Come Whatever Storms

by J. M. Snyder

  “You should ask Jeanie,” Ronnie suggested. “You like her, right?”

  Now it was Court’s turn to shrug. “Yeah, she’s cool. I just…I mean, I didn’t really think…”

  “Why not?” Ronnie was watching him, waiting for an answer.

  Court didn’t know what to say. Yes, why not? If Ronnie were getting married, then he should, too.

  “When should we ask them?” he wanted to know.

  Ronnie turned back to the TV. “I don’t know. I guess we need to get rings first.”

  Something loosened in the back of Court’s throat, and relief flooded him. “We can’t even afford to pay the damn gas bill! How the hell are we going to afford wedding rings?”

  “We’ll figure it out.” Reaching for the remote, Ronnie clicked off the television. “You busy at the moment? Because we can go down to the mall and sort of look around.”

  “Sure.” Court’s paper could wait. A trip to the mall—without the girls—meant they’d get out of the apartment, and any excuse to do that was welcome. Besides, there was a Chinese place in the food court. Maybe he’d get some lo mein, after all. It’d make an otherwise boring afternoon looking at jewelry worth the hassle.

  Plus, he’d be with Ronnie. So overall it was a win-win situation, even if it eventually led to getting married.

  Sometime after midnight, Court opened his eyes, suddenly awake. He felt the familiar weight of Ronnie’s body pressed against his back, an arm draped over his waist, legs entangled with his. He held his breath, listening with every fiber of his being, but the world around them was as silent as it was dark. No crickets, no cicadas, not even a breeze through the leaves.

  What time was it?

  He pulled back his sleeping bag and glanced down. He lay on his side, Ronnie’s left arm draped over him—the arm on which Ronnie wore a watch. Court reached down, found his friend’s wrist, and turned it until he found the tiny button on the side that illuminated the face.

  In the faint green glow, he could read 3:05 in digital letters. Way too early to be up. If he didn’t get back to sleep, he’d be exhausted before noon. Especially if they had to hike back up the road to find a way around the blockade…

  A single gunshot punctuated the night.

  Court froze, Ronnie’s hand still grasped tight in his. The shot had come from a ways off, in the direction of the blockade. What could those ex-cons be shooting at this hour?

  Another shot fired, then a long string went off, what sounded like firecrackers but was most likely the discharge of an automatic rifle. Wasting bullets, Court thought sourly. Who’s going to make more when you assholes run out?

  Then the screams began.

  Male voices raised up into the night, harsh shouts shattering into high squeals of terror. Court clutched Ronnie’s arm to his chest with both hands as if it were some sort of security blanket. As if it might protect him from whatever made that ungodly racket.

  Gunfire erupted in short, fast bursts, followed by angry, wordless cries. And the screams—over everything, the screams. Closing his eyes against the terror welling up within him, Court murmured, “Ronnie?”

  To his surprise, the fingers in his tightened. “I hear it,” came the gruff voice behind him.

  How long had Ronnie been awake? Court wondered. Had he woken when Court moved his wrist to see the time, or sometime before that, aware he held Court so close while feigning sleep?

  Court couldn’t seem to focus on that at the moment. The sounds from out beyond the safety of their tent interrupted his thoughts, tearing them away from Ronnie and onto something bigger than either of them. Now fierce growls ripped through the screams, reminding him of a large cat, but hadn’t Adam said there weren’t any bobcats out here? No, wait, that isn’t quite right. How did he put it?

  Court didn’t know, but did it matter much one way or the other what Adam might’ve said? Something was attacking the former prisoners right this moment—Court could hear the men’s cries and their ineffectual gunfire. He heard snarling or roaring, something not human. Something that had bypassed their camp and instead attacked farther south. Because it’d been following them and didn’t realize they’d doubled back? Or something looking for an appetizer before returning for a main course?

  “We need to get out of here,” Court said.

  He tried to scramble out of his sleeping bag, but Ronnie held him down. “Stop.”

  “Ronnie, we can’t…” Court rolled onto his back, trying to throw off Ronnie’s arm, but his friend kept him pinned. “It’s going to get us, too. We have to—”

  “Court, listen.”

