A trembling hand holds the lighter aflame as the other hand dangles a supply bag above it. Dez steps out into the open, putting on his best poker face – though he never really was any good at bluffing. Biting his lower lip, he tries to maintain his hold on the metal cartridge.
"Dagummit, boy, what do ya think yer doin'?!" the pale, sunburnt man was quick to exclaim as the redheaded boy came into light from beside the building. He tosses his beer can behind him and advances towards the boy.
"Take us back to our van like you said you would, and I won't burn this bag," the determined boy asserts, his friend trailing close behind him, the other bag in one hand and her machete in the other.
"Hey, now…Put that lighter down. We're men of our word, see." The larger man raises his hands in surrender. It's clear to them now that whatever it is that the mercenaries want from these bags, it's flammable. "We don't want any trouble. We'll take you back safe and sound."
"I'm not putting anything down." Dez approaches them adamantly, Trish quickening her pace to catch up with him. The two halt before their captors. "What's in these bags that's so important anyway?"
"That's none of your concern," Sam asserts. His scrawny companion nods in agreement.
"Yeah, nonya bees." Ray delivers the same message in his own dialect, arms crossed. "And we's still got guns. Y'all should be scared a us."
"Guns, huh? On you?" Trish questions, raising the second supply bag next to Dez's, above the flame. "Cause it looks like you two let your guard down. Rookie mistake." Ray clenches his fists.
"We've got worse things to spend our ammo on than a couple of kids. We're not wasting any bullets on the likes of you two." Sam lowers his hands. "Give us the bags and get on the pick-up. We'll take you back."
"No." Dez shakes his head, though his shivering may have made his body language unclear. "We'll hold onto these until you get us back to our van."
"And empty the truck before we get on it. Your pockets and belt...Holder-thingies, too. That's the deal," Trish appends. Dez scrunches his brows together, confused as to why she would request that. She raises a brow at him and waits for him to get it. It takes him a few moments, but the realization eventually dawns on his face.
"Right. No weapons." The redhead leans his head towards the girl and whispers to her. "By the way, they're called holsters."
"Whatever," she sharply whispers back. After a bit of a stare-down between the two parties, their captors give in to the demands made with a simultaneous raise of their hands in surrender. Whatever these bags contain, they must be of grave importance to the two men, Trish suspects, wondering if it'd be a good idea to let them take the bags at all. But it's the only bargaining chip they have.
"Done and done." Ray dumps his assortment of knives onto the ground. "But if we come back 'ere and find our stuff's all gone, it's on you two. So y'all better drive fast after we drop ya off." Sam proceeds to the pick-up and begins cleaning it out, as promised.
"We held up our part. Now hand over our bags," Sam demands, wasting not a second's time upon reaching the van. He and Ray hop out of their respective sides of the pickup, waiting impatiently as the two youngsters climb out the back, bags in hand – lighter readily lit.
Dez stares down the two men a few moments longer before reeling his arm back to toss then one of the bags. He stops himself mid-toss. "Wait."
"Oh, what now, pumpkin-head?!" Ray cries, veins in his neck visibly popping. "Like Sammy said, we done our part."
"What's in the bags that're so valuable?"
"Like I said before, that's classified information." Sam's eyes roll. "This game is getting tiresome. If we wanted you both dead, you'd be dead already. Don't make me change my mind." Not wanting to test the large man's patience any further, Dez concedes and tosses him the bag. Trish heaves the other one over to Ray.
"By the way, you don't scare us," Trish maintains, walking past them towards the van as Dez signals her to shut up with a throat-cutting gesture. He chuckles nervously at the stony-eyed men before him before rushing after Trish. He grinds his teeth as he approaches the van - the very real fear that he could get shot in the back at any second invades his thoughts. They could've had a gun hidden away somewhere, after all.
Trish pulls open the driver's side door to the van and hops in. Dez follows suit, relieved by the shot that never came, as he made it in. Not that they couldn't get shot while they're inside. But it provided something of a barrier, and for now, that is enough for him.
