It's been a full day since we left Tulsa. We were now somewhere in the middle of Missouri, I couldn't tell with all the trees on both sides of the road. I swear it was like a friggin' jungle in there. A day pasted since we left that mess in the shopping center. According to Evan he went to the back of one of the stores and opened the warehouse door, thinking real, living people were in there. . . Well we all know how that turned out. After we narrowly escaped with just enough space between life and certain death to pass a paper through, we talked things over with Amarillo's family. She convinced her father to let her stay with Havana and I. I was surprised that she wanted to stay with us, after what she had done, and me being an ass. Nevertheless she put up a good case about Havana being a "medical professional" and how she would be better off in our care, even with the subsequent beat-down after she healed looming over head.

The pine trees on either side of the Suburban were laden with white clumps of snow. The ground was completely covered in the stuff, more so than the trees. As the numerous white spires stretched out they gave way to a perfectly clear sky. Not even a plane blemished the blue arcing lid, which was to be expected for obvious reasons. To Brooklyn it was easy to slip into the mindset that everything was alright. As to be just another joy ride in the heart of America. Part of him wished the case was so, but the other thought differently. If it was, just a normal day, Brooklyn would be stuck in his house, playing video games or mindlessly surfing his Facebook hoping for his friends to notice him. The friends he had back home weren't really "friends" per se. Rather, they were just people that would interact with you in person, but other than that it was like you didn't even exist. Sure they'd come to a party if invited, but they would never invite you to a party. All of his social troubles were catalyzed with the fact that his parents were never home. They always had somewhere to go, whither it'd be to their vacation house in Puerto Rico, or their summer loft in Vail, Colorado. Both of which Brooklyn had visited, once, when he was nine. His parents were very wealthy but little of the funds trickled down to his level and meant something. If it did, it usually manifested itself in the form of merchandise. Eccentric electronics, brand named clothing, even furniture. One of the few things he actually used was the five hundred dollar leather jacket his parents got him for his birthday, which was currently caked in blood in the trunk. So much for resale value. Brooklyn never cared for the materialistic views his parents tried to bestow upon him, nor the girls they tried to get him to meet. It was like a medieval nightmare when they started inviting their friends over, along with their daughters. Like some absurd charade in order to make peace with the neighboring kingdom. Brooklyn shook his head slightly, trying to jar the disappointing and embarrassing memory out of his head. He looked to the right of the window he was practically staring holes in. Amarillo was peering out of her window at all the snow and trees. The boy thought of all the questions he wanted to ask her, about her shoulder, and about what happened the last time they were in this vehicle. However he couldn't summon enough courage to confront her about these topics.

"Hey guys. You wanna' make another stop in the next town or just keep going?" Havana question the occupants in the back seat.

"It's good we can keep-"

"I'd like to stop." Amarillo interrupted Brooklyn as she swung her head toward the driver, unaware that she just stuffed his opinion back in his mouth. The girl looked at the boy next to her, who had his eyes fixed on her. "Have you been staring at me?"

Brooklyn didn't blink at first, but as Amber's voice faded from sound he jarred himself alert "Wha- No, no I wasn't. Why would I be? Staring? Pfft."

"Then what are you looking at me for?"

"I - uh - I." The boy turned and leaned back in his seat then shrugged at the girl "Nothing, just hangin' out. Um, how about you? Who are you, doing? I meant how! How are you. I mix that up sometimes, a lot. Switch the W and the H. They're close in the alphabet. . . Wait. No they're not. I'll just, shut up now. Yeeah. " He stumbled for an explanation.

Amarillo giggled as she continued to look back at Brooklyn "I'm fine."

Havana turned up the radio, a sly grin on her face.

"I don't want to lose your love, toniiight." The song blurted over the speakers, followed by classic eighties beats and melodies.

"Oh, that's, good-" Brooklyn confronted Havana, obviously distracted by the music. "The Outfield? Seriously?"

The woman put her right hand in the air "Hey, I thought it would be nice. . . for you two." She spoke the last part under her breath.

The group had now pulled into a Shell gas station. While the girl's went into the store to restock on supplies Brooklyn stood by the gas pump. He eyed up and down the rural road, his mind at ease and soothed by the quaint surroundings. He lazily looked to the left at the field that spanned off in the distance. Water towers were the only things that stood over the horizon, no buildings in sight. It was a nice, if not odd, change of pace for this awkward city boy. His mind then turned to more serious things, such as what happened between him and Amarillo.

"Hey, Amarillo. I wanted to ask you something." He rehearsed to himself. "No. . . Oh hey, Amarillo. I wanted to talk to you, about what happened."

