by Tinnean
“Who are you?”
“You won’t know me, but my name is Laurie Parkinson. Who are you? Uh…sir?”
“Wh—Morrison Dupuis.”
Laurie had heard of him. He’d dated Adam James, IV for a while, and it had been the talk of the town when the sons of two such wealthy families had stopped seeing each other. Not that Laurie would say anything about it. If his family had known he was gay, the last thing he’d have wanted to talk about was the reason for his own breakup when he and Lync went their separate ways.
“How are you feeling? Mr. Dupuis?” But he must have lost consciousness again. Well, he probably had a concussion. That was all Laurie could think of, and that would make sense, what with all the blood in the man’s hair.
He straightened and studied the area. It seemed deserted, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He leaned back in and angled the seat belt to fasten Mr. Dupuis in place. He probably hadn’t been wearing it to begin with, and that had resulted in his getting battered.
Laurie closed the passenger doors and the trunk and got into the driver’s seat. The key was in the ignition, but when he turned it, all he got was a click—it had been left in the accessory position and the battery had run down.
Well, hell. Here he had a car that wasn’t a piece of shit, and it still wouldn’t run. He went to his car and tried turning it on. For a change, it actually started on the first try. He steered the car next to the Rolls, and put it in park, this time leaving it idling. He slipped the trunk key off his ring. Since the piece of shit was an older—much older—model, it didn’t have a fob that unlocked the doors or trunk by pressing a button. He looked around again, then got out, unlocked the trunk, and rushed to the Rolls’ trunk. He transferred the suitcase, the water, and the food to his trunk and made sure there was nothing else in the Rolls that might be of use before he closed the lid and went back to get Mr. Dupuis.
The man was still unconscious, and Laurie ran a hand through his hair. Sounds were approaching from around the bend in the road, and he couldn’t take the chance of lingering. If whoever was coming was sick, Laurie and Mr. Dupuis were dead. If whoever was coming wasn’t sick, they could still be dead, because the lure of a working car, even one like his piece of shit, might be too much of a temptation.
He darted back to his car and opened the rear door, then hurried to the Rolls, unfastened the seat belt, and eased Mr. Dupuis out. The man was a dead weight. All right, Laurie had no choice but to get him into a fireman’s lift. He could do this—he was stronger than he looked. He just hoped Morrison Dupuis didn’t upchuck all down his back. He closed the passenger door with a bump of his hip and walked around it to the piece of shit.
The sounds were coming closer. Laurie got Mr. Dupuis onto the backseat so he lay on his side. As an older model, the piece of shit didn’t have seat belts in the backseat. He’d just have to take it easy and hope he didn’t run into any potholes that would jostle the unconscious man. Finally, he closed the door as quietly as he could before he got behind the wheel.
The piece of shit was just rounding the far bend when a glance in the rearview mirror showed a small group of people who were obviously ill. They staggered along the road until they spotted the Rolls, and then they converged on it, growling and snarling and beating on the expensive car.
Laurie swallowed and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Okay, car, don’t fail me now.” He stepped down on the gas.
And thank God, the car rolled forward smoothly for the piece of shit it was.
Chapter 8
Laurie found the overgrown track that would eventually lead to the bunker, and he steered his piece of shit car into it. Overgrown was putting it mildly; he knew if he pushed his car too hard, it would get stuck, either because its tires became mired in the deep ruts or the weeds tangled with the undercarriage and clogged the engine. Already the path behind him was obscured by the weeds and underbrush, and only careful examination would reveal a car had taken this path.
This is going to be an adventure, Laurie assured himself. Only…How am I supposed to get an injured man plus his belongings to the bunker?
Well, it would just have to be done; he’d do it one step at a time. He got out of the car and studied the surroundings. They were probably about a thousand yards from the vicinity of the bunker.
From behind him came a moan. He opened the rear door and poked his head in. “How’re you doing?”
“My head hurts.”