They take seat in the cargo area and wait as they hear the pick-up drive off, until the sound completely dissipates. Dez lets out a heavy breath and collapses onto his back, closing his eyes. Though more relaxed now, he's stays alert – just in case. He cannot escape the feeling that this probably won't be the last time they'll be seeing those two.
"That was wild." Trish lets out dry laugh, laying down beside him. "Shit." She sits up immediately as a thought strikes her.
"Hm?"
"What if the car battery's dead? We never got to turn off the engine, remember? And I don't hear it running now…"
Dez's eyes shoot open. He picks himself up and makes his way to the driver's seat. "You're right. I mean, it's not like there was a key to take out." He pulls a lever to pop the hood open and gets out to inspect.
"Dez! Do you even know what you're doing?" Trish calls out to him, taking her seat on the passenger's side.
"Hey, unlike some people, I actually drive. I know my way around a car. At least, I kinda do…" He scratches his head, wincing in disgust as he feels the oils and bits of creeper gunk in his hair. "I really need a shower."
"Definitely. You reek so bad I can't even get used to the smell." Trish pinches her nose mockingly.
"You don't exactly smell like a summer breeze yourself, Trish." He smiles. The playful banter. He could always count on it to bring a grin to his face again. It being the only real normalcy they have left, he's more than happy that they've kept that fire burning.
He leans down to get a closer look under the hood of the van – most of the inner workings of the vehicles pretty foreign to him. But he's always been adept at figuring out how things worked; a perk of being the son of an inventor. After carefully tampering with a few things, he manages to find what he needs.
Trish waits in her seat, anxiously. As annoyed as she is at him now for the quip about her body odor, she'd hate to see him get electrocuted. Of all the ways to die in a zombie apocalypse…
Her thoughts interrupted by the start of the engine, she rejoices. "You actually got it to work?" Dez rubs his greasy hands off on the car door, then climbs back into the driver's seat.
"Would it kill you to have some faith in me, Curly?" he teases, reaching his hand over and threading a loose curl behind her ear. She bites her lips to prevent a smile from forming, but her attempts do little to hide it. Before she can even open her mouth in reply, Dez speaks up again.
"Wait. They disconnected the battery for us." He stares off in front of him in contemplation.
"Huh?"
"The battery was disconnected. I just had to reconnect it to turn it on." He turns to face her. "They really did plan on bringing us back. They wouldn't've done that otherwise."
"Dez, for all we know, they could've wanted this van for themselves." She shakes her head. "You need to stop trying to see the best in everyone, you doof. That might've worked before all this." She gestures around her. "But that's not a safe attitude to have anymore."
"I'm trying to hang onto as much of as me as I can, Trish. I'm not gonna let a few walking corpses or a couple men with guns change or define me. I can't." He leans back in his seat. "You're just lucky. You fit into this world so well."
"Fit in? Yeah, right. You know I'm very high-maintenance, Dez. Not being able to take a shower everyday…Heck, every week…Not being able to remove unwanted body hair, and body odors…That's all slowly going to make me lose it in the long-run."
"Those things aren't important, though, Trish. Besides, who's gonna care about any of that anyway?"
"I do, Dez. You have your faith in humanity…I have maintaining myself. It's my normalcy. And not being able to do any of that…It just…" She grasps her hair in frustration, repulsion upon her face as she feels something squish between her fingers. "Ewwww…There's zombie guts in my hair!" Dez lets out a laugh.
"Hey, you're beautiful – zombie-guts, sweat, and all." Though it may have come across as a joke, he had meant it – and he knows that the eye roll he got from her in a response was her way of thanking him. It's not as if he cannot relate. He liked to maintain a certain amount of upkeep in his own appearance, as well. "At least we got those tweezers, right?" It's Trish's turn to laugh.
"Right." She pulls them out of her pocket. "I may be covered in corpse goo, but at least my eyebrows will look fabulous."
"And mine. You promised I could use them – remember?"
"Your eyebrows look fine, Dez." Trish scoffs. "But alright, fair enough."
"Ally would probably be nagging us for caring about stuff like that right now, huh?" he muses, the image of their chestnut-haired friend deriding them coming to mind.