He shook his head in distain and readjusted his stance. He favored a more direct posture, with his right leg standing forward and his body slightly leaned back.

"Amarillo." Brooklyn said in a fake Antonio Banderas accent "I wanted to speak with you, about what happened. . ." He cut the accent and formulated a new one "No, that's not it. . . 'Eh, Amarillo, I wanted to talk to joo about sum-thin'. . ."

The kid sighed and yet again fixed his posture, leaning forward this time. Before he could try his new words the gas nozzle clicked, signifying it was done pumping. He grabbed the instrument and pulled it out of the gas cap.

"Amarillo. I really want to talk to you about something-"

"What do you want to talk about?" The girl Brooklyn rehearsed for stood directly in front of him as he turned to return the pump.

"Oh, uh-" The kid grabbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

Here it was, time to man up and get it off your chest Dan. Time to get the answers you want directly.

"I wanted to talk, about. . . The gas - o - line." Brooklyn sputtered chunks of words out.

I really hate myself sometimes. . .

Amarillo stood still, her head cocked to the side in confusion. The plastic bag full of food products whipped in the wind as she held on to it.

"I mean, really. Leaded, unleaded, regular. How can someone tell what that means? Like, is there actual lead in there or what?" The boy improvised with his random topic.

The girl's face grew even more confused, but a quirky smirk stretched across her left cheek. Brooklyn clinched tighter on the gas handle he still had in his hand. Amber looked even cuter to the boy with that expression. It lasted for a few more seconds as Brooklyn was captivated by her look at him. He felt something physically tug at his heart. This strange phenomenon hasn't ever happened to him before. New York's mind quickly flashed to the stories of spontaneous combustion in humans. Is this how it feels? Amarillo then stepped past the kid and to the SUV's door. Brooklyn stood in place for a moment before letting out a deep breath, shaking his head in the process. He then balled his fist and slammed it into his chest several times.

"Whoa." He gasped as he exhaled slower than normal.

The group had disembarked from the gas station about an hour ago. Amarillo had taken the wheel for this round, with Brooklyn in the front seat and Havana sleeping in the back. Snow picked up briefly outside, gently breezing off the windshield. The hum of the engine mixed with the brown and white surroundings made it hard to stay awake, even with a few Red Bull's in the system. Brooklyn sat up in his seat and rubbed his face like a rugged mountain man, which definitely wasn't the case. Amber looked over to the boy who rose from a lull of drowsiness.

"Decided to stay awake with me?" The girl spoke has she looked back to the road.

"Yeah. It gets a little boring after awhile." Brooklyn replied.

"Hmm, well do you want to talk? That can make this ride a little less boring. Or is there a law against talking while in a car?"

The boy smiled "No there's not, I just never really do." He waited for Amarillo to ask a question but nothing came. "Oh, you want me to start off the conversation?"

"Yeeaah." The girl exaggerated the word.

"Ok then. Since your full of all this 'kick ass' training and what not. How come you didn't kick my ass when we first met out in the desert?"

"I did shoot at you, remember."

"Oh yes, how could I forget. . ." Brooklyn lowered his eyes to his feet as he recalled the terrifying moment.

"I thought you were a zombie, and as a rule, you never get close enough to punch a zombie."

"Actually, I beg to differ."

"Ok, but not willingly."

Brooklyn stared at Amber blankly.

"You're crazy. Anyway, I thought you were a zombie and that's why I fired."

"Fair enough. However I tend to want to see what I intend to kill before I actual go about killing it." New York poked at the girl's inexperience.

"Come on Brook. I had no idea anyone was left besides me and a few others. Let alone meeting another human being in a desert."

"Did you just call me Brook? That's a girl's name."

"Oh, sorry. Did I just bruise your 'manliness'?" She joked.

Brooklyn dropped his jaw and hunched his shoulders "Ouch, that hurt."

"Get used to it." Amber continued to joke at the lack of the boy's manhood.

"Rub it in why don't ya'. . ." New York leaned to place his elbow on the window seal.

"It's true! You're not really one with a macho-alpha male complex," Amarillo paused to turn the steering wheel with the road "But that's not a bad thing. . . It's kinda' cute."

