by Jason Brant
“You carried me that far?”
“I have the sore shoulders to prove it.”
To his shock, Cass hugged him. “Thanks. Dumbass.”
He laughed, despite the adrenaline shakes that still consumed his limbs. “I guess this makes us even.”
“So those guys did call in a bomb or an artillery strike?” Cass asked. “That means there’s someone out there still pulling the trigger, right?”
“I suppose. They did say that Heinz Field is hanging in there.”
“Yeah, but I doubt that they have a giant ass howitzer sitting at the fifty yard line.”
“True.”
Cass got up from the bench and moved around in the darkness, swearing as she stubbed her toes and banged her knees.
A dim light blinked on.
Lance turned away from it, letting his eyes adjust. He finally rotated back, looking up at the dome light, wondering how long they could use it before the truck’s battery died.
The temperature in the confined area rose quickly as they waited. Lance could feel himself sweating again, concern over dehydration rearing in his mind.
“Holy shit,” Cass said. She reached into an open bag and pulled out a large stack of cash. “Want to buy an island?”
“It figures.”
“What?”
“It figures that I would find a shitload of abandoned money now. I could have really used that a month ago. Now we might as well use it as toilet paper.”
“Yeah, well, shit happens.” Cass smiled at her pun. She rifled through a few more bags, finding rolls of coins.
Lance thought that ‘shit happens’ could be the new motto for the entire planet. If aliens ever visited the earth in the future, they would look upon the ruined cities and decaying bones of humanity and think, ‘shit happens’.
“How are you feeling, anyway?”
Cass stood, holding a hand to her stomach. “Nauseous and dizzy. Those are the signs of a concussion, right?”
“I have no idea. That was a big piece of building that hit you in the head though.”
“They always talked about post-concussion shit during the NFL games now, so I’m guessing that’s what I’m dealing with.”
Lance grinned at her. “Where have you been all of my life?”
“What? Are you flirting with me?”
His grin widened even more, a combination of actual humor at the expression on her face and a bizarre reaction to knowing that he had just murdered a man. If someone asked him to explain what he felt, Lance didn’t think he could.
“No, I’m not flirting with you. I’m stuck inside an armored truck with cannibals outside trying to beat their way in, and I’m covered in the blood of a man I just stabbed. Getting laid isn’t exactly on my radar right now.”
“Then what the hell are you talking about?”
“Let’s just say that I wish my wife had been a bit more like you.”
“You’re married?” She glanced at his left hand. “Why don’t you wear a ring?”
The truck rocked as something ran into it, the thud vibrating through the floor and into Lance’s feet. He paused before responding, waiting to see if it would happen again.
It didn’t. Several dozen hands continued beating against the walls.
“We were at the tail end of a divorce when this happened. It’s been over for years though.”
“Oh. That sucks.” Cass sat on a bench across from him, crossing her legs, but not before Lance got a bit of a show. “She’s a big bitch then?”
“If I’d known that all it took to make you be nice to me was saving your life, I’d have pulled the hero shtick a little earlier.”
“Shut up, dumbass.” She let out a small laugh before pushing the heels of her hands against her temples.
“To answer your question, she’s a little bitchy, but I don’t blame her for hating me. I’m a colossal fuck up.”
“Did she die? When all of this happened?”
“Nah. She and her boyfriend, or whatever the hell they are, took off. They were going to the stadium the last I saw them. That was right when shit went south, so they probably made it.”
Cass watched him for a while. “I don’t think you’re a fuck up. You said something similar at the crack den. You have a shitty life?”
“First world problems, really. I haven’t been able to hold a job for years now. Wife resents me. No money. Unable to support us. Depressed.” Lance leaned back against the wall, but sat up again when the pummeling of the truck vibrated against his back. “I don’t know which came first though—her hating me, or me fucking up. Did I disgust her because I’m a loser, or did I become a loser because I disgusted her?”
They sat without speaking for a period of time that Lance couldn’t gauge. No access to the sun made it hard to judge.
“You survived the apocalypse, so far anyway. I’d say that makes you anything but a loser. You saved my ass.”
“I’m not sure that hiding in my apartment as people are slaughtered in the streets makes me much more than pond scum.”
“Bullshit. Everyone else was too stupid to do that. You carried an unconscious woman to safety. Fuck your ex—she doesn’t know what she’s missing.”
Lance laughed again. Despite the things that had just happened, and still were, he couldn’t help himself. Cass’ gruff personality and over-the-top way of talking had him grinning like a fool.
“That was half the problem. Too little of the fucking.”
“Oh shit. That’s the worst. I’m a woman, so I can get laid whenever I want. Dry spells are for idiots.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m not talking about you, dumbass. Women can get laid whenever they want, so any of them who complain about not getting any are full of shit.”
Lance acted as if he was trying to peer up her skirt. “Are you sure there isn’t a penis in there somewhere? You talk more like a man than I do.”
“It’s true,” she said, dismissing his comment with a wave of her hand. “How long has it been?”
“What?”
“Since you had sex?”
“Oh. That’s a little private. And embarrassing.”
“You mentioned it. Besides, who am I going to tell?” She looked around the dimly lit area. “You might have noticed that the world has ended.”