"You'd be surprised. She's probably feeling the same way. Wanting that routine. And I know Austin's a wreck without his hair products."
"Self-consciousness is hard to get over. Zombies won't necessarily change that." A worrisome look befalls his face. Trish puts a gentle hand on the boy's arm to relax him, though similar fears cloud her own mind.
"They're okay, Dez. You can't let yourself believe they're not."
"Oh, thank goodness…" Ally rushes over to the water cooler, attempting to lift the bottle out.
"Careful, Ally!" Austin stops her, taking the three-gallon bottle in his hands and carefully turning it over – trying to spill as little as possible. The couple had finally found a safe enough area to go scavenging for resources. A small motel off the main road – not much left, but it would be enough to last them until Miami. The two creepers lurking about were easy enough for them to take care of. The lounge area with the kitchen had plenty supplies to offer.
"There's food in the cupboards!" the brunette exclaims, never figuring she'd ever get this excited about boxes of cereal. She grabs as many as she can carry and dumps them into the shopping cart Austin had procured earlier in their trek.
"Ally…Look what I found…" he smiles as he approaches his girlfriend, hiding something behind his back.
"Austin, we have plenty of maple syrup already. Do we really need more?" The short girl puts her hands on her hips, and the blond gets flashbacks of his mother telling him the same exact thing. He shakes his head.
"No…Well, yes, I did find more syrup…But I also found…Pickles!" He holds out the jar to her and watches in admiration as her eyes light up. Without another word, she snatches the jar out of his hands and holds it tight in her embrace. He beams at her delighted response. Seeing her happy – seeing her be her dorky self – comes as a great relief to him. He missed seeing her this way.
"Oh, pickles, how I've missed thee!" She presses her face against the cool jar, closing her eyes in pure bliss.
"Um…You're welcome?" Austin laughs lightly, remembering his reaction was not that different when they'd found their first bottle of syrup on their journey. Ally sets the jar down carefully in the cart.
"C'mon, let's clear out the cupboards." She hops up onto the counter to reach the higher-up ones.
"We should probably leave some stuff…" Austin looks about himself, around the room. "I mean, other people might come by looking for supplies, too. Can you imagine coming here and not finding anything? We're probably not only ones low on stuff." Ally turns to give the blond a warm smile. One of the things she loves most about him is that he always puts others before himself. It relieves her to know nothing in this hell has changed who he is.
"Yeah…I mean, for all we know, Trish and Dez might even stop by here," she adds, a glimmer of hope in her otherwise uncertain tone. "If they're not already ahead of us, of course."
"Right." He helps his girlfriend off the counter, offering a hand. "They're probably doing better than us, though. They were always better than me at zombie games. First-person-shooters just aren't my thing." Ally stops herself from making a comment about how games and this real-life situation cannot be compared, knowing that this is likely just Austin's way of coping with the uncertainty regarding their friends.
"Puzzle games are more fun anyway." She places some cans of beans into the cart.
"How long do you think we have till Miami?" Trish speaks up after a prolonged silence between them. She isn't sure what had happened. At first, the two were able to keep a light banter going. This banter quickly escalated into an argument, which later deescalated into laughter. The laughter soon turned into something else entirely – the stolen glances, the shy smiles, the gentle shoulder touches…They haven't quite figured out what this new game is between them. In unfamiliar territory, they retreat to silence, confiding in the occasional snarky remark.
"Well, I'm no GPS, but I think we still have a couple hours to go. Not sure if our fuel tank will hold up. We need to find gas. Or a different vehicle. Or–" he pauses, as he spots a structure up ahead. A familiar logo, with prices in large digits underneath it. "There's a gas station up ahead."
"Wait – seriously?" She meets his sight up ahead. "What are the chances that there'll still be gas cans left over?"
"Hmm…Not sure, but it can't be entirely cleaned out of food, right? And maybe I can try and hack one of the pumps."
"You can do that?"
"I said I can try." He pulls over upon reaching the place, parking the car. "Alright, I'm gonna look for some gas and fill up the tank. You can go get the food and water, and whatever else you think we might need. Like car freshener or deodorant."
