<em>Lady Reign</em>)<br/><br/>As Atlanta brought his eyes to the woman, she had let out a cry and suddenly a bat met with his abdomen. The blow made the blond gasp as a gust of air burst free of his lips. He huddled over, using his Winchester to block any continued swings as his free arm remained wrapped about his aching stomach. "Stop!" he exclaimed desperately. "I ain't dead ya' crazy ho!" He had sunk to his knees, looking as pained as a sick dog. "Fuck, if you ain't two bricks shy of a load. Kin ya not tell the difference between the dead and the living?" He swore if she kept trying to swing at him, he’d blow her head right off. It would have upset him to do so, but didn’t want to find out that all that was left of society were escaped mental cases.<br/><br/><hr/><br/><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Zombie Kills: 0<br/>Zombie Kill of the Week: 0</span></span></div><br/>