by R. K. Weir
"Yeah . . . yeah we comin’ from there," he says, his gaze dropping to the ground for a short second. "I wouldn't suggest headin' that way."
"Why not?" I lean closer to the window, the dirt on his face taking a reddish tinge with the closer distance.
"Place is completely overrun," he shakes his head, "thousands of them."
I lean back at this, processing the information and trying to ignore the audible “Humph!” of Logan as he slumps back into his seat.
In return, I tell the stranger about the horde roaming around where Logan and I have come from. With another scratch of his beard, he nods and steps away from the car, signaling his group to continue walking. I roll up the window as Logan starts the ignition and pulls back onto the road.
"See, they helped us," I mumble, staring down the road and pondering this new information. Logan doesn't reply.
After what seems like a few more hours of driving, houses begin to pass us as we continue down the road, slowly growing in density as we approach the next town. A gas station sits still at the end of the street, its interior appearing empty as Logan pulls in. I can’t help but feel disdain at the sight of another gas station. Turning off the ignition, he sighs, his grip on the wheel only tightening.
"Alright, here's your stop," he says, barely turning to look at me.
I throw a glance at the gas station in front of us before looking back at him. "What?" I ask, a sound of ignorant amusement escaping my breath.
"You wanted me to drive you to L.A. and that's not an option anymore." I nod along, trying to understand what he is getting at. "So this is as close I can take you."
I look back at the gas station, and then to him again, a flimsy smile stretching my lips. "You're kidding, right?"
He shakes his head, his lips pressed together in a firm, white line.
"Wh—" I look back at the gas station, "thi—" I stutter. "This wasn't part of the deal!"
"The deal was—"
"I know what the deal was!" I bite back. A silence breaks itself between us as we both glare out the windshield at the dormant station. His hands fall slack on the wheel, sliding down to its base.
I suck my lip in for a bite as I frantically think of an alternative. The car is my best bet of getting there, I can't lose it now; I need to convince him to let me stay. He clears his throat, his acts of impatience fueling my frenzy of thought. He parts his lips to speak, but before he can, I jump in.
"Drive me to Las Vegas!" I blurt, a new plan spinning itself in my mind. If I can't go through L.A. then I can go around it. And the more time I spend with him, the more chances I'll have to steal his car. He sighs, dropping himself back into his seat with an exaggerated grunt.
"Kid I'm not your chauffeur, I'm not driving you wherever you want to go!" he exhales sharply, snatching the keys from the ignition.
"You said you were going to Las Vegas anyway! What difference does it make!"
"It makes all the difference!" he shouts, his fingers tensing into a tight fist around his keys as he glares at me.
I pause before replying. His shoulders rise and fall in a staggered manner, and his brows have knitted together so tightly that he couldn’t look more pissed off if he tried. I'm not going to get anything from him in this state. I need a new tactic.
I turn away, exhaling a low breath before turning back.
"Logan, please," I say softly, letting my bottom lip tremble the slightest bit. "I'm not asking for much." I allow my voice to break at the end, not so much that it's obvious, but enough that he can catch it.
I make sure to make eye contact. He maintains my stare for all of three seconds before turning away, a deep sigh bleeding from his frowning lips. He stares at his lap for a moment, fiddling with the keys in his hand. His jaw tenses before he shakes his head, another sigh fleeing him.
"We need gas," he mutters, turning and opening the car door.
A smile stretches itself across my lips for a second, but I'm quick to repress it before he has a chance to see it. I step out of the car and shut the door behind me before walking round the back and finding Logan pulling the boot open. He pulls out an old gas canister and hands it to me before pulling out another. Closing the boot, he turns and begins walking down the road. I stare after him for a second.
"We're not getting gas from the gas station?" I ask.
"No," he replies, not bothering to stop or glance in my direction. I throw one last glance at the gas station before following him. As we walk down the road, the sun dips below the tree line, casting an orange haze along the street. It tinges itself with purple before drifting into darker territory.
Logan stops several steps ahead of me and turns. He doesn't say anything, but he waits for me to catch up with him.
"We siphoning from a car?" I ask as I finally reach him. His eyes hover above my shoulder before snapping to meet my gaze. He nods curtly, his features tense. He turns and walks forward a few more meters before pointing towards a car parked precariously on the sidewalk.
With his free hand he grabs my arm, his fingers gently tensing around my bicep. Stopping beside the gas tank of the car he kneels down and pulls me down with him. I lean against the hot metal and stare up at him questioningly as he unscrews the cap of his gas canister.
"Someone's following us," he says, his gaze diverting to mine.
My eyes drift down the street we've come from, analyzing the waving trees and still houses.
"How do you know?" I ask, leaning closer towards him. My gaze travels further down the street and back to the gas station, paying attention to every swaying shadow in the growing night. He inhales slowly and carefully before nodding his head.
"I know," he mutters, exhaling quietly.
For a moment, I think this may be an elaborate plan for him to try and ditch me. But his muscles are tense and his posture rigid, and I find myself taking him for his word. Another glance down the road and I whisper. "Back to the car?"
He nods.
