Chapter 4- Cat Chat
Sam and I sat staring at each other for a few minutes until the fear of the possibility of a zombie invasion seemed remote. Finally, she nodded to the gun her brother had left behind. "You can have that. I'm not touching it." I picked it up and looked it over. It was somewhat larger and heavier than mine, but most importantly it had a full clip. I couldn't deny it had a pretty big 'oh shit' factor that clearly distinguished it from a fancy cigarette lighter.
Was I fucked up to think that handling his gun was kinda erotic?
"I guess he is a nice guy after all." I commented putting it down begrudgingly least she see my obsession for what it was.
She smiled softly and a light sparked in her eyes. "He has changed a lot since the last time I saw him, but deep down he is the same John I grew up with."
"Guess all of the raping and pillaging hasn't gotten to him, then." I yawned. Sam looked horrified, causing me to add, "Not that he would…I mean…ah fuck it. You know what I mean."
She chuckled, causing a lock of her blonde hair to sway. "I do know what you mean." She admitted. "I worry that the more time he spends in this job the more of himself he will lose. He used to be so empathetic and warm, but now I look into his eyes and I see nothing."
"So maybe he should have been a guidance counselor," I shrugged, "we all make mistakes. I have to say, though, he is one fine piece of ass." Her face turned red and I continued. "In a scruffy, manly, big ass gun toting kind of way. I am sure it is probably just the uniform, though. Still, I would like to see him out of uniform to see what that huge gun is compensating for…"
"Stop!" She laughed waving her hands. "I can't go there with you. He is my baby brother, that is gross."
"Please!" I smirked. "Don't think for a second his sex starved buddies aren't giving him the same shit. Besides, he sure as hell isn't my brother and that makes him fair game. Unless, of course, he swings the other way."
She shook her head and emphatically stated, "He does not 'swing the other way' as you put it."
I shrugged feigning impartiality. "You don't know, Sam. You said yourself you haven't seen him in a long time, the two of you barely talk, and he seems to have changed. You know that he sleeps in a room full of other men most of the time." I raised my eyebrows and shrugged again. "All I am saying is it might be an opportunistic kind of thing like a prison. Maybe it is an 'I'm not gay but my boyfriend is' kind of relationship. Think about it." I baited. "I know things have changed, but he is still a big, tough Marine. Do you think he would be a top or bottom boy?" I asked laughing.
"Neither!" She answered, her face blazing red with embarrassment. "I mean, I don't think he has a problem with it, it just isn't something he is into."
"Does he have a wife?" I asked again putting my feet up on the bed.
"He has never been married." She replied returning to her normal color.
"Does he have a girlfriend back home?" I continued.
"No," she sighed, "not since he joined the Marines a few years ago."
"A favorite hooker? The girl down the street that never says no if she is drunk?" I pressed. Sam looked at me somewhat shocked. "Hmmm." I proclaimed with a smug look. "That leaves only two possibilities: he is gay or he is a priest who has taken a vow of celibacy. If that is the case, I think God would be less offended by the occasional fuck than with all the murder business."
She looked at me and shook her head. "What is wrong with you that you always think the worst of people?"
"Sweetheart," I said flatly, "you need to get your head out of the sand and realize that your sweet, innocent baby brother kills people for a living. He has probably killed hundreds by now. I am just being real about that fact that he has probably looked people in the eye and then painted the wall with their brains so many times that he could do it over breakfast and finish his plate. It has most likely become a reflex for him, he doesn't even have to think about it. But you know what? Right now that killer mentality might just get us out of here alive, so I don't hate him for it. I am damn glad he is good at what he does. Maybe it is time that you stop putting him on a goddamn pedestal and idolizing him for what he was and get down on your knees and kiss his bloody boots for what he is."
Tears welled up in her eyes again as she vehemently hissed, "You don't know him and you don't know me."
"No, I don't." I conceded. "But what I do know is that he as well as the others are our meal ticket out of here. If that means I have to lower myself to kiss their asses for the time being in order to get off this shit ball of a planet, then so be it." She huffed and squinted at me in disbelief. "Hey, I am just being pragmatic." I shrugged. "Sorry if I knocked your rose colored glasses askew."
We ignored each other for a few minutes until she fished in her pocket and removed the memory chips she had downloaded and busied herself on a computer. There were probably things that I could be doing as well, but I didn't feel like getting up. Fuck it.
I must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing I knew, people were shouting and Sarge was dragging Reaper along the hall toward the now transparent nano wall, leaving behind a trail of bright red blood.