  Ronnie spoke right beside Court’s ear, no louder than a whisper, but the command in his voice made Court obey. In the distance, the fighting was tapering off but here, in the tent, between them, the only sounds were Court’s ragged breath and the beating of their hearts.

  After a long moment, he sighed. “What?”

  “If we leave now, we’ll attract attention,” Ronnie explained. He spoke softly, speaking directly into Court, his words chasing away the fear that threatened to send Court tumbling out into the night. “There are too many of us to leave quietly—”

  “Just us, then,” Court pleaded. “You and me, Ronnie, we could do it. Just take off and run away—”

  “And go where?” Again, the reason in Ronnie’s voice spoke loudly in their quiet tent. “If it’s an animal, it’ll outrun us.”

  Court didn’t want to give up so easily. “We could fight.”

  A faint gunshot cracked in the distance, like the last kernel to pop in a bag of popcorn.

  “Like they did?” Ronnie asked. “They had a whole arsenal at hand, little good it did. No, we stay here.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. We’re staying.”

  Ronnie pulled Court close. The arm around him felt protective, and Court found it hard to argue for running into the night when it felt so warm and comfortable here in Ronnie’s embrace. He tucked his head into the hollow of Ronnie’s throat, beneath Ronnie’s chin, and sighed. “What if—”

  “Shh.” Ronnie raised a hand to cover Court’s mouth—the fingers smelled faintly of sweet oil and gunpowder, scents that had grown familiar since they began their travels. Into Court’s hair, Ronnie murmured, “What if nothing. It comes, fine. It doesn’t, fine. If we’re still here in the morning, we’ll go back down the road and see what happened.”

  Against Ronnie’s palm, Court asked, “And if we’re not?”

  He felt Ronnie shrug, a movement that settled their bodies closer together, like two pieces of a puzzle locking into place. “If we’re not, we probably won’t really care all that much one way or the other, will we?”

  Perhaps. Right this second, though, with Ronnie’s warmth all around him, Court wasn’t sure he cared one way or the other. As long as his friend never let him go.

  The next time Court opened his eyes, sunlight filtered through the canvas tent. He lay with his eyes opened, staring at the radio, listening. Leaves rustled outside, and somewhere someone coughed, but there was no gunfire. No screams, either, and no growling. The episode that had woken him hours earlier seemed dreamlike in the early morning light. Even the memory of Ronnie’s arms around him felt ghostly now that his friend’s touch was gone.

  He heard movement behind him—Ronnie already up. Court ducked his head down to his chest and turned ever so slightly, until he saw his friend out of the corner of his eye. Hunched over, Ronnie stood amid his bedding, his side to Court as he dressed. He had pulled on a long-sleeve shirt, but his briefs were around his ankles, his jeans still on the ground. From this angle, Court could see Ronnie’s slim ass cheeks clench as he put all his weight on one leg to step into his underwear. Then he turned slightly, tugging the briefs up, and Court caught a glimpse of the thick, limp cock between Ronnie’s legs.

  His stomach clenched at the sight.

  Quickly he closed his eyes, feigning sleep. But as he heard the underwear band snap against Ronnie’s waist
, his friend said, “I know you’re awake.”

  Court stretched and rolled onto his back. “I guess we didn’t get attacked last night, eh?”

  “Guess not.” A smile flickered across Ronnie’s face and was gone. He stepped into his jeans and pulled them up, covering his legs. “Are you just going to lay there all day or what?”

  “What are my options?” Court joked. As soon as he spoke, though, he felt the pressure in his bladder and knew he wouldn’t be able to stay down long. In fact, he needed to go, and he needed to go now. Pushing back the sleeping bag, he scrambled to his feet and snagged his jeans from where they were folded by the radio. He bumped against Ronnie as he struggled to get them on. “Actually, I have to take a piss.”

  “Put some shoes on,” Ronnie warned. “There was a heavy frost last night.”

  Too late, Court realized he shouldn’t have stepped out of the tent barefoot. Grass crackled underfoot, coated with ice so cold, it almost burned his skin. Tumbling back into the tent, he rubbed the soles of his feet and massaged his toes. “Damn it,” he muttered, reaching for his sneakers.