We stand up at the same time, our attentions catching simultaneously on the figure that stands motionless on the other side of the car. Logan wasn't lying. A small gasp flees into the night as I take a step back and Logan's hand snaps towards the gun in his back pocket.
The stranger's arms hang limp at his sides, his stature still and silent. Brown eyes shifting leisurely between Logan and I are the only movements visible. His body is clad in all black, a hoodie pulled almost to his brow and a balaclava smearing itself across the majority of his face. He blends in with the night, his frozen demeanor and silent facade imitating its depths.
"Speak," Logan growls, pulling the gun to his side. The man looks at him, but remains silent, his eyes a blank but not lifeless stare.
"I said speak!" Logan growls again, louder this time as he pulls the gun up and aims it at the man. I take another step back, movement catching itself at the corner of my eye. I turn and look, my body suspending itself mid-step.
Another three men have spread themselves along the road behind us, all dressed the same. Like a pack of dogs that have their prey circled they too do nothing but stare, eating us alive with their eyes.
"Logan. . . " The word trails off as I reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. He looks at me before following my gaze to the other three men.
Silence encircles us in a bubble as the dark hugs each of them, compressing their bodies into terrifying contortions.
None of them move.
Until all of them do.
CHAPTER NINE
Logan
My finger squeezes around the trigger before my arm is even in the air. The bullet strikes one of them in the leg, their figure sprawling forward in a black blur. Despite his injury he lunges at me. I swing the gun up and squeeze again, a faint mist settling on my skin as the air temporarily takes on a red hue. His body falls limp against me while one of the others rush towards Stella. She kicks them back as I push the corpse aside in time for another one of them to grab me.
He throws my hand in t
he air and holds it there with a firm grip as I try to twist my wrist so that the barrel of the gun will point at him. My other hand I find against his throat, clamping down on his esophagus as he vainly attempts to do the same to mine. Throwing my head back I swiftly bring it down, crashing against his temple with a dense thud. He falls back with a wail of astonishment, his grasp falling free from my hand as he tumbles to the ground. I lower the gun to his level and slowly start to squeeze the trigger until—
"Stop!"
The sound catches me off guard amidst the chaos. I lose focus of the figure in front of me and find myself turning towards the voice.
I almost sigh when I find Stella held up against one of them, a thin blade pressed against the curve of her neck.
"Drop the gun or I'll slit your friend's throat." His voice comes muffled from the balaclava, but even still it's obvious how young he is from the unnatural depth he forces into his words; a vain attempt to sound intimidating.
"Go ahead, she's not my friend." My gaze shifts from him to Stella, and then flicks down to the blade glinting silver in the moonlight. His brow creases as he considers this.
"Fair game, you won't mind if we take her then." He pulls Stella against him with a rough tug, emitting a small noise from her as he holds the knife in place. "A lot of things we could do with a pretty girl around here."
His gaze slithers the length of her body, the knife pressing closer against her neck as she struggles against his hold. I aim the gun at his head, lining the sight up with his temple. Before his eyes pull away from her, I pull the trigger.
Click.
His eyes widen for a second and turn glassy with shock before they begin to glint with amusement. The mask stretches and there’s no doubt that behind it he is smiling.
I pull the trigger again.
Click. Click. Click.
He laughs, moving the knife an inch away from Stella's neck to accommodate the movement in his arm as his body rocks with the hilarity of it all.
"Well, well, wel—" Before he has time to finish, Stella throws her head backwards, her hands creeping up the front of her throat and throwing his arm away from her. He curses loudly as she spins away from him, making a grab for the knife but missing.
He staggers a step away from us, blood spilling through his fingers as he pulls the balaclava down and clenches his nostrils shut. He waves the knife between us wildly as he continues sputtering curses.
"I'm gonna kill you!"
"We don't have time for this!" one of the other men growls, his gaze cautiously flicking towards mine before continuing in a lower voice. "Peter's waiting."
The one with the knife and hopefully a broken nose seems to sober up at this. He drops his hand to his side, letting the blood trickle freely down his front as he raises the knife towards my throat.
"Give us the keys to your car then," he says slowly, his eyes threatening and his voice no longer trying to attain a sense of intimidation, but actually achieving it.
I scowl as I continue to hold the empty gun in front of him. I can't give him the keys to the car, there are too many memories in there. There has to be something I can do to scare them off somehow. I throw a quick look at the other two guys; it doesn't look like they have any weapons. Stella stands a few feet away from me, her eyes warning me not to do anything. I quickly look away from them, trying to rid their haunting green from my memory.
But I can't.
Lowering the gun, I keep my gaze on the ground, not wanting to see their smug expressions. My blood begins to boil and heat the surface of my skin, but even still I restrain myself from doing anything. I take the car keys out of my pocket and throw them at the feet of the one with the knife. In a swift movement he bends down and scoops them up, his glaring eyes trained on me the entire time.
He steps forward and slashes the knife out towards me. I jump back, the blade catching me on the wrist. It glides through my skin like butter, opening the skin and coaxing a river of red to flow out. I yell out in pain, reflexively clamping down on the wound with my other hand and then shouting at the pain that causes. The gun clatters to the ground at his feet.
