Chapter Text
When Zoro comes around the tree, sword ready at hand, he's not expecting the chickens.
The guy, sure- Zoro heard him muttering to himself from a mile away. Little sing-songs, the faint, crackling sound of music.
That's what drags Zoro in, really. He'd normally actively avoid the sound of another person. Zombies, sure. People- absolutely not. Too much risk. Even one person was much worse than a horde.
The guy yelps when he spots Zoro, leaping to his feet and snatching up a cricket bat. It's got nails hammered in, flaking with old blood. He gets between Zoro and the music player, sitting on top of some kind of rolling tray, and shouts- at the chickens.
"Aquí, chicas!" the guy barks, sharp and nervous, the words rolling off his tongue naturally. Foreign, then. Tanned and dark-eyed. Spanish? Or South American, maybe.
Zoro opens his mouth to start threatening, eyes mostly one the music player, and the chickens- the chickens run over to the guy like trained pointers. They scuffle behind him, clucking nervous and trying to get in the cage.
Zoro shifts his grip, enough to split his knuckle. It stings, so Zoro decides this is real, and not the weirdest thing he's seen.
"Give me the player," Zoro says. His voice comes out raspy. He hasn't spoken much in a while. There's no point when you're alone.
"No," the guy says, matching Zoro's stance. He's not cowed by the sword, or the blood splattered up Zoro's boots from this morning, where he hasn't had a chance to wipe it off. Well- at least he speaks English.
"You can't win," Zoro says. He hates it when people fight. He'd much rather kill zombies than fuck around with living people.
"Try me," the guy says. There's something about the way he stands in front of the chickens. Protective. Zoro's not above using that attachment.
Zoro steps up. The player is worth it. He can knock the guy down- a cut or two usually gets people out of his way. He keeps the Wado as clean as he can manage- he's kind enough to not actively infect people.
The nails on this guy's cricket bat are risky. Puncture wounds are a bitch to get clean, take forever to heal, notwithstanding the risk of infection.
The guy is fast. He watches Zoro with dark eyes and waits for him to get closer. Zoro's got maybe an inch on him, but his arms look longer, and their weapons are matched for distance.
Zoro's fast too, and they dance around eachother. The guy's trying to lead him away from the coop, covered wire on the rolling bed of the beach cart. Cute. Zoro doesn't give a fuck about the chickens.
The guy swings first, like its a hockey stick, and Zoro dances out of the way and cuts low, not willing to risk getting the blade stuck on the guy's gronky bat. Zoro avoids the end of the bat, and the guy barely catches a slice at the hem of his oversized button-up. He's fast- faster than Zoro expected.
Fuck.
It's getting dark, and between the sound of the music and the sound of them fighting- something's bound to come along. This area's not cleared in any sense.
Zoro only realised halfway through yesterday that the town nearby likes to dump their dead outside, so the corpses roaming aren't the shambling, rotting sort that's falling apart after a few hungry months.
Half the time they're fresher than Zoro after a rough night, and less afraid to bite. Keeps the tourists from coming through, but fuck- this is why there's still new zombies. If people just disposed of their dead properly-
Then again, Zoro's not sure he could go back to living in a house, pretending to like his neighbours.
They circle around eachother, assessing. Zoro spots the zombie before the guy does, running full tilt for the guy's back through the trees. Zoro should let it get him, but he's already jerking his head, waving his arm in a sharp move motion. The guy doesn't miss a beat, sidestepping and swinging. The grunt at the impact aside, he's quiet about it.
It's rare Zoro finds someone who doesn't screech and shout. The snarling of the zombie is loud enough. The guy got it good, in the side, nails ripping through the meat in a fetid spray, knocked to it's knees. He probably would have managed fine, but there's an obvious opening, and Zoro's lopping its head off and back out of range in three steps.
The body flops to the ground, head rolling away in a trail of black ooze. The blood always looks old. When he's particularly bored, Zoro sometimes puzzles over the fluid mechanics.
The guy wipes his bat on the zombie's blazer, and smiles at him. They both scan the trees, listening for more zombies. The player clicks off. Must be a cassette. The chickens cluck and coo, apparently unbothered by the violence now they're inside the coop.