  Ronnie’s smile flashed again. “Told you.”

  Court pulled on the sneakers, not bothering with socks, or with tying the laces, either. The cold air chilled his bare chest and arms as he hurried from the tent, but he couldn’t waste time going back to grab a shirt—he almost didn’t make it to the edge of their camp before he was unzipping his jeans in his haste to urinate. As he drained his bladder, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

  He couldn’t seem to think of anything other than that quick glimpse he got of Ronnie’s dick.

  As much as he wanted to linger—massage himself erect, maybe find a much needed release to the energy pent up inside him—he wouldn’t let himself get aroused. This was Ronnie, he argued. Court shouldn’t be thinking of him like that. This was his best friend.

  Who holds you every night, a voice inside his head whispered. You’ve felt that dick stiffen against your ass. You’ve felt those arms tighten around you. What would he do if you turned and covered his mouth with yours?

  Court didn’t know. Part of him was afraid to find out, because what if that ruined what they had between them? Ronnie wasn’t like that—he’d been married. Shit, so have I, Court reasoned. I’m not attracted to men. I don’t want to sleep with Adam, or Dizzy, or…

  Or Bree, either, and that had nothing to do with being faithful to his dead wife.

  Maybe it was the situation they were in. The virus decimating their world. Jeanie’s horrible death. The constant travel, the primitive conditions, the daily struggle to survive. Maybe something in the grittiness of their lives now had brought them closer together. Made him realize what was gold and what was dross. What he valued. What he didn’t want to lose.

  Which was Ronnie.

  Did he love the man? Of course. Court could say that without hesitation, yes, he’d always loved Ronnie. But as a friend or a brother, nothing more. Not in any sort of sexual way, except…

  Except he might.

  It was scary to admit it, even to himself in the silence of his mind, here on the edge of camp, away from everyone else. Maybe he’d always felt this way for Ronnie and had never realized it before now. Never let himself realize it. There’d been Melissa, and Jeanine, and the rest of the world between them, but now their wives were gone. Their previous lives, gone.

  The rest of the world, gone.

  So yes, he could love Ronnie.

  The moment the thought blossomed into being, Court felt something loosen in his chest and relief flooded through him. He tucked himself back into his jeans and zipped them up slowly, savoring the press of fabric against his stiffening dick. He loved Ronnie. He did.

  A little laugh escaped him at the admission. He did.

  Whether or not Ronnie felt the same for him didn’t matter. Nothing would change between them unless Ronnie wanted it to. Until then, Court would keep his secret where it belonged, inside him.

  Then he remembered the wedding bands in Ronnie’s jeans and grinned. He’d wait for Ronnie as long as he had to.

  Chapter 6

  When Court returned to their tent, he found Adam and Dizzy squatting outside in the frost-encrusted grass. Ronnie hunkered in front of the tent’s flap, chewing on a small stick he’d picked up off the ground. As Court passed, Ronnie glanced up at him and sort of nodded to indicate he should sit, but he wanted to get a shirt first. Ronnie had been right—it was damn cold outside. Winter was around the corner, and Court didn’t want to think about camping out in freezing temperatures. He wanted electric heat, a comfortable bed, clean sheets, and a roof over his head. With any luck, they’d find that and more at Sumter.

  Circling around Ronnie, Court ducked inside the tent and felt his friend catch his foot. “Don’t track any dirt and shit inside,” Ronnie told him. “Sneakers off.”

  “They’re just damp,” Court argued. But Ronnie held on tight, and Court fell onto their disheveled sleeping bags, twisting to try and free his leg from Ronnie’s grip. “Let me go.”

  Ronnie tugged off Court’s sneaker and dropped it to the ground. “No shoes inside.”

  When Ronnie released his leg to tackle the other shoe, Court playfully nudged Ronnie’s back with his bare foot. “Let me go,” he said again, rolling onto his back.

  Ronnie did, but not before he ran a single finger along the underside of Court’s foot. The touch was ticklish, causing Court to cry out in surprise. Quickly he pulled his legs into the tent. “Get back out here once you put some clothes on,” Ronnie told him. “We’re going to check out that other camp.”