“I’m sorry about that. I should have some ibuprofen. I’ll—”
Suddenly, the injured man clapped a hand over his lower face. His shoulders started heaving, and he scrabbled for his face mask. He got it off, freeing his mouth, at the same time Laurie went into action. He was able to haul the man out of the piece of shit before he threw up all over the worn upholstery—Laurie would never be able to get rid of the smell otherwise.
Laurie felt his stomach lurch at the sounds and the sour odor, but he supported Mr. Dupuis as best he could through the heaves and the spewing. Finally, Mr. Dupuis shuddered and sagged in Laurie’s arms.
“I apologize.” He wiped a sleeve over his face. “Shit. I forgot the mask.” He slipped it up so it covered his mouth, but he continued to lean against Laurie.
“Not a problem.” Hadn’t Laurie done the same thing earlier that day? Jesus, was it still the same day? He felt tired.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“What do you remember?”
Mr. Dupuis frowned. “We were heading out of town. McIntyre—our chauffeur—suddenly began driving erratically.”
“That explains why he went off the road.” The driver must have been experiencing early symptoms of the disease, whatever it was.
“My parents—how are they?”
“They weren’t there.”
“What?” He gazed around as if searching the woods for them “What do you mean, there?”
“We couldn’t stay near the Rolls, so I got you into my car and made tracks. Look, we can’t stay here, and right now I can’t take you back to wherever it is you live. I don’t want to alarm you, but the roads are too dangerous.”
“No, there’s nowhere for me to go—no one to help me. The staff all left so they could be with their own families.”
That made sense. Everyone would want to be with their families.
Mr. Dupuis touched his cheek and winced, then ran his hand over his hair and winced even more noticeably as he stared down at his bloody palm. “I must have hit the door handle really hard.” He struggled to stand erect.
“No, you’d better sit down.” Laurie kept an arm around him—he refused to admit how good the man felt in his arms—and helped lower him to the backseat.
“Thank you.” He tilted his head. “I don’t know your name.”
Laurie wasn’t surprised he didn’t remember. “Laurie Parkinson.”
“Laurie? Little Women Laurie?”
“Yes. No one ever put the two together before.”
“I don’t know why not. It’s obvious.”
“To you, maybe. Everyone else thinks it’s a girl’s name and laughs at me.”
“Well, everyone is a fool.”
“Thanks.”
“My name is—”
“I know, you’re Morrison Dupuis.”
“How do you know that?”
“You told me.”
“I did?”
“Yes, back at the Rolls. And then you passed out.”
“Ugh.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it. It looks like you took a pretty good knock to the head.”
“And then I threw up. God, I feel so gross.”
“Will you be okay here for a minute?”
“I think so. Are you going to leave me here?” Mr. Dupuis asked the question as if he were only mildly interested.
“No.” Laurie pulled the bugout bag from the front seat and removed a bottle of water from the sleeve on the side. He had the bandana he’d used earlier, and now he op
ened the bottle and dampened a corner of the material. “Okay, I’ll try to be as gentle as I can.” First he lowered the mask and wiped Mr. Dupuis’s lips and chin, then carefully dabbed at the bruise on his cheek. He rinsed off the bandana and this time worked on the blood that was in the man’s hair.
“That feels good,” Mr. Dupuis said as he raised the mask to cover his nose and mouth again.
“I don’t want to put too much pressure on your scalp in case it starts bleeding again.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m hoping the bunker has a shower.”
“Is that where we’re going?”
“Yeah.” He had no doubt he’d find it. “Once your stomach is more settled, I’ll give you some antibiotics.”
“You have antibiotics?”
“I was at a drugstore earlier this afternoon, and the pharmacist gave me a bunch of meds.”
“I’m glad I was found by you.”
“How does your head feel?”
“Awful.”
“I want to check the bugout bag for some ibuprofen.” He’d been so busy running from one place to another he hadn’t had the opportunity to examine what it held as yet.
“You have a bugout bag?”