"I'm Monkey D. Luffy," the guy says, like Zoro gives a fuck, "Why do you want the player?"
"What do you want for it?" Zoro says. The faster he gets out of this conversation, the better. The guy's an idiot. Zoro would bet a case of bullets if he walks away, the guy will follow him. He's all bright eyed at Zoro, who was actively trying to kill him five minutes ago.
Monkey D. Luffy shrugs.
"It's not for sale," the guy says, "Unless you have something really good."
What constitutes really good is anyone's guess. The guy's wearing sneakers, originally probably white, jean shorts, and a button up floral shirt. Like they're at a beachside bar ten years ago, before the world went to shit in a very tangible way. How he's not already dead is a suspicious mystery.
Zoro also has no interest in revealing his inventory.
"What do you want?" Zoro says.
"If you have something to play on it," the guy says slowly, "Maybe we could just listen together?"
It's the stupidest idea Zoro's heard in a while. Still, it's the only thing he's heard in a while, so he finds himself thinking about it. He supposes if they did- listen together, he could just knock the guy out and take it after. Zoro tilts his head like he's considering.
"Not here," Zoro says.
"Fair," the guy says, keeping his bat in hand, retreating to the coop.
It's a decent size for something on wheels, though a bit cramped for the three birds inside. There's a big duffle strapped to the front, a little esky. The guy's hooked up a body harness to the handle, presumably so he can walk and pull the coop behind him with his hands free. It'd be clever, if there was any goddamn reason to haul three chickens around in a zombie apocalypse.
There is one reason, Zoro realises later, when they're out of the scrub and somewhat-safer parked on an outcropping. Three sides loose rock and sheer cliff. They'll only need to worry about one side.
"This is Maria," the guy says, petting the fattest brown chicken like it's a cat, "She's grumpy, but she lays the most eggs."
Eggs.
Fuck- if Zoro knew anything about how to keep something alive, he'd kill the guy right then and there. He doesn't say anything- doesn't want to reveal how he has to swallow the rush of saliva at the thought of an egg.
Zoro's gotten good at skinning possums, but he likes lizards better. They stink less when he roasts them. Harder to catch, though.
Once, he spent a few nights in the camp of two old women, meals in exchange for watching each other's back in a particularly contested area. The women caught a python- a big one. The meat was tender, soft little morsels wrapped around a spine longer than Zoro was tall.
Zoro never thought about snakes as tasty, but these days, even this guy's slim thighs start to look like they might run with juice if he cooked them right. Zoro checks himself over for bites every time he has thoughts like that. It's probably just iron deficiency.
Eggs, though. From a chicken. What he would do for an egg-!
He doesn't have to do anything, because Monkey D. Luffy reaches into his esky and holds one out to him like it's nothing.
"A thank you from Maria!" the guy says. He's still got his bat in his other hand, so he's not completely stupid.
Zoro snatches the egg before he can think too hard about, hoping that it's not a trap, because he doesn't want to drop the tiny thing. It's brown and a little speckled, but clean.
Zoro shifts far enough away from the guy that he'll get his sword up in time if the guy tries to attack him, and cracks the egg into his mouth, only just resisting the urge to crunch on it like a dog. He gets a split second to savour it before the guy ruins it by opening his mouth.
"Hey- woah," the guys says, "I was thinking- you might cook it?"
"How?" Zoro snaps, feeling his cheeks heat, even though it's not him that's stupid in this scenario. The rich taste of the yolk is good- so good. The guy clearly takes care of his birds.
"Oh, right," the guy says, going back to petting Maria, "I guess we shouldn't start a fire out here?"
Zoro doesn't dignify that with an answer, licking out the bowl of the eggshell. Night is falling, sun setting pretty over the scrub, all gold and pink. It's been a while since Zoro's had someone to share it with. Even if it's a chicken-egg idiot.
"Do you-?" the guys says, "Do you want another one?"
"No," Zoro snaps, "We don't owe eachother." Zoro's not falling into that trap again.
