by Weir, R. K.
"My car, I'm driving," Logan says.
"But I'm the better driver," says Rocket, her tone teasing. There's a smile on Logan's face that he's trying to contain from becoming a grin. I've made the right decision by sitting in the back because it's obvious that there's something going on between the two of them.
They begin teasing each other more and I can't stand to watch any longer so I turn my attention towards the mess of papers in the back seat. Most of them are drawings, signed by Anna, Logan's daughter. I bunch them all together and stick them in the sleeve of the seat in front of me. During my cleaning I find my old, red bag. There's nothing in it, but still, it's a nice sight.
Gale slides into the seat next to me and we wait in silence for Logan and Rocket to finish their flirting.
Once they do, it's Logan who ends up in the driver's seat. Which isn't surprising. He just got the Jeep back, I doubt he'll relinquish his chances to drive it anytime soon. With a huff, Rocket gets in the passenger seat and then we're back on the road. Logan drives so slowly, careful not to hit or scrape against any of the other cars, that Rocket can't contain her agitation and they begin arguing.
"If I was driving, we'd be there by now!" Rocket says.
"We've only been driving for ten minutes!" Logan shouts back.
I tune them out and focus on the city instead. I've never been to Las Vegas before, but it's just like I thought it would be. Casinos and palm trees. I can only imagine how spectacular it must have looked at night, with everything lit up and flashing. It's depressing to think that it will never be like that again.
What's surprising though is how clean the streets are. No bodies or blood. Even the cars with shattered windshields and dented hoods that have obviously been in accidents are aligned and parked perfectly on the side of the road. As if someone has gone to the effort of cleaning everything up. Then I remember the cars on the highway and how they were all drained of gas. Did the same person clean up the streets? I can't imagine why they would go to the effort. At least the gas makes sense, even if it does seem a little overboard to drain every single one.
"Haven't seen any infected in a while," Logan comments. He's noticed as well that something seems off about this place. I tell him about the welcome sign and the ominous message that was scrawled across it. How Las Vegas is supposedly free from infection. Him and Rocket share a look at this.
"Well, that's lucky," Logan says, "cause we're gonna be on foot real soon."
I don't have to ask him why, because just as I'm about to, I receive the answer. The Jeep rolls to a stop just outside a jewelry store and Logan turns to look at us.
"We're outta gas," he says.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Stella
We debate for ten minutes on what our next move should be. Or, Logan and I debate at least. Gale offers little more than a quiet "Yes" or "No" and Rocket is more focused on chastising Logan and his driving abilities.
"Why didn't you tell us sooner that we were almost out of gas?" she asks.
"I didn't think it mattered," Logan shrugs, "we needed to stop soon for food anyway, I figured we could get gas at the same time."
Somehow, I don't think finding either will be as easy as he makes it sound. But eventually we decide that scavenging is the only option we have. It's still morning so that gives us plenty of time to look while the sun is out. Even if Las Vegas is free from the infected – and I'm beginning to believe that it really is – I have a feeling that there are other things in the dark that we should be cautious of. Like the bandits from the hotel. We're easy prey to them as it is, at least in daylight we'll be able to see them coming. The sun is our only advantage, so when night falls, I don't plan to be caught under it.
Gale takes some goading, he wants to stay in the car and I think he should. He won't be of any help. But Logan insists that he comes with us, maybe because he thinks the bandits will come looking as well, and he doesn't want Gale to be on his own when they do. If that's the case, I don't know why Logan doesn't just say this. Eventually though, even without scare tactics, he manages to convince Gale, and we all get out of the car.
The street we're on is lined with stores, mostly selling clothes and souvenirs. Just one glance and I know we won't find any food here. I turn back to the others. Gale stays huddled close to the Jeep while Logan strays further out to the other cars parked on the side of the road. Rocket has made a beeline for the jewelry store in front of where we've stopped. It's only when she picks out a ring from the display case that I realize the entire front window is missing. She holds up the ring she picked out.
"I always wanted one with a ridiculously ginormous diamond," she says. "I knew I was destined to have one!"
It's a shame destiny had to destroy the world to give it to her, I think. The ring gleams brightly in her hand, light bouncing off of it. But my attention has been drawn to her feet and the spotless pavement she stands on. If the front window is missing then it must have been shattered at some point in time, but there's no evidence that anything like that happened. Either the wind blew away all the glass, or someone has swept it up. . .
Now I'm being ridiculous. I'm overthinking things, surely. But just to make sure, I join Rocket by the display and look down at the twinkling jewels, sizzling like stars in the sunlight. It's beside a bracelet that I find what I'm looking for. Small, it hides with the other gems and could easily be mistaken as a piece that's fallen loose from the bracelet itself. When I pick it up and hold it in the light though, I can tell that it's glass.
Rocket's been watching me since I came over and finally she says, "Out of all these diamonds, you pick out that?" She smiles, but my attention is too focused on the shard in my hand to smile back.
"Why isn't there more glass?" I ask. She misinterprets what I mean completely.
"There are diamonds in front of us, and you're asking for glass?" she mocks, before muttering something about priorities under her breath.