“It’s actually my ex-boyfriend’s.” Laurie froze. This was the first time he’d admitted that out loud to anyone. Smart, Parkinson. You wait for the end of the world to come out of the closet. Maybe if he pretended this wasn’t a big deal, Mr. Dupuis would ignore what Laurie had said. He unzipped one of the compartments at the front of the bag, but all that was in there were a handful of peppermint candies.
“Oh. You’re gay.”
Gah. No such luck. Well, there was nothing for it. “I am.” He avoided Mr. Dupuis’s gaze and unzipped another compartment. He found a pair of sunglasses in this one.
“So am I.”
“So are you what?” he asked absently as he unzipped another compartment.
“Gay.”
“I knew that.” The whole town knew that, and boy did it piss off some people. Laurie looked up and met the man’s gray eyes. They were filled with interest, and Laurie swallowed and dropped his gaze to the backpack. “Ah-hah.” He was thankful for the distraction. The ibuprofen was in the last compartment. He took out the tube of caplets, unscrewed the top, and shook out a couple. “Here you go.”
Mr. Dupuis tugged the face mask out of the way—from what Laurie could see, the man was even more gorgeous than his pictures on the society page—and swallowed the caplets. “Do I get water to wash them down?”
“You bet. Sorry.” Laurie handed him the bottle.
“Thanks.” He gave Laurie a tired smile.
“You’re welcome.”
He tipped his head back, and Laurie couldn’t tear his gaze from the way Mr. Dupuis’s throat rippled as he swallowed. After a minute or so, he held the bottle against his forehead. “Is this all the water we have? I should have told you there was a case of it in the trunk of the Rolls.”
“Actually, it’s in the piece of shit’s trunk.”
“Excuse me?”
Laurie took the keys from the ignition and hurried to the rear of his car. He manually unlocked the trunk, removed a couple of bottles of water from the case, and held them up.
“Please tell me there are some bottles missing.”
“No, it’s a full case.”
“Dammit.” Mr. Dupuis settled his mask in place once again.
“I’m sorry, I’m not following you. I’d have thought you’d be glad we have water.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m very glad we won’t have to catch rainwater in our shoes—”
“Do I even want to know why we’d be doing that?”
“We don’t have any bowls or pots, do we?”
“Oh, I get it. No. At least, as far as I know, we don’t. I haven’t checked the contents of the bugout bag yet.”
“I’ve heard of bugout bags, but I’ve never seen one. Wait, how can you not know what’s in it?”
“As I said, it’s my friend’s.” He didn’t want to get into it again that Lync was his ex-boyfriend. “But I don’t understand why you’re not happy we have a full case.”
“My parents. They didn’t even pause to take some water.”
For a second Laurie was undecided whether he should tell Mr. Dupuis the box of food looked untouched, too, but then he wouldn’t want to be kept in the dark if it were his parents. “Uh…Mr. Dupuis—”
“Mr. Dupuis is my father. If we’re going to spend the apocalypse together, you should call me something a little more casual.”
“Morrison?”
He made a face. “God, no. I loathe that name.”
“Yeah, I understand that.” Laurie chuckled. “Well, then, what should I call you?”
“Would you mind calling me Wheat? All my friends do.”
Mr. Dupuis—Wheat—considered him a friend? Laurie beamed, even though it was hidden by the face mask he wore. “Okay. Wheat it is.” He tilted his head and studied Wheat. “How did you get that as a nickname?”
“My hair used to be extremely fair.”
“It’s still very light.” Even lighter than Lync’s.
“Not as light as it once was. People thought I was adopted because my parents are brunettes, but they both had platinum hair in their baby pictures.”
“Um…About your parents.” Laurie ran a hand through his hair. “They didn’t take any food either.”
“Oh.” Wheat became very quiet. “Can we go after them?”
“Not now. I don’t know if you have a concussion or…” Or if he was coming down with the infection that was killing off mankind, but that was the last thing he’d tell someone who wasn’t one hundred percent to begin with.