He laughs loudly as he steps around me, wiping his blade on the tail of his shirt and picking up the gun. "Looks like we got some wheels fellas," he chuckles, glancing mischievously at the other two men. They take off at a run, already knowing which car is mine. They must have been watching us for longer than I thought. I watch them go, gritting my teeth as they slam the doors shut. The jeep coughs sleepily as they struggle to start her properly. It takes a few moments before she roars to life, fully awake. They pull her out of the gas station and take off speeding down the road, shouting out the windows as they go.
I stand still, staring in the direction they’ve gone, listening as their shouts slowly fade to nothing and their shape disappears over a hill. I'm surprised they didn't bother killing us when they so easily could have. The thought is taken from me by my aching wrist, as my fingers, wet and glistening a dark red, tightly clench around the wound. With a calm resolve that is difficult to hold, my nostrils flare as I exhale a low and steady breath.
I lost my car.
I lost my goddamn car, because of her.
She steps up beside me, staring off after them, her finger gently tracing the curve of her neck.
"Well," Stella sighs, "that could've gone better."
I shift my glare towards her, my jaw beginning to ache from the constant tension of gritting my teeth. She furrows her brow before dropping her gaze to my wrist.
"You're hurt," she frowns, looking back up, "let me see."
I step away from her, my features creasing into a deeper glare. "No," I spit.
She straightens up, her face pinching in confusion. "What? I'm just trying to help!"
"I don't need your help!" I shout, not caring how loud I am. "Goddammit this is exactly why I don't help people!"
She coils back, surprise exploding on her face before settling in anger. "What? You blame me for this?" she asks incredulously. "How is this my fault?"
"I stopped at the gas station to let you out! If you weren't with me I would still have my car!" And everything I had in it, I think bitterly. All the photos and drawings. All the memories I had with that car.
All gone.
"You needed to get gas!" she retorts.
"I had a full tank!" I yell back. "Only reason I stopped was to get rid of you!"
She steps away, her anger simmering down as though she begrudgingly accepts what I've said. Lips pressing together tightly, she stares off to the side and expels a low sigh, her brow settling slightly.
"I'm sorry," she breathes softly, "I'm sorry you feel that way, but there's nothing we can do about it now." She returns her gaze to mine, her eyes staring into the dark recesses of my soul. "Our best chance of survival lies in sticking together." Her gaze doesn't deviate from mine as she holds me still with her eyes.
The same eyes that haunt me in my dreams.
That beg me for help every night.
Those same fucking eyes.
For a fraction of a second I see past the eyes. Hatred overwhelms me as I see them for what they really are. A distant memory, a bad dream. A green haze that has tormented me for so long. And I see the manipulation in them. The lies.
"What is it that you really want?" I sneer.
She looks at me confused. "What?"
"Oh don't insult me! Do you think I'm an idiot!" I yell.
She stares at me, her eyes hard.
"I know all about the damsel in distress act you've been playing." Her shoulders slump as I say this and I know now that I'm definitely right. "A little tip for next time, it doesn't really work well if you go around head butting people!"
She rolls her eyes.
"So tell me then! What do you want? What do you want from me!" I shout at her. With her shoulders slumped, she stares at the ground for a moment before looking up at me with the smallest of frowns; one I already suspect to be fake.
"Ok
ay," she huffs, "you got me."
Her eyes become glassy with the glint of unshed tears as she blinks dramatically to keep them at bay. She turns away from me, hugging herself around the waist.
"I've been alone for so long," she says, her shoulders beginning to shake lightly with sobs. "I didn't realize how much I missed company until I met you. You remind me of my father." She turns around to face me now, her eyes red with tears, her cheeks streaked.
"I just don't want to be alone anymore," she says, shutting her eyes as more tears begin to fall. In a matter of seconds, she has receded into a tear streaked, bubbling mess. It happened a little too quickly.
I watch her for another moment, observing the thick lashes matted with tears and the red puffy cheeks.
"I call bullshit."
Her eyes fly open, her lips parting into a small 'o' shape. "What?" she asks, almost sounding flustered.
"I call bullshit," I repeat.
She stares at me for a moment in surprise and confusion, before dropping all expression altogether. All sadness flees her eyes and leaves her looking slightly bemused.
"You're good," she nods, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
I shrug. "Hate to admit it, but it was a lucky guess."
She nods again, allowing herself a full smile as she reflects on this.
"I want to go north," she tells me, "I've heard rumors that the infection can't survive up there."
"And why do you need me for that?" I ask.
"More the merrier?" she suggests with a grin. I frown at her, to which I receive another roll of her eyes.
"I'm safer with you than I am alone. And I don't think you're better off without me, despite what you think."
I study her features for a moment before deciding that she's telling the truth. Probably.
"So what's in it for me?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "Absolutely nothing."
I snort and look at her skeptically, folding my arms across my chest.
"But I know what type of person you are," she continues, "you're a good guy. And your conscience isn't gonna let you abandon me."