"Okay," the guy says, easy, like he's not insulted. He smiles at Zoro and lets Maria down off his lap when she fusses. The chickens are back out of the coop, scruffling through the thin grass and pecking intently. They're pretty quiet. Zoro supposes loud chickens probably wouldn't last long.
"So, do you have something to play?" the guy says, leaning back on his coop. He looks comfortable. Zoro can imagine him spending his nights like this, propped up against the coop with his bat on his lap.
"Not now," Zoro says quietly. This high and at night, they shouldn't even be talking. The sound will travel for a mile.
"Tomorrow?" the guy says, matching his volume. He looks excited, what Zoro can see of him in the fading light.
"Tomorrow," Zoro agrees, getting comfortable on the rock. The distance between them is enough that Zoro will wake if the guy moves close. If he tries something. They both watch each other, and at some point, Zoro gets some sleep.
When Zoro wakes up, the guy is gone.
The chickens are still in the coop, faint crooning like they're still resting, but the player and the guy's backpack aren't strapped to the cart anymore. Zoro licks his lips when he spots the esky of eggs, but the guy's probably just taking a piss. It's not worth risking an altercation. Not when it seems like the bare minimum of civility will earn him another egg anyway.
The sun is rising, and spread out below them, the scrub goes for miles, silvery green and yellow. To the east, the rocky hills flatten out into grassland, lines of broken down fences. Old farm fields, probably. Sometimes Zoro will find wheat and other plants growing wild, but it's rarely worth the effort to process them. Sorghum is easier, no husk, but Zoro mainly sticks to what native plants he knows won't kill him.
"Monkey?" Zoro hisses into the trees. If he's taking a dump, Zoro doesn't want to disturb him, but its been a solid ten minutes. There's no reply, no rustling nearby.
Zoro stretches. Pisses over the side of the cliff after checking the guy isn't directly below them.
There's a shambling corpse visible down below the slope, but it's on it's literal last legs. One arm hangs on rotten strings, clothing mostly gone. It seems to only have hearing in one ear, and is mostly moaning into the tree its struggling to move around. Not a real threat. Just something to keep an eye on. It's the fast ones that are dangerous.
The big fat brown chicken is staring at him. It clucks, sounding disgruntled, and scratches at the door of the coop.
"No," Zoro says, and then feel stupid. He's talking to a chicken. Zoro cleans the Wado, does some mending on a rip in his pack. Chicken guy has one hour, and then Zoro's stealing all his eggs and letting the chickens roam free.
There's the sound of someone coming through the trees, too organised for a zombie. Zoro debates calling out, and decides to keep quiet, in case it's someone new. The chickens cluck quietly, getting impatient.
"Good morning!" the chicken guy says, stomping through the bush like he's on a day walk. He's got an arm full of stuff, and smiles at Zoro. Like they're buddies, or something. Zoro doesn't know. He's never had someone look so pleased to see him.
"I found some tomatoes!" the guy says, "And some stuff the girls can eat."
"Right," Zoro says, because the guy seems to be expecting a response. He watches the trees behind the guy, because he's not exactly quiet. Monkey has the player strapped to his hip, and puts his stuff back down on the coop, letting the chickens out. They run around his feet a few times, pecking in a way that might be affectionate, and then start on the pile of half-rotten fruit and chaff the guy collected, spreading out.
"Buenos días, Juana," the guy sing-songs to the black chicken, and then sings to the two browns with a similar greeting. They coo and cluck. It's clearly some kind of morning ritual.
Zoro doesn't comment, sitting back down on his rock. A man can sing to his chickens if he wants to.
The guy turns to Zoro, bush tomatoes in hand.
"And buenos días- sword guy?" the guy says, smile wry.
Zoro stares him down. It's an opening- Monkey already told Zoro his name. Zoro's not doing that. This is a transaction, and he's leaving Monkey and his chickens as soon as he gets his hands on the player.
"I was thinking of a little fire," the guy says, "I'm pretty hungry."
Zoro stands up. The tomatoes look mostly ripe, oddly shaped but not obviously wormy, and the guy has eggs. Lots of them, potentially.
Zoro's not sitting around waiting for this guy to eat food in front of him.
"What do you want for the player?" Zoro says.
