Come Whatever Storms

by J. M. Snyder

  “Calm down,” Bree told him. The gun was tucked into the waistband of her jeans, where the denim pouched away from her lower back. She sat just outside the tent, nursing a small fire over which she warmed another can of soup. Court worried the gun wasn’t accessible where it was, but even though he knew he could reach forward and grab it if he needed to, he also knew he didn’t have it in him to fire the damn thing.

  Better she have it than him. He was likely to shoot his other leg the next time a branch scraped across the roof of the tent.

  “Whatever got those guys up the road is still out there,” Court warned. He didn’t feel she was adequately scared enough of the possibility of an attack. Did the gun make her feel secure?

  If so, maybe he should ask to hold onto it. Lord knew he needed something to keep him sane until Ronnie returned.

  With her back to him, Bree stirred the pot of soup on the open flame. “If it’s an animal, Adam says it’s probably too full to hunt again so soon. Plus it stashed some food away for later, so the chances of it bothering us are moot.”

  “What if it isn’t an animal?” The moment the words were free, Court regretted them. He didn’t want to imagine any person creating the carnage he’d seen at the roadblock. His mind refused to go there.

  Bree gave him a sardonic look over her shoulder. “Adam says it had to be an animal. Something wild, maybe even rabid. Something hungry, at any rate. And full now, so we’re safe.”

  Court didn’t dare hope she was right. “Until it wants to eat again.”

  “Adam says—”

  “When?” Court demanded. “When did Adam say all this? I didn’t hear it.”

  Bree ducked her head, but not before Court caught a glimpse of a grin and faint blush coloring her cheeks. “We talked, okay?”

  Something in her evasive answer made him press, “When? While I was out?”

  Suddenly the soup boiled over the small pot, sending smoke hissing from the flames. Bree hurried to pull it off the fire, her hand hidden in a brightly-colored kitchen mitt that looked incongruous in the middle of the woods. “Shit,” she muttered as she fanned the soup, as if that might settle down the liquid.

  “It’s cool,” Court told her. “I don’t mind if it’s burnt.”

  She threw him a dirty look. “It isn’t burnt.”

  He watched as she poured the soup into the upright Thermos. The soup was a pale, greenish color, viscous and thick. Celery soup, most likely. Court didn’t think it looked appetizing, but they hadn’t been left much in the way of food, so he couldn’t afford to be picky. It’d probably taste better with rice in it, but the dark glower on Bree’s face kept him from suggesting she cook anything else.

  As the pot emptied, the burnt bottom became visible through the thick soup. Court didn’t mention that, either. He’d been married before. If nothing else, he knew when to keep his mouth shut around women.

  He waited until she set aside the pot and handed him the Thermos. Once the hot soup was out of her hands and in his, he blew on it to cool it down and hoped he sounded casual as he asked, “So, when did you and Adam talk about this again?”

  For a moment, he didn’t think she would answer. She scraped the inside of the pot with a wooden spoon, trying to scrape off the charred bits stuck to the metal. Court sipped the soup—yep, celery, and the taste brought back a heady memory of his mother feeding him a bowl of celery soup and crackers when he was younger, five or six maybe, not as old as eight. The tiny kitchen in their apartment flooded his mind; his mother stood at the sink, scrubbing out the pot, while Court sat at the kitchen table, his little feet dangling well above the floor. He’d kick his legs as he crushed saltines into his soup, then fished them out with his spoon.

  Across from him sat Ronnie, around the same age but already beautiful in Court’s eyes. He didn’t crush his crackers but instead used them as scoops, ignoring the spoon in favor of eating right off the cracker instead. He’d look across the table at Court and grin, a boyish smile that promised fun and adventure as soon as lunch was over.

  So innocent, the both of them. So alive, so real, but so long ago, it took Court’s breath away.

  He sniffled into the soup, his eyes stinging with tears or the steam rising off the Thermos, he wasn’t sure which. Bree heard and asked, “Is it burned?”

  “It’s fine,” he assured her. “Tastes great.”

  She glared at him, then relaxed when she realized he wasn’t joking. “Good. Adam says you get another dose of the antibiotics when you finish eating, and if you need something for the pain, I can give you one of those pills, too.”

  “Adam says,” Court murmured, teasing.

  Bree sighed. “If you must know, he told me all that stuff last night, okay? When we first heard the attack.”

  Court sipped the soup as he mulled that over. He remembered hearing the gunfire, and the roars, and the screams. He’d been tucked safely in his sleeping bag, Ronnie’s arms around him tight. “You were up?”

  “It woke me up,” Bree admitted. “Didn’t it wake you?”

  Another sip. The answer to Court’s question was hidden in Bree’s words somehow, but it still seemed just out of reach. “Was Adam up already?”

  Bree shook her head. “I don’t think so. Well, I don’t know. I woke up and he was already—”

  “Wait.” Court lowered the Thermos and stared at her. “You two shared a tent?”

  The color flushed back into Bree’s cheeks again, but she straightened and met his gaze. “Yeah, so? You sleep with Ronnie.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Please,” Bree said, propping a hand on her hip. “Okay, so maybe you aren’t screwing each other in there, but you do sleep together.”

  “All we do is sleep,” Court protested.

  Bree ducked into the tent and pointed at Ronnie’s sleeping bag alongside Court’s. “Right up on top of each other.”

  “This isn’t about me,” Court said. “I didn’t know you and Adam were…”

  “You didn’t need to know,” Bree countered. “Besides, you didn’t ask.”

  Court frowned, confused. “I thought you liked me.”