Lance stared at the floor. “Six months. Before that, it had probably been a year.”
Cass choked. “What? Once in a year and a half? That’s crazy! That can’t be good for your health.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know before a few days ago that she’d been dating an old friend of mine for the past eighteen months. That kind of explains why she didn’t have much interest.”
“Are you sure your dick even works anymore?”
That made Lance snort.
“You’re a real douche, ya know? Besides, why am I taking such abuse from someone dressed like a reject from the Village People?”
Cass rolled her eyes. “Back to the way I dress again.”
“Well, you do look like a fool. A sexy fool, but a fool nonetheless.”
“There you go, hitting on me again.”
“I’m not, honestly. Just being truthful. You don’t look so bright in that outfit.”
“That really sucks. Here I was, hoping I could finally get that country club membership too.”
Lance’s blood-covered hand felt sticky as the bodily fluid dried. He’d wiped as much of it away as he could, but it still bothered him. Getting up from the bench, he rolled his sore shoulders and turned the dome light on again. He went to the front corner of their metal sarcophagus.
“Seriously though, you said you were artist. Is that getup some kind of statement about freedom of expression?” Lance found a bag that looked different from the others and unzipped it.
Assorted gym gear was inside. Lance’s back was to Cass as he went through the bag, his widening grin hidden from her. He pulled out an apple, two protein bars, three bottles of water, and a small
amount of white powder in a baggie—only touching the food with his non-bloody hand. He figured the white stuff to be creatine or a protein powder of some kind.
Saliva pooled under his tongue as he touched the food.
“Fine,” Cass said from behind him. “You told me about your sad sex life, so I might as well tell the truth about my shit as well.”
“Your shit? Did you have to take profanity lessons to learn how to swear so much?”
“Shut up, ya douche. Or don’t you want to hear my stupid story?”
“Sorry. Please go on.” He found an iPod and a sleeveless Pittsburgh Pirates t-shirt in the bag. Smelly sneakers, balled-up socks, a small bottle of hand sanitizer, and two towels filled out the rest of the contents.
“I started dressing like this to fit in with the morons in the art scene at Duquesne. When I dropped out, I kept wearing it because I was too poor for new clothes, and it’s actually really comfortable. And I like it—so shut up. Not everyone has to wear a suit or a dress.”
“I’m not judging,” Lance said.
“Yes, you are.”
Lance opened one of the bottles of water and tilted it over his bloody hand, pouring just enough to wet the skin. He grabbed the Pirates shirt and used it to wipe everything clean. He repeated the process again, careful of his water usage. The hand sanitizer went on next.
Cass continued, “I was raised in the middle of nowhere, about an hour outside of Erie.”
“That’s what you said yesterday. I would have thought you were a city girl through and through.”
“Nope. My dad raised me. Mom left before I was old enough to even remember what she looked like. I spent a lot of time hunting and fishing with my dad. By the time I was a teenager, I resented the tomboy upbringing.”
“So you decided to dress like a fool?”
“I’m going to kick your ass if you say that again. But yes, that was a big part of it. He died during my freshman year of college.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “I never got to tell him I was sorry for being such a bitch to him. My mom left him in a tough spot, having to raise a stubborn girl by himself, and he died before I was smart enough to realize it.”
Lance turned around. “He knew.”
“Did he? I don’t know. I was mean to him up until the time I left. Really mean.”
“He knew.” Lance grabbed the water and food, holding them behind his back. He slid over to Cass, kneeling on the floor in front of her. “I have something that’ll cheer you up.”
“If you pull your dick out, I’m going to stab you.”
“What?” Lance chuckled, shaking his head. “You have problems.” He held the items out in front of his chest. “Behold. I bring you food and drink.”
“Holy shit.” Cass’ eyes widened. She licked her lips as she stared at the apple. “Holy. Shit.”
“We can each have a protein bar, a bottle of piss-warm water, and split the apple. What do you think?”
“I’m allergic to whey protein. I’ll take the apple and you can have the bars.”
Lance handed it over along with a water bottle. He went back to the other bench and sat down, tearing one of the wrappers open. The protein bar tasted like chalk, but at that moment, nothing could have been better. He hadn’t eaten since the assholes at the restaurant tied him up.
“I know what you said at the meth lab, but I have a newsflash for you, Cassie—I think we’re becoming friends.”
“My friends know better than to call me Cassie.”
“Oops,” Lance said, his tone jovial.
They ate their food and sipped the water, relishing the small moment of pleasure. Cass turned the dome light off to preserve the vehicle’s battery.
The thuds against the outside of the truck dwindled over the next hour before stopping altogether.
Lance held his ear to the door.
Nothing.
“Why did they leave?” he asked, more to himself than to Cass.
“Maybe it’s getting dark out.”
“Do the daywalkers leave the streets when the Vladdies come out?”
“Daywalkers?”
Lance shrugged. “I started thinking of them like that while you were taking an extended nap earlier. Vladdie seems like a better choice for the ones at night.”