Monkey dumps his tomatoes on top of the esky, wiping his hands on his shorts. His cricket bat is never far away. Zoro's not offended. If there was an opening, Zoro would take it. If anything, it increases the respect he has for this weird dude, who makes too much noise and wears too little clothing.
"Do you have something to play on it?" the guy says, instead of a price.
"Won't matter when you don't have it anymore," Zoro says.
"It's not for sale," the guy says, "But maybe I'll sell you some eggs."
Zoro stares at him. Silence is a good negotiation tactic on chatty people. Also, he's considering.
Zoro wants the player- fuck he wants the player. But realistically, it would be a pain in the ass to lug around. Space is at a premium for Zoro, who has a backpack.
The player is one of those big, ugly rounded ones from the early 2000s. Cassette, CD, radio. Power cord or battery, probably AA. How long could he reasonably carry it around, especially once it's out of batteries?
"What works on it?" Zoro says. It's a concession. Monkey grins at him.
"All of it!" the guy says, beaming, "Well, the radio I'm not too sure about, because it's usually just static, but I have three cassettes and a CD, and they work great!"
Zoro has a 80-sleeve CD case crammed with every CD and CD booklet he's been able to find in the past four years.
It's stupid- one of those dumb hobbies that get people killed. He'd started it the way he imagines most people do. On the edge of nervous breakdown, covered in blood, scared he was already infected. Scared his last few days would be the same fight-eat-shit-sleep-repeat struggle that it had been for the last however long.
When he's somewhere relatively safe, alone- he likes to look at the discs. Read the little booklets. Imagine what the songs might sound like. Sometimes the books have lyrics in them, and he thinks about how the singer's voice might sound. There's 80s mixes and older bands, songs he remembers from Before- but there's so many he doesn't know.
They've got some trade value, in settlements with electricity. There was a school down south with a working PA system, that he'd been very popular at, trading his double ups so they could play something new.
With his own player- he has enough music to listen to for months.
"What music do you have?" Zoro says. The guy looks pleased, like Zoro's agreed to anything.
"I have Maria Carey's Merry Christmas on CD," the guy says, "On cassette, AC/DC's Back in Black. The Angels, No Exit. Also, Destiny's Child, Survivor, but it's pretty chewed up."
Zoro has some AC/DC. Bublé if Monkey is actually a Christmas music fan. No Angels. Cassettes probably last longer, but Zoro tries to keep his discs in the best condition possible. He's pickier these days, only collects more pristine discs, or ones that have interesting art or booklets.
"Share your breakfast," Zoro says, "And you can listen to Fly on the Wall or High Voltage."
"Is that what you want to listen to?" the guy says, head tilted. Something about his stare makes Zoro's neck heat up. The guy is intense. Zoro glares.
"Do you want to or not?" Zoro says. They're wasting daylight.
Monkey shrugs.
"Do you have any pop music?" the guy says, "Something not rock? Maybe- do you have Taylor Swift?"
Zoro considers his mental inventory. Weighs the request against revealing the scope of his collection, and how willing he is to lose the disc if the guy decides he's keeping it.
"Pepsi Chart Hits Volume 3," Zoro says, "Gwyneth Paltrow's Cruisin', Baha Men Who Let the Dogs Out, Bomfunk's Freestyler. Minor hits from Christina Aguilera, Blink 182, Kylie Minogue, Vanessa Amarosi, Destiny's Child. 33 tracks on two CDs."
The guy looks like he's about to cry.
"I love Freestyler!" Monkey says, arms out wide like he wants to hug Zoro, "Can we listen to that first?"
Zoro constructs the fire, because Monkey is useless, piling up sticks like he's never seen a campfire in his life. Zoro tries to find the driest, small pieces of wood, making a little lean-to fire lay so there's not too much smoke. They dance around each other, sword and bat in range.
Monkey's fucking around with the chickens, so Zoro brings out his bigger tin pannikin and boils some water, dropping a tiny handful of coffee grounds in the pot. He's feeling generous. Monkey stares at him and the brown water hungrily.