Brooklyn turned his head to the last bit of that sentence. He smiled ever so slightly as his face began to turn the tiniest bit pink. He watched as the girl grinned at her own words, her eyes still fixated on the asphalt in front of the vehicle. The air returned to the hum of wind blowing past the exterior of the car. Brooklyn chewed over what Amarillo said. Maybe she wasn't out of his league, and maybe he wasn't at the bottom rung of the relationship ladder. However he tamed these thoughts that floated in his head, knowing that he had no experience in this subject or how to even interpret it. Although never one to admit it, Brooklyn was a hopeless romantic with a bleeding heart. He never gave in to the scientific approach to relationships and dating. Such as instinct and physical attraction based on survival. He still believed in "true love" and "love at first sight" even "destiny". There was always a felling of underlying guilt for holding on to such fairy tale prophecies. Most of which dealt a great deal in him unable to date a single girl, even when he turned nineteen. He always waited for fate to bring him together with someone. If a zombie apocalypse was fate's way of bringing him and Amber together, fate has a sick, sick mind. Brooklyn felt something between him and Amber, kind of like him and Rachel back when things were "right", or today's definition of "right". Only this time, he was fairly sure that Amber felt the same way, but he didn't dare to tell of it even if his thoughts were true.

Another ten minutes past of cruising down what should be the remnants of route sixty-six. The snow continued to fall the same way it had been, silently and gracefully. Upon coming up to a large plain of concrete and asphalt New York squinted his eyes. On a hill was a church with a large parking lot that extended to the road they were traveling on. In the lot was a zombie crouched over a corpse. The Suburban drove closer to the undead as the SUV followed the road. Brooklyn turned his head as he eyed the zombie pass by. It was a zombie-preacher in all black with a white collar, snacking on a man who had a sign draped over him like a classic doomsayer in LA. The sign read "There is no god! All will perish!".

"It's a tie between irony and poetic justice. . ." Brooklyn commented on the scene. As the boy looked up to the church he saw two more zombies wandering aimlessly, their only guidance was the outside wall of the church itself. The SUV quickly gained distance from the key location in the foresty middle of no where. New York turned his head to Amarillo, wanting to talk to her some more.

"You mentioned something about a few others being alive, what did you mean by that?" He broke the smooth soundtrack of dull hums.

Amber quickly glanced at the boy "Yeah. I ran with some other survivors before I met you."

"Who were they?"

"A guy who was headed to Sacramento and another girl who was going to the same place." The girl turned her body slightly to Brooklyn. "That's how I got this." She brought her hand to her wounded shoulder.

"Jesus, what happened?" The boy questioned in shock.

"The guy was a little unstable, mentally. After about three days of traveling with him he asked me to do something I wasn't going to do."

"Wow. . . What did he ask you to do?"

"He wanted me to kill the other girl."

New York leaned closer to Amarillo "What the hell!? Why?"

"I don't know why, to prove my loyalty to him or something. I told him I would never do it, so he shot me. He did it quickly so he didn't have enough time to aim. I just pretended to be dead as I bled on the floor of that fast food restaurant we stayed in. When he left I got up and ran for my life. I don't know what happened to the other girl. . . And I don't want to."

Brooklyn made an effort to keep eye contact as Amber lowered her gaze "That's, horrible. Where did you go after that?"

"I ran until I found a working car. Then patched myself up. After a day of driving, I met you."

"No wonder you shot at me. You thought I was that sick man." The boy whispered as he made sense of what happened. Amber nodded slightly as a tear fell from her eye. The shock of truth Brooklyn put together startled her. That was the reason she shot at him, the fact that he managed to discover the underlying truth startled Amarillo. That kind of empathy could only be found in a psychiatrists office after weeks of getting to know the patient. The flash of falling water caught Brooklyn's eye. He leaned to the girl and grabbed her hand, squeezing it slightly.

She turned her palm to hold his hand then she looked into Brooklyn's eyes. "I'm glad I missed."

Turns out, the reason Amarillo was bleeding so badly back in Tulsa was due to her actually pushing the bullet out the other side of her shoulder with her finger. Whatever that guy shot her with, it must have been a weak caliber round, thankfully. Talk about one tough human being. Rambo shit right there. I couldn't even imagine doing that to myself, even to prevent a deadly infection. She's one of a kind.

Brooklyn was now in the driver's seat. The glowing green digits on the dashboard read ten o'clock at night, everything but the large field of light in front of the car stood visible. The stars in the night sky were showing clear as day, even the starry haze of the Milky Way itself. The boy smiled as he watched the display of distant solar systems through the moon roof. The snow below sparkled faintly from the mixture of starlight and moonlight.

"At least we don't have Reapers to deal with." He sighed in self-content.

"What are you talking about white boy?" Havana blurted in confusion.

"Oh nothing. So how do you like all the stars? Beautiful right?"

". . . Do you want me to beat your bitch ass again?" The woman responded to more of the kid's nonsense.

"No I'm good. My bitch ass is fine for now."

"Good." Havana grinned at her new surroundings in the front seat. She was stuck in the euphoric state of happiness, the kind you get after waking up from a long nap. "I'm just teasing you anyway. The stars don't concern me. It's what's under them that I have to worry about."