"Oh, definitely need those. And bandages. And maybe a proper sling for your arm." She gestures to his injured limb.
"My arm's actually doing okay. But yeah, try to find one anyway. Also, you're out of pads and tampons," he adds. Trish gives the boy a questioning look. He raises his hands up in defense. "What? I thought keeping inventory would be a good idea."
"Right." She laughs. "Stop poking around my stuff, Doofus." He scratches his chin thought.
"Hey, do you think the zombies can smell it when you're on your–?"
"–Yeah, I'm not letting you finish that sentence," she quickly interrupts him, rushing off into the food mart. The boy shrugs and follows her lead, though Trish makes sure to maintain her distance.
True, they had been friends for quite some time, but he seemed to be getting a little too close for comfort. Or perhaps close enough. But she couldn't allow that. Her face heats as she tries not to look his way while gathering various snacks. Half the store had been cleaned out already. It's apparent that quite a few people have already scavenged here, though the two of them were lucky enough to happen upon a decent amount of supplies. Water, especially. The temperatures only rising each passing day, they need it more than anything.
"Hey do we need these?" Dez asks nonchalantly as he tosses Trish a box from behind the counter. Her face reddens virally upon catching it.
"Dez!" she rebukes him, letting the little box drop out of her hands. "No. No, we do not need…Those…" The boy's composed demeanor quickly crumbles into more laughter.
"That reaction was so worth it, though." His laughter is silenced by the same box being thrown at his head. "Hey!"
"You're an idiot."
"Hey, condoms have many uses. They make great balloons!" He bites his lip, trying his best to suppress his laughter. Her expression is priceless.
"Can you stop? I'm sick of these jokes. They're not funny!" she contends, angrily stuffing more supplies into her basket. He's taking it way too far, she fears. What has gotten into him?
Dez frowns. He hadn't realized how uncomfortable he'd been making her. "I…I'm sorry. I'll stop." Perhaps he had gotten too cocky. It's not as if he wouldn't react the same way had it been the other way around. Well, he probably wouldn't have thrown anything at her – unless of course he had a death wish. He understands her discomfort. The situation doesn't provide much leeway for jokes like those. She has to be able to trust him and depend on him, and he, her. They've only got each other.
"Thank you." Her voice meek, her anger dies down. "I don't like not being able to talk to you. Heck, you're the only one I have to talk to. Don't make things weird."
"You're right." He gives her a gentle smile of agreement, then kneels down and inspects the lower shelves behind the counter. After pushing aside some broken jars and assorted cups of two-minute noodles, he finds what he needs. "Eureka!" He lifts the two red jugs onto the counter top.
"You found gas cans?"
"Yup! And they're full." He investigates the area more in case he had missed any. Upon finding no more, he hauls the two outside to the van. Trish lets out an exhausted huff. The day had been long, and she's just about ready to crash. She finishes up on her side, then grabs some more supplies from behind the counter. Though tempted to take some lottery tickets with her, she decides against it.
Agreeing to spend the night parked behind the gas station, the two friends prepare their space, covering the windows and trying to make the cargo hold as comfortable as possible. The space had tightened up with all of the supplies.
The ginger lays his head atop his bundled-up cardigan. If there's one thing he wishes they could've found, it's pillows. Trish lies down next to him, a couple paper towel rolls providing sufficient head and neck support. She turns her body to face him, mouth open as if about to speak, but no words make it out. Dez reaches a hand out and caresses her cheek with the back of it.
"Are you still mad?" he can't help but ask. He hadn't meant to trouble her. He just couldn't help himself. He loves seeing her react, hearing all of the colorful remarks she'd send his way. That fire of hers kindles something within himself. It's more than simply a game they play – and it's more than just a challenge. Yes, it's essentially his way of flirting, but even beyond that…
It's his motivation. It's his inspiration.