"No, I mean this window was smashed, so why is there only one piece of glass?" I ask. Rocket doesn't seem to think it warrants as much thought as I do.
"Probably blown away by the wind," she shrugs. But the display is immaculate save this one shard. I doubt the wind could do such a thorough job of cleaning up a shattered window. The only alternative I can think of is that a person cleaned it up, but that seems even more unlikely.
Rocket takes her ring and then walks over to Logan. I stay back, pondering a moment longer. If someone, or a group of someones, are trying to restore Las Vegas, then it'll only be a matter of time before we cross paths with them. I only hope they're friendlier than those we've met so far.
For now I push the thought to the back of my mind and move to join Logan and Rocket who are standing a few cars down the road. All the gas caps leading to them have been popped open and I can tell by the grim lines on Logan's face that they've been emptied just like the ones on the highway. He's crouched down and sticking a long piece of wire into a silver Toyota when I reach him.
"No luck?" I ask. He pulls the wire out, dry as tinder and shakes his head.
"They've all been drained," he says.
"Cars on the highway were the same," I tell him. He thinks about this as he stands up.
"All of them?"
"Their gas caps were all open." This isn't the answer he wants to hear. Looking down the street for a moment, his eyes sweeping over every car, he turns to us with a sigh.
"There's gotta be one around here that isn't empty," he says. I have my doubts about this. It would seem that whoever's taken the gas has done a pretty thorough job of doing so. But there's always a chance they've missed a car, or maybe they've only gotten through half the city so far.
This must be Logan's train of thought, because in the next minute we're back at the Jeep and he's opening the trunk. When he finds it empty, he curses. He was looking for the gas canisters, the ones we left on the side of the road after the bandits had robbed us. It's a good thing we weren't actually getting gas that time, b
ecause as a result Logan didn't bother taking the rubber hose needed to actually siphon from a car. Coiling it up in his hands, he slams the trunk shut and turns to look at us.
"Here's what we're gonna do," he says. "Rocket, you're gonna take Gale and look for some food while Stella and I look for gas. We'll meet back at the car in two hours."
I can see Rocket hesitate. She flashes a look in Gale's direction and it's obvious that she doesn't want to be paired with him. Unfortunately for her, neither do I. Before she has a chance to object or suggest another plan, I grab onto Logan's arm and begin steering him away. "Let's not waste any time then!" I say, glancing back at Rocket as I do. She's glaring at me, but quickly turns her attention towards Gale.
Good luck getting him away from the car, I think, remembering my own effort in doing so. I had to physically wrestle him out of his seat. I can't imagine what she'll have to do to get him down the road. Thinking about it now, it makes me wonder again why he's with us in the first place. Once we're a distance away from them, I ask Logan.
A shrug is his response. "Kid just said he wanted to come with us. I couldn't be bothered sittin' through his stuttering to find out why."
Strange. I can't even begin to understand the thought process that must have gone through Gale's mind to make him come to such a decision. Maybe he thinks he stands a better chance of being protected by us than Joey. If that's the case, he might be right. While Rocket and I may not care much about his safety, I can't say the same for Logan.
Still that same wanna-be-hero, despite everything. If Gale survives this trip, it'll be thanks to him.
We've almost reached the end of the street when Logan clears his throat. "So," he says, an awkward pause taking his voice. "Are you . . . okay?"
Only now do I realize that this is why he chose me over an opportunity to flirt more with Rocket. So that he can get concrete validation that my mental state has returned to normal. For the most part, it has, and that's what I tell him.
"Well good," he says, "I'm glad."
We walk in silence for a few minutes more before he comes to a stop. I glance back down the street we've come from and can just make out Rocket and Gale still standing by the car. Unless Rocket leaves him and goes on her own, I won't expect there to be any food when we get back.
I assumed Logan stopped to check one of the cars, but instead he stands outside of a clothing store, peering inside.
"Looking for a new outfit?" I ask.
"For you," he says.
I have to glance down at myself to understand what he means. I'm still wearing Rocket's jacket, and beneath that nothing but a blood-soaked bra. With everything that's been happening, I didn't really pay it much attention, but now that he's mentioned it, I can't wait to get into something clean.
Logan waits outside while I wander through the store. Even though I don't expect to find any infected inside, I still do one sweep out of habit before I begin looking at the clothes. I don't care what I wear, and soon my hands find a plain, gray t-shirt and a clean bra. Slipping off Rocket's jacket and taking off my bra I grab another shirt and wipe myself down with it, scraping the dried blood off. It peels away like scabs, the skin beneath still red no matter how hard I scrub. I need water to wash it off completely, but stuck in the middle of a city like we are, I doubt we'll be coming across a stream to bathe in anytime soon. I settle for just scraping the dry clumps off. Once most of it's gone, I get dressed in what I picked out and shrug Rocket's jacket back on too so I can give it to her later.
When I step out and onto the street I'm alarmed to find Logan gone. But as if sensing my panic, he pops out from behind a car on the other side of the road. The same frown is on his lips and I wonder how long we're going to have to walk before he reaches the conclusion that I've been sitting on for awhile now. There may be no infected in Las Vegas but the sign didn't warn us that there was no gas either. If it had, it would be easier to persuade Logan that we aren't going to find any.