  Court didn’t need to ask what camp he meant—the memory of last night’s attack was still fresh in Court’s mind. Personally, he didn’t care what had happened, just that the same fate didn’t fall on them. In his opinion, they should’ve been packed up already, moving out, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and whatever it was that had growled in the night. Sumter was weeks away. He almost didn’t want to think about how far.

  Still, he’d go if Ronnie wanted him to. He pulled on the pair of socks he’d worn the day before, then found a long-sleeve shirt among his meager belongings. They’d need to swing off the interstate sometime soon, ransack a department store, stock up on winter clothes. A heavy denim coat would be nice, maybe some longjohns, a few flannel shirts. Gloves, too. And a new pair of shoes. When he reached out of the tent flap and snagged his sneakers from where they rested beside Ronnie, he noticed the rubber soles were almost worn completely down.

  Sticking his legs out of the tent, Court sat half in, half out of their makeshift home and put the sneakers back on. “So where are we going again?”

  “You didn’t hear?” Dizzy asked, incredulous. He gripped his walking stick in both hands as if it were a baton he planned to use to ward off another attack. “Whatever’s been following us got those cons down the road last night.”

  “I heard.” Court looked at Ronnie, who stared off into the trees and didn’t return his gaze. “Are we all going?”

  Ronnie shrugged. “Just us four.”

  “What if it attacks this camp while we’re gone?” Court asked. “You’re the only one with a gun.”

  “A few of the others have them,” Ronnie said. He glanced over his shoulder at Court, his mouth set in a sardonic grin. “Those guys yesterday had more firepower than we do. If they couldn’t save themselves, what chance do any of us have?”

  “I don’t really see why we should go,” Adam muttered. From the way the sunlight filtered through the leaves above, Court could see smears on the thin lenses in Adam’s glasses. “If those guys are gone, we move on down the road. Why bother with them any more than we have to?”

  Court laughed. “Why are you going, anyway?”

  It was Dizzy who answered. “He’s the vet, right? He can tell us what kind of animal did this.”

  “I worked with domestic animals,” Adam pointed out. “Nothing larger than a Great Dane, and s
ure as hell nothing that could do what we heard.”

  “What did we hear?” Court asked. He looked at Ronnie, who shrugged, then at Dizzy, at Adam. “Gunshots, some screams, maybe some growling. Who says it’s an animal at all? Maybe the whole lot of inmates went psycho and offed each other.”

  Ronnie pushed off the ground and stretched. As he raised his arms above his head, his shirt pulled up a little, exposing a flat stomach and a faint line of dark hair below his navel. Court stared at that smooth stretch of skin, remembering the way it had felt against the small of his back the night before. Then Ronnie dropped a hand to the top of Court’s head, ruffling his hair. “Whatever happened, we should at least take a look. Those guys most likely had a good cache of supplies built up, and we could use some of those weapons.”

  “Yeah, because they worked so well for them,” Court muttered, tossing Ronnie’s earlier argument back at him.

  The hand in his hair tightened into a fist as Ronnie tugged gently. “Just let’s go. Get it over with. The sooner we check it out, the sooner we can put it behind us.”

  They spread out across the road—Ronnie on the inside, close to the median wall, then Court, Adam, and Dizzy near the shoulder. Of the four of them, only Ronnie and Dizzy were armed, if Court wanted to consider that walking stick of his a weapon. He suspected that, in Dizzy’s mind, it was. Ronnie’s gun was holstered at his hip, and nothing in his easy stride betrayed a readiness to draw, though Court knew his friend well enough to know Ronnie could have the gun out and fire before he himself would be able to react.

  It didn’t seem to take as long to travel down to the vehicular blockade as it had the day before. As the line of automobiles strung out ahead of them grew with each footstep, Court realized exactly how close they’d been to the attack. If the wind had changed, if the animal had scented their camp instead…

  He didn’t want to think about it.

  When they got as far as they’d managed the day before, Ronnie stopped. Court closed the distance between them, hovering slightly behind his friend. On the other side of the road, Adam bunched up closer to Dizzy. The men exchanged a wary look, then Dizzy nodded. Turning to the gap between the cars and the median wall, Ronnie called out, “Hello?”