“That’s not a bad name—I like it. And I don’t know where they go. The ones that come out at night don’t attack them, so I don’t know why they would hide. Maybe someone else ran by and the… daywalkers… followed them. Or maybe they just gave up on getting in here. They’re going crazy, but some kind of intelligence is still in there for a while—they can talk after all.”
Lance listened for a few minutes, hearing the occasional shriek from off in the distance, but not much else. The hardened shell of the truck didn’t allow much sound in.
“Let’s hope the Vladdies don’t find us in here. It’ll be loud as hell if they bang on the sides.”
“I hate not knowing what time it is,” Cass said. “Has the sun set yet? We should sleep during the night so we can get out of this tin can in the morning.”
“No idea. There’s no chance in hell I’m going to open the door and find out either. Not yet, anyway.” He wiped away the sheen of sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep in here—too damn hot.”
“We have a safe place to spend the night and you’re complaining?”
“Hey, I admit it—I’m a huge baby when it comes to sleeping. I’m one of those people that needs the AC jacked up.”
“You better get over that. We aren’t going to feel the joys of air conditioning while we sleep for the rest of our short lives.”
“Cassie, you have a real knack for cheering me up.”
She kicked him in the shin—not terribly hard, but enough to warn him off the name. He yelped and slid his leg away, rubbing the area.
Lance went back to the gym bag and pulled the towels out.
“Damn, what else is in there?” Cass asked. “What’re the odds that we stumbled upon all of that in here?”
“I guess karma can only shit on your life for so long.” Lance pushed two of the moneybags against the wall, clearing the center of the truck’s bed. The towels went on the rubber matt that covered the steel floor. There wasn’t enough space to put them side-by-side, so he layered them on top of each other. “Not exactly the Ritz, but it’ll do. I wouldn’t recommend bumping into me tonight though, unless you want to shower in my sweat. Christ, I’m going to be so dehydrated that I’ll look like a mummy by the time we wake up.”
Cass stood up and looked at her arms. Light reflected off the layer of saltwater covering them. “I’m not exactly a bastion of cleanliness.”
“Bastion? Good word.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Would I mock someone who carries around an axe straight out of DragonLance? No, I was being serious. Good word. Don’t hear that one too often.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
Lance frowned at the awkwardness of their conversation. He looked at the towels on the floor, wondering how their sleeping arrangement would go. The benches were too thin and short for someone to sleep on.
The heat inside would force him to take his clothes off to sleep and he didn’t feel particularly comfortable doing that beside her. He realized how moronic that was, but it didn’t change anything. Most of America’s population had died a horrible death and poor Lance York didn’t want to take his clothes off in front of a woman.
Is she feeling as uncomfortable about this as I am?
Cass grabbed the bottom edge of her shirt and pulled it over her head, dropping it to the floor.
Lance stared at her black bra, shocked at how nonchalant she was about her near-nudity.
“You’re acting like you’ve never seen a bra before.”
“Sorry, I just didn’t expect that.” He gave his head a little shake and tore his eyes away from the tops of her sweat-covered breasts.
Cass undid
her belt, letting it fall onto her shirt.
Lance felt his gaze being pulled back to her like it was caught in a tractor beam. He watched as she slid her skirt down and stepped out of it. She stood before him in a matching set of bra and panties.
“Uhh—”
“Stop staring at me. It’s hot as the seventh level of Hell in here.” She reached up and turned off the dome light.
“Sorry.” Lance heard her lie down on the towels. He slid his shoes off, placing them in the corner by the moneybags. He paused with his hands on his zipper. “Oh, what the hell.” He stripped down to his boxer briefs.
“What?” Cass asked from the floor.
“Nothing. Being weird.”
He lay down beside her, his heart pumping faster than it should have. He hadn’t been in anything resembling this kind of position with a woman other than Liz in a decade and a half. Even though he knew that there was nothing sexual about their situation, he couldn’t help but feel odd about it.
His shoulder bumped into her as he rolled onto his left side, putting his back between them. “Sorry.”
With his arm trailing along the floor above him, his head placed on it, he wished for a pillow. Why couldn’t the world have ended from a zombie apocalypse like all those shitty novels he used to read? Any moron could board their doors and windows shut and sleep in their own bed.
But no. Reality had to consist of a virus mutating people into raging, steroid monsters. Now he was trying to sleep in an overgrown lunchbox.
At least he had a hot woman beside him.
Sleep hinged onto the edges of his consciousness with surprising quickness.
His muscles relaxed, body finally allowed a moment of rest. He felt himself falling away when something soft and moist brushed his stomach, exploring across his skin just below his belly button.
Lance jerked out of his semi-sleep as Cass’ hand plunged inside his boxer briefs. She grabbed him, squeezing firmly.
“What the hell are you doing?” He rolled over, senses tingling, emotions running the gamut from confusion to elation.
“Shut up, dumbass,” she said, her voice husky.
“But—”
She gripped him tighter as he grew in her hand. “I said shut up.”
“I’m disgusting though! I haven’t had a bath in days. I must smell like a gym locker.”
“I haven’t either.” She slid his underwear down to his thighs and straddled him.
His erection didn’t share the same protests as his mind. He stood at attention as she worked on him.
They both sighed in ecstasy as she guided him inside her.
Chapter 20
