Happiness is a Warm Gun: An Interlude with Theo

Happiness is a Warm Gun: An Interlude with Theo

by Scott Thurlow


Theo looked at his reflection in the house’s dirty mirror. The suit still clung acceptably to him, being only slightly ruffled. His appearance at least remained relatively presentable. Theo felt that even in times such as this, it was no reason to let oneself go. Or perhaps it was the way he had been raised. Though, he was becoming increasingly unsure those values were pertinent, but old habits die hard.

Theo went back to the kitchen and looked at weapon he had left resting on the table that the gruff stranger whose name was Ike (an odd name, but Theo gave it no further thought upon introduction) had given him before tromping upstairs with his "crew"—Dave, Ike's ugly, annoying sidekick who had slugged Theo in the face; and the quiet, brooding Jack who rounded out the trio. Theo was unsure if he should feel regret for allowing the weird little band into his new home, or draw satisfaction in the grim relief at possibly having found salvation in their cartoonish yet effective methods of survival.

“We all deserve an option...” Ike's half-sarcastic suggestion to Theo echoed in his mind.
Theo felt the option Ike meant wasn’t the one he was really looking for. But the words still rang true in a way. He was aware that he couldn’t stay where he was forever. Anyway, he’d be out of alcohol in a few days, especially if he was going to be soon “sharing” some as seemed likely, and sober sulking just would not do for Theo. Instead, he found himself staring at the gun between sips of rum. He had never had to use a firearm before, but he thought himself nothing if not an astute student. Plus, a loaded handgun would be a terrible thing to waste. Even worse than wasting booze or the suit he was currently clad in. Perhaps it was his upbringing speaking again, but in this case he suspected his instincts could be trusted.

Theo thought he heard raised voices from the little tribe shuffling around the upper floor of the house and went back out on the balcony to survey the surrounding scenery. None of the monsters seemed to be in the immediate vicinity at the moment. He thought back to the parade of roof-crossing earlier than had led to his eventual possession of the weapon he was currently contemplating. Theo was ill-equipped for such an endeavor himself; it would have to be the streets when the time came. He returned inside to pour himself another drink, and to hopefully avoid the squabbles of the three armed stooges now intruding upon his little slice of heaven. He wondered if there was anything interesting in the house’s medicine cabinet, and went to check on it, his sense of purpose renewed for the moment.

Inside, treasures abounded. Theo never had much use for medication of this kind, though not to say he hadn’t dabbled in it at certain times. He had just never found much appeal in the process. But what’s the antidote to the apocalypse? Perhaps the answer lied in the small plastic pill bottles lined up like gravestones (Theo inwardly admonished himself for that being his first image connection) in front of him. What did the people who were in need of these kinds of pills do now? What were they doing now? Just because the dead have risen against the living, doesn’t make going cold turkey any easier. In fact, Theo thought the opposite really ought to be the case. His own logic told him that there should be a fairly decent chance someone in the militia-like group that was now occupying the town would be a member of that demographic. Inspired, Theo began to take down a catalog of the items before hastily stashing them away and anyone had noticed.