A few empty cars aren't going to stop him though, so I choose to keep quiet as we walk down the street. It takes some time before we finally reach the end of the road and turn right onto the next stretch of shops, Logan's insistence that we check every car restraining us to the pace of a slug. Still, I stop myself from saying anything, because I know that Logan has to see for himself that Las Vegas is sapped of all its gas before he'll be willing to accept it. There isn't much I can do to help him so I just stand by and watch.
Crouch. Check. Curse. Repeat. It goes on and on in a never-ending cycle. After checking another two streets, I quickly grow tired of the routine. I decide a nudge might be what Logan needs to see sense on the matter. He's just finished checking a red convertible and is moving to check the car in front when I figure now is the time to water the seed of doubt in his mind.
"You can't think that this is a coincidence," I say. This stops him, and he turns away from his task to look at me.
"I don't. Obviously someone has gone to the great effort of draining all these cars, but there has to be at least one that still has some gas left in it. There has to be," his voice turns into a growl at the end.
"Why?" I ask, "why does there have to be? Whoever's taken the gas has done a pretty meticulous job, so what makes you think we're going to find any?"
"Because I don't know what we're going to do if we don't!" he shouts. The outburst is so sudden that it catches me off guard completely and I flinch from the anger he's used to project it. But as the words settle and his eyes turn down to our feet, it becomes apparent that anger isn't what fueled him. Panic is.
"What do you mean?" I ask softly, cautious not to set him off again. His eyes return to mine and I can see the panic in them clearer now.
"How are we supposed to get to the coast if we don't have a car? We're gonna walk through the desert on foot?"
If I'm being honest, I hadn't really thought that far ahead. Now that I think about it though, I can understand why it's gotten him so wound up. The coast is still a long way away, and if my memory serves me well, then I'm pretty sure there aren't very many cities or towns in between here and there. If we do end up walking, we'd have to make it there with whatever food and water we find in Las Vegas. I doubt we'll find enough for a journey like that – I doubt we'd even be able to carry that much – but I don't tell Logan this.
"We can get . . . bikes," I say. It would be better than walking, but the idea is still a pathetic one. I expect Logan to tell me as much. Instead, he says nothing. He wasn't even listening to me. His attention has been caught by something behind me.
I turn to see what it is and find a girl standing a few blocks down. Her back is towards us so I can't see her face, but I can tell she's distressed about something. Hands entangled in her mahogany hair, she stares off into the distance, and in the blink of an eye, she's gone.
"Where'd she go?" I ask. It takes Logan a moment to reply, and when he does he's already begun walking after her.
"She ran into the shop," he says. It's clear he intends to speak to her, but I'm hesitant to follow. After my last encounter with people, I'm not nearly as eager to mingle with strangers. Logan glances back and stops when he sees that I'm not following him.
"You coming?" he asks.
Bang! We both flinch from the sound. Bang! Bang! It goes off again like gunfire. I almost expect a bullet to whiz by, or something to explode. Logan must think this as well because he's taken the pistol out from his back pocket and is holding it up, ready to fire back. The sound comes again, this time softer, and with a voice accompanying it.
"I'll fix you! I'll fix you! I'll fix you! I'll fix you!" The words are rushed out, frantic, and repeated over and over in an endless loop. I place the voice as belonging to the girl, but with the Bangs! it sounds more like a broken record player.
Gun raised in front of him, Logan takes a few cautious steps forward. Curiosity overrides the hesitation I felt before – because I can't imagine what she's doing or why she isn't stopping – and I find myself followi
ng him. From a closer distance I can see the shop she ran into is a small diner. This sparks a memory in me, but it doesn't ignite enough for me to remember it.
As we approach the door of the diner the banging grows softer and further apart, as if she's grown tired. Whatever energy she's lost must have transferred itself into her voice however because she continues to bellow out, "I'll fix you!" Sounding more and more like a pleading cry with every verse.
When we step inside, I spot her instantly. A man is slumped against the back wall and she's thrown herself over his legs and is pounding a can of food against the ground. It's such an odd sight that I actually have to do a double-take to make sure I'm not hallucinating again. Once I do, I notice the pale skin of the man, the unblinking eyes. He's dead and she must be having a mental breakdown or something. Whatever's going on, the last thing I want is to get involved. Logan, like usual, is the complete opposite and before I even have a chance to suggest we leave, he's already taking tentative steps towards the girl.
"Are you alright?" he asks.
The can in her hand comes to a halt and wide gray eyes look up at us. They appear pale and distant, as if not quite understanding what's in front of them, and suddenly the memory that sparked earlier but failed to catch has now blazed into an inferno. The man at the supermarket that I killed is flashing in my mind and his words are ringing in my ears.
That diner full of wackos! I thought they were gonna kill me!
It takes everything I have in me not to grab Logan and pull the both of us back out onto the street. I'm afraid that any sudden movement might set her off.
"Have you come to help him?" she asks, her voice as lost as her eyes. She looks quite young. Around my age, or possibly younger. Logan tucks the gun back into his pocket and holds out his hand instead.