“But once I’m okay?”
“Sure.” Laurie looked up at the sky. It was starting to darken, but he wasn’t sure if it was because the sun was starting to set—he’d lost track of time—or if the weather was about to take a turn for the worse. “Look, I’ve gotta get you out of here. Do you think you can walk?”
“I’ll try. How far?”
“About a mile, I’d say.”
He groaned and took another swallow of water. “I don’t suppose we have any choice? Perhaps stay here in the car?”
“No. We could get soaked if it starts raining. The piece of shit tends to leak sometimes.”
“Piece of…” In spite of his obvious uncertainty about his parents’ whereabouts, he laughed softly. “Where are we going? You mentioned a bunker. Are we going there?”
“Yeah. A friend’s dad built it in these woods.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“Ex-boyfriend, but yeah.” Since Laurie had already blabbed, it felt important that Wheat know Laurie was no longer involved with Lync. Although considering this was probably the end of the world, did it really matter?
“Did he take you there? I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”
“That’s okay. No, as a matter of fact, he never did. I’m good with directions, though, so don’t worry. I’ll get us there.”
“All right. Shall we get started?”
“Just hold on a second. I’m not sure when we’ll be able to get back here.” If they’d be able to get back here. Laurie replaced the bottle of water he’d given Wheat, slid his arms through the backpack’s straps, and fastened the strap across his chest. With that done, he added some bottles of water to the bag Rod had given him. Something was at the bottom, under the boxes of protein bars, face masks, and bottles of medicine, but he didn’t have time to check it out. He retrieved Wheat’s suitcase.
“Wait. I have an idea.”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t pack anything in the front compartment of my suitcase. I think we can add more bottles of water to it.” He leaned forward and almost landed on his face. Laurie grabbed his arm to steady him. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Laurie watched as Wheat unzipped the compartment. It was pretty spacious. “Yeah, I think
that’s a good idea.” He added as many bottles as he could, but left enough room to include some cans of tuna and chicken from the box of food as well. Once that was done, he zipped up the suitcase, then closed the trunk, made sure the piece of shit’s doors were closed and locked, and put the car keys in his pocket. “Thanks.” Wheat was holding the suitcase steady, and while he did that, Laurie looped the reusable canvas bag’s handles around the telescoping handle.
“It’s the least I can do. God, I feel like such a waste.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Laurie wanted to squeeze his shoulder, but he wasn’t sure how Wheat would feel about physical contact with someone so out of his class.
“You’re too kind.” The words were snarky, but oddly enough, Wheat’s tone didn’t strike Laurie that way. “Are we all set? Do we have everything?”
“Everything we can take along right now.”
“That’s why you locked your car?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure no one will be able to see it from the road, but I want it here for after.”
“After?”
“After we’re settled and you’re feeling better, we can come back for it and go looking for your folks.”
Wheat started to nod, then seemed to think better of it. “In that case, I guess we’d better be on our way.” When he gazed at Laurie, his eyes were shiny with tears. Of gratitude, because Laurie planned to help him look for his parents, or because Laurie wasn’t leaving him behind? Well, whatever it was, it didn’t matter.
“Yep. I…uh…I have to hold you. To help you.” Laurie held his breath. It was necessary, not for his own pleasure, but if Wheat decided he didn’t want Laurie touching him, it was going to make getting to the bunker really difficult.
“Thank you. I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” Laurie eased an arm around Wheat’s waist and gripped the handle of the suitcase with his other hand. “Onward.” And they began the walk to where the bunker was located.
Chapter 9
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Laurie had said.
“You’re too kind,” Wheat had responded. He hadn’t meant it to come across as chilly as it probably had, but whenever anyone said that phrase to him, they hadn’t meant it kindly. Damn. He wished he didn’t feel so miserable. Laurie’s reasoning behind not trying to find Wheat’s parents now made perfect sense.