Monkey has a little round frypan, and a metal lid that poaches the eggs well enough. Zoro has to keep swallowing his spit and scanning the tree line, not willing to reveal the depth of his desire to shove his face in the pan.
"Hey, Monkey," Zoro says, sipping the weak coffee and watching the chickens scratch around.
"Call me Luffy," the guy says, smiling at him.
It's the same tone Zoro imagines Moby Dick opened with. Call me Ishmael. Chaos awaits.
Zoro nods. He doesn't really have anything to say, isn't sure why he opened his mouth. It's been a long time since he felt this at ease in someone's company, which in turn makes him uneasy. There's a hundred questions you don't ask a fellow traveller in a zombie apocalypse.
Where are you headed? Where did you come from? Were you always alone?
Zoro avoids spending time with people, and when he does, it's usually suspicious silence. Luffy murmurs to himself and the chickens, dances around, smiles and tries to make conversation. It's like they're on a summer camp trip from when Zoro was at school. Down below, the shambling zombie moans.
"I think Carmen likes you," Luffy says, sliding three eggs onto a battered melamine plate. Zoro stops staring and salivating long enough to spare a glance for the smaller of the two brown chickens. She's made her way up the rock, sitting in the sun, squinty-eyed, next to Zoro.
Zoro's not sure that vague proximity counts as an expression of fondness, but who knows? Maybe chickens are like cats.
Luffy holds the plate out. Zoro stares at him.
"You first," Zoro says. Luffy blinks at him.
"I am not very hungry," Luffy lies. He's bad at it. They stand there for a few seconds.
Luffy shakes the plate. The eggs jiggle, just a bit, bright whites set and rich orange yolk still runny under a cloudy skin, perfectly poached. The bush tomatoes have popped their skins, a little charred, leaking juice. Steam curls up, drifting in the cool air.
Zoro grabs the plate before he can think too hard about it, careful not to touch Luffy's hand. He moves back out of range, already shoving one of the eggs in his mouth. The yolk bursts hot and runny in his mouth, and he doesn't moan. It's a near thing. Raw was good- this is obscene.
Luffy's staring.
"What?" Zoro snaps, licking egg off his fingers. Luffy blinks and seems to realise he's still standing there with his hand out, cheeks turning red. He busies himself cooking more eggs.
Halfway through cleaning up, there's rustling and groaning nearby, and Zoro goes around the other side of the rock, wanting as much lead time as possible if its fast moving. Luffy scrambles to the other side of the coop.
"Chicas!" Luffy says, sharp, and the zombie bursts out of the tree line, running full tilt for the fire.
Fuck. Zoro hates the fast ones. Partially because they're harder to take down, and partially because they still look like people. It's an older lady, barely decomposing, hair still in a messy bun.
The chickens scatter, and Luffy swings over the top of the coop. Dangerously close to the player. It catches her outstretched arms, the movement of the chickens attracting her attention, and the nails rib long ribbons of flesh off her forearms.
Zoro could step in, but Luffy's too close, not enough room to not risk cutting them both. Luffy comes around the side of the coop and knocks her back, slamming a foot into her chest in a display of dexterity, and brings his bat down on her head with a crunch. He's breathing hard, but seems more concerned about where the chickens have ended up than double-checking the zombie is actually down.
Zoro waits impatiently until he's out of range and cuts through her neck, severing the brainstem. It's hardly Shawn of the Dead, but as a basic principle, double-tap still stands.
The motion puts Zoro right in the path of the next zombie that bursts through the trees. Luffy steps out, bat up, but Zoro's already moving, cutting the hands off and then the head in a smooth motion. This one's juicy, spraying gore all over the dead grass. They both pause, waiting, but there's no more rustling.
"You're a good fighter," Luffy says. Zoro flicks black ooze off the Wado and steps back around the rock. Luffy doesn't seem to be interested in Zoro's stuff, too busy smiling at Zoro and waving his bat around.
"Are we listening, or what?" Zoro says, because Luffy looks like he's going to say something stupid, like, we should travel together. Or worse, something else entirely, and Zoro's reading into things too much, desperate for company.
"Sure!" Luffy says, dragging the first corpse around the coop and rolling it off the side.
Down below, the shambling corpse moans.