"Yeah, but you have to enjoy some things in life." Brooklyn tried to come to a mutual understanding.

"Fast cars, good sex, and poppin' heads from a mile out. That's what I like." The woman kicked her feet up on the dashboard as she pulled out a stick of gum from the cup holder.

"Yes, very creepy." New York commented in a reserved tone.

"What, you disagree?"

"No, I love blastin' caps a mile out! You kiddin' me? Do it all the time, from my backyard, in the Hamptons." Brooklyn elaborated sarcastically.

"No I mean the second opinion in the list."

"Oh, that. Yeah! All that, in my backyard in the Hamptons. I'm a modern day Casanova up in that, shit. Yeah."

"Pfft! Whatever! You could barely navigate your way through the sheets." Havana broke out in a sharp laugh.

"Ok. Awkward picture right there. Fairly insulting. Alright." Brooklyn nodded silently "But I like how you used 'navigate'. Adds texture to the sentence."

Havana stared at the boy in distain before she let a swift punch strike his arm.

"Ouch! I meant it in a good way! Let's not resort to physical violence." He reacted as he rubbed his upper arm.

"Now, try it on me." The woman coaxed.

"Are you insane? I'm driving!"

"Yea, and doing a horrible job at it." Havana pointed out the front window.

"Oh shit!" New York yelped as he jerked the steering wheel to the left. Just feet from running off the road.

The woman motioned her hands toward her, taunting. "C'mon, now's your chance for revenge. You want it? Come get it."

"This is going to have a harsh reprisal. . ." Brooklyn sighed before he slung a punch at Havana. The Ex-Ranger quickly deflected the boy's punch to the side. With that his neck was left exposed, the woman took that advantage. She opened her thumb and hand into an "L" shape and rammed it around Brooklyn's throat.

"Hack! Shit!" He began coughing loudly "Friggin' ass child abuse!"

Havana watched as New York recovered from the blow "Come on, it was only thirty percent power! The very fact you can still talk right now proves it."

The kid shook his head as he held on to his neck with both hands. The vehicle began to veer to the right without any direction. A few coughs sounded before the Suburban violently jetted into the air. The front tires had slammed into an embankment, tossing snow and dark clumps of dirt into the air. Brooklyn lifted out of his seat, the only thing keeping him from busting out through the roof was his seatbelt. Havana's legs bounced off of the dashboard and landed into the leg space below, her seatbelt was fastened as well. The only one who didn't have a seatbelt on was Amarillo, who was sleeping in the backseat. At this precise moment she was exactly parallel with the front seat headrests, having just rebounded from hitting the ceiling. New York grabbed the wheel in front of him and diligently turned the out of control mass of metal onto the road.

"Christ! Is everything alright?! Is anything broken?!" Brooklyn frantically looked in every direction as he checked on things. Havana was practically crying with laughter as she went through the surreal experience of owning Brooklyn, flying six feet off the ground, then watching the poor boy react as if a bomb just went off. Figuratively speaking of course.

"What the hell just happen! Amarillo?!" New York looked to the back to see no one in the seat "Shit! Amarillo! Amarillo!?"

He put his hand down to the floor board of the backseat to feel a warm body. "Amarillo? . . . Amarillo! Fuck! Are you alright!?"

"She's probably unconscious!" Havana managed to exclaim through tears of laughter. Brooklyn wrapped his head around his seat as best he could to check on the girl. Then he whipped around to make sure the same thing didn't happen to the car again. He shot a glance to the woman next to him. Brooklyn did a quick double take to examine her expression one more time. Now that it was clear she was dieing over sadistic laughing fits, New York lowered in his seat. A big frown on his face. A full minute and a half past as Brooklyn continued to disapprove greatly of the situation. Havana on the other hand, started clapping as she continued to find the life threatening mess-up humorous. The kid sighed, he was clearly the only conscious mature person in the car.

". . . I wish I didn't know you. . ." He sighed.

Shifting was heard behind Brooklyn's seat. "Uugh. . . What, happened?" Amber finally spoke.

"We took a little spill, ooo-kay? Just a little spill." The boy said tenderly.

"Whu. . . Why is there a chunk missing out of the floor? Why am I even on the floor?"

"You've-got-to-be-shitting-me!" New York's tone became serious as he turned to check on the situation.

"Oh, never mind. It's just a hand mirror on the ground." The drowsy girl dispelled.

"Hoo, I almost shit a brick there for a moment."

"Oh my god." Havana gasped as she put her hand on her mouth, trying not to laugh again.

Brooklyn pointed a finger at the woman "Don't even start with me."