They've been driving for a month. Going east and then north, meandering south and a little west. They don't know what state they're in, what highway they're on – only whether they're hungry or tired or the gas tank needs to be refilled. They haven't decided where to go yet. They haven't decided if there's a place to go.
Their latest hotel is marginally more skeezy than the last – the guy at the front desk barely raises an eyebrow when they ask for one room, though he looks at Casey in a way that would make Zeke's teeth clench if he didn't feel quite so boneless. He's too tired to pick a fight and drive fifty miles to the next motel. Casey looks ready to drop, and they could both use a shower and a change of clothes. Zeke makes a mental note to head to Wal-Mart. T-shirts and jeans wear out pretty fast when you wear them nearly 24/7.
Zeke shoves Casey into the shower first, and quickly washes himself. When he gets out he's grateful to see Casey has all ready turned off the light. It always makes it easier, slipping into bed.
There are nights where they just sleep. There are nights where they don't sleep at all – just cling to each other, waiting for something they can't name. There are nights where Casey can't stop crying, can't stop the pain that comes thick and heavy and fast, and Zeke has to comfort him in the only way he's got, which invariably ends in a blowjob for whatever the reason. Tonight's one of the other nights. Fast and hard and in the dark, where Casey doesn't make a sound – not a whimper, not a cry --- even though Zeke always wants him to.
Zeke always pulls Casey close to him before they go to sleep. The first few nights After, Casey woke up screaming, clawing at his face. It's just easier this way. No questions, no looks, less pain for everyone. Even when Casey stopped doing it, Zeke felt like he just needed to keep him close. It's why they're here, after all.
Casey usually talks before he goes to bed. Random stuff. What happened that day, what's on TV, the things he dreams. Mostly about the invasion. About what would have happened. If Stokely had been right, or they'd caught Mary Beth back in Zeke's garage, or if Mr. Furlong hadn't gotten taken over in the first place.
"Do you ever wonder," Casey whispered sometimes, on those nights. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like if it hadn't happened?"
Zeke pulls Casey closer to him. "The invasion?" He's never answered before. Never dared to, if he were being truthful. He wasn't ever sure Casey was really talking to him.
"That, yeah. But everyone dying. It would have been a million times better if they hadn't died," he whispered forlornly, like a little kid complaining about how the ending to a movie could have been better.
"Of course it would have, Case. I didn't want them to die either."
"No. I mean, your life would be so different."
"And what? Yours wasn't thrown off the rails by this little escapade?"
"It wouldn't have mattered," Casey says dully.
"Bullshit, Case. Of course it would have mattered. You think you'd be in some shit hotel in the middle of Bumfuck, America for another reason?"
"It doesn't matter."
"You should be back in school," Zeke continued. "Going out with fuckin' Delilah. You know, she always liked you a little. Now she could go out with you though, 'cause the only thing better than a football captain is the school hero. And you'd make her happy, Case. Don't think you wouldn't. Too much of a fuckin' nice guy to do anything but. And even if you broke up, or went off to college, or whatever, you think there wouldn't be people there? People who notice what's beneath the clothes and behind that camera. People who like geeks with fucking cameras, for God's sake. That pretty girl who dorms down the hall, the one in your Lit. class, or maybe the boy who works on the school paper with you. They'd take you out for coffee and to concerts and you'll have sex in their dorm while their roommate's studying in the library. And you'd be happy, Case, and you wouldn't be afraid and you wouldn't have to run and you wouldn't have to hide. That's how it was supposed to be."
Beneath Zeke, Casey is trembling like a caged animal. He can just picture Casey's eyes, wide and wet and icy blue, like something out of a fairy tale, where looking into them makes you want to laugh or cry or both at once.
"You wouldn't have looked at me. You wouldn't ever be here with me, like this. You would have run screaming in the opposite direction if I'd told you what I wanted. If I'd ever looked at you anything more than sideways. The whole goddamn world slipped sideways, Case. Aliens and everyone dead and you here with me. It's the only reason I've got."
Zeke presses his mouth onto the cowlick at the back of Casey's head. It's a long time before Casey stops shaking, but when he does, he sounds more like pre-invasion Casey than he has in a while.
"I wouldn't have believed you," Casey says softly. "I mean, if you'd said anything, I wouldn't have believed you. I wouldn't have understood why."
Zeke tightens his grip on Casey's waist.
"I still don't, because if it's not just because I'm here, I couldn't understand."
"It's not. Case, it's not."
"Sideways. The world didn't slip sideways, Zeke." And though Casey is crying, this isn't the way he cries on the other nights. Somehow, it feels like Casey isn't the one that needs comforting.
"We should go someplace," Zeke says decisively. "Get a shitty apartment somewhere. Like Oregon, or California."
"Maybe California?" Casey says.
Zeke thinks California sounds great.