Her words always somehow bring out the best in him. She never insults him enough to hurt him, and never patronizes him either. Her compliments, though scarce, always hold sincerity. Her snark sparks his creativity. Though he has to be careful not push it too far – too far would mean losing her trust. Too far would mean a potential rupture in their friendship – a leak that would eventually sink it. He cannot afford that. He cannot lose her.
"No. But you're still a doof. And I know that was just your poor attempt at flirting." His face reddens at her words, not that she could see in the dim light coming in through the paper bag-covered windows. The sun has begun to set. Sleeping right after sunset became routine for them. Not much one can do without electricity or gadgets available after dark, of course.
"I'm working on it." He rubs the back of his neck.
"You don't need to work on anything. I already like you."
"Really?" The cocky grin returns, bright enough for her to see. She emits a short laugh.
"If I didn't, would I do this?" She leans in close, giving him a lingering kiss on the cheek. His eyes close as he revels in the feeling of it. How safe he feels right now…How powerful she makes him feel. It's fleeting, however. She pulls away and the dread returns.
"I might need more convincing," he says sullenly. Trish can tell by his tone that this is beyond just a want for more kisses. He craves the comfort. As strong as he's grown throughout this dire circumstance they've been surviving, he'd still needs it. He's always needed it. It's just how he is. Affectionate.
"I know." She scooches closer to him, wrapping an arm around him before pressing another kiss onto his upper lip. He promptly requites, capturing her lower lip between his and sucking lightly for a second or two before releasing and pressing his lips fully against hers. A warmth floods his body and he feels home again. He rolls over on top of her and his hands grip her sides as her own find their way into his back pockets – their lips never parting in the process. He lets out a muffled yelp when she gives his cheeks a squeeze, and pulls back.
"Something wrong, Dez?" she asks coquettishly. She bites her lip, holding in a giggle.
"N-n…No," he stutters. "I-I just wasn't expecting that." At first she figures he's just surprised, but upon reading the discomfort on his face, her tone changes.
"Wow. Okay, so you toss a box of condoms at me, but grabbing your butt is out of the question? Nice, doof. Real nice." Her eyes roll.
"Hey, I was just joking."
"Oh, so what? I'm not good enough now? The idea of flirting with me is just a total joke?"
"Don't put words in my mouth, I never said any of that!" he argues, moving off of her. She sits up on her knees.
"What exactly do you want from me, Dez?" Her arms cross over her chest.
"What I want–? What do you mean?"
"Look, I know you're just using me for comfort, and I'm fine with that. I get it," she starts. Dez's jaw slacks, appalled by what he's hearing. "…But what is it? Is the idea of going all the way with me too gross? Am I gross?"
"What are you–?" He shakes his head. "How could you even think that? That's not it at all!"
"Then what is it? What do you want, Dez?!" she shouts back, aggravation boiling her. He holds her by the shoulders, trying to relax her.
"Okay, first – I'm not trying to use you. Second, you're not gross." He pauses. "Okay, maybe a little bit right now with all the creeper gunk and stuff, but so am I." He exhales slowly, a bit embarrassed by the whole situation. "I'm just not ready for…That. It's got nothing to do with you. It's just how I am." He releases his hold on her shoulders and sits back, slinking in posture as he stares at the van's floor before him. Trish tilts her head, observing him in his state – certainly relieved to know that this…thing…between them is not what she feared it was.
"Okay." She smiles, leaning forward and lifting his chin. "You don't have to feel ashamed of that."
"Thank you." He sighs in relief. "And I'm sorry if I misled you…I-I don't know, I just like teasing you." He shrugs, a small smile forming. "And I don't like kissing you just for the sake of kissing – as amazing as it feels. I do really like you, Trish. And I care about you. And I love being friends with you. And hanging out with you. And I love seeing you happy. And I love your smile. And I love your hair. And I love y–mm…" He continues speaking for a few more seconds, his words muffled by the girl's lips before stopping and realizing he's being kissed again. She pushes him down onto his back, continuing to attack his lips with hers. He pulls her down against him, combing his fingers through her forest of oily curls, her hands latching onto his stubbled jaw.
They forget the world in their escape, for the world cannot stop this. The world cannot define them. It never could.