Paul & Phil, 28

I.

“Shit.” said Paul, looking out the window of the third story Long Island City apartment he and Philip shared. “We seriously should have seen this coming.”

“20/20 hindsight and all that.” responded Phil, flipping through the seven hundred and fifty three channels of unique static on the television.

“No,” insisted Paul, turning away from the vista of shambolic death outside, “I mean we, you and I, should have seen this coming.”

“The thing is, Paul,” replied Phil, looking up from the screen, “we, you and I, are the type of people who are always expecting this to happen, all the time. Therefore, how can we, you and I, be blamed for not seeing it coming? Technically speaking, we’ve seen this coming for about, what, twelve years or so? So did Will, so did Sunir, so did a lot of people. But Will never petitioned NASA or the X-Prize or Lockheed-Martin to do anything about it, did he? Sunir went to med school, I taught those little punks in Miami and you grew taller, never really expecting this to happen. And honestly, what would we have done?”

Paul thought for a moment. “Not really sure…I guess. Gone survivalist I suppose.”

“Exactly my point. And what the fuck do we know about being survivalists?”

“We can both grow a pretty respectable beard.”

“There is nothing respectable about our beards. Besides, we should be happy we know so much about zombies. We’re better off than most. Some people didn’t figure it out until they were being digested. We know they can’t climb stairs with any degree of speed, we know to ‘shoot for the head’…if we had guns.”

“We really should do something about that.” sad Paul, half to himself. “I’ve only fired a gun once in my life and I was four. And that ended badly.”

“Well, not for you,” said Phil, turning back to the TV, switching on the Playstation 3.

“Who gives a four year old a .45?” demanded Paul.

“A Republican?” opined Phil.

“Zing.” answered Paul.

“So what do we do now?” asked Phil, picking up a controller and handing it to Paul.

“Well,” mused Paul, taking the controller from Phil, “I’d always thought if this all ever happened that you and Will would be the ideal people to be with, but since Will is off in Columbia, that really isn’t too much of an option.”

“Go on” said Phil, initiating a two player game of Wipeout HD.

“So, like any good hypothetical survivalist, I stroked my unruly beard…”

“As one must,” added Phil.

“And I considered an alternate third, in case Will was already ensconced in some NASA fallout zombie shelter and had neglected to tell us. And, based on his level of experience and insight into this particular situation, I would have to say B.J.”

Philip raised his eyebrows.

“As a matter of fact, the place he’s living in Boston is ideal for this type of thing. A very steep hill, a sturdy old house, a bunch of guys well versed in the now-applicable art of zombie killing…”

“All right. Then we’re off to Boston?”

“Unless you have any better ideas?”

“It’s a shame we can’t bring the TV and Playstation. I’m getting quite good at Wipeout.”

“B.J. has an Xbox 360, so it’s not a complete loss.”

There was a pause in which they played the game, the sound of "Firestarter" sans lyrics filled the room.

“This really is the only fitting music for this game,” remarked Phil after a moment.

“Agreed.”