  Sinking to her knees, Bree rocked back on her heels and laughed. “I like you just fine. What, all of a sudden you’re jealous?”

  “No, I…” Court trailed off, unsure. Maybe a little jealous, if he were being honest, but not because he liked her back. No, not in any sexual way at all. But he had liked the idea of her being interested in him, even if he wasn’t going to do anything about it.

  Bree’s gaze softened. “In case you haven’t noticed, mister, it really is the end of the world, and I don’t have the time or the energy to chase after a guy who isn’t interested in being with me.”

  “I never said…” Court started.

  “You didn’t have to,” she replied. “You love Ronnie. You do, don’t deny it. You’ve probably loved him for longer than I’ve even been alive, and you might not even realize it.”

  Court whispered, “No, I do.”

  “Adam asked if I wanted to share his tent,” Bree said. “Simple as that. He’s a nice man, cute, big. My mother would’ve called all her friends to brag about how her daughter finally landed herself a doctor.”

  “Big?” Court asked, surprised.

  Bree gave him a sly wink. “Oh, yeah.”

  Another stab of jealousy tweaked through him. “I would’ve said pudgy.”

  “That’s not fat,” Bree said. “Trust me. He’s big all over.”

  Into his Thermos, Court mumbled, “Size queen.”

  Bree’s eyes flashed a moment, then she grinned. “Damn straight. It may be the end of the world, but I’m not going to settle for anything less. He’s a good eight inches, and thick. I bet Ronnie’s big. Have you seen it?”

  Court choked as the hot soup stuck in his throat. “What? I’m not—God! We’re not talking about this!”

  She laughed while he coughed, his insides burning all the way down to the pit of his stomach. Af
ter a moment, she came over and clapped him on the back, hard. If it was supposed to help him, it didn’t work. Images of Ronnie’s dick filled Court’s mind and refused to disperse. Yes, he’d seen it, numerous times.

  And yes, he’d admit it, Ronnie was big.

  Chapter 8

  Court lay on his back inside his tent, his right leg still straight out in front of him. The tent flap hung open, and Court had asked Bree to help him put on his shoes, because his feet were chilly in socks alone. She sat just outside the tent, prodding the remains of the fire. But she threw him a strange look over her shoulder, then turned to sit sideways, so she could see him on one side and the fire on the other.

  “Where are my shoes?” he prompted.

  She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Full of blood. Ronnie had us bury them so they wouldn’t attract animals or anything.”

  “Bury them?” No wonder Adam had told him to stay off his feet. Without shoes, he couldn’t go anywhere even if he wanted to. Not even out of the tent to take a leak. Which reminded him…

  Don’t think about it, he warned himself, willing the fullness in his bladder away. You can’t stand on your own and do you really want Bree to help you? No. Just no. Wait for Ronnie to get back.

  As if that would be any easier.

  Now that he had admitted the way he felt for his friend, if only to himself, Court wasn’t in any rush to do or say anything that might change the way they were together. He didn’t want to lose what he already had in the hope of turning it into something more. He could live with whatever Ronnie wanted their relationship to be. But he also didn’t need to be putting himself into situations that would make him want more. And standing with his fly down and his dick in his hand while Ronnie held onto him was only asking for trouble.

  Cautiously, Bree asked, “Are you okay?”

  Court pushed himself up on his elbows and stared at her. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just don’t have any fucking shoes and it’s starting to get cold, and we’re out in the middle of the damn woods and I can’t even go take a piss without something on my feet, but otherwise? I’m fine.”

  “Ronnie said he’ll get you another pair,” Bree offered.

  “Yeah, how?” Court shook his head and laughed. “Last time I checked, Wal-Mart was closed. Forever.”

  Bree shrugged as she poked the fire’s dying embers with a stick. “I’m sure he’ll find something. I mean, this is Ronnie we’re talking about. He won’t let you—”

  She cut off in mid-sentence and cocked her head to one side, as if listening to something only she could hear.

  But what Court wanted to hear was whatever she had meant to say after, he won’t let you. He leaned forward as if to prompt her, but when she didn’t take the hint, he asked, “Won’t let me what?”

  “Shh.” In one quick motion, Bree was on her feet, the gun securely in her hand as if it had been there all along. Court hadn’t even heard the rustle of leaves as she stood, she was that fast. Scary fast. Thank God she was the one with the gun.

  As she thumbed off the safety, she looked around the campsite. Court held his breath and waited, but when nothing happened, he dared to ask, “What do you hear?”

  He kept his voice down to a low whisper, but Bree shhed him again. Both hands now gripped the gun, one finger casually resting against the trigger. Court strained to hear anything over the intermittent breeze through the trees. Each gust shook more leaves off their branches, and he’d grown used to the faint sound of leaves settling to the already heavily-littered ground. But now that he was listening, all the sounds around them blended into each other, rustling and sighing and soughing together, creating a cacophony of noise that drowned out everything else. What might be out there, slithering or slinking through the leaves, just beneath the wind, creeping up on them?

  Court turned and looked behind him, half-convinced he would find a knife-wielding monster outlined on the tent’s canvas, or the crouching form of a tiger ready to pounce. But all he saw were dappled shadows cast by the leaves still clinging to the trees. Where was Ronnie already? Shouldn’t he be back by now?

  A crash in the leaves on the other side of the tent made Bree whip around, gun raised. “Adam?” she called out, tentative.

  “What is it? Are they back?” Without waiting for an answer, Court raised his voice. “Ronnie!”

  Bree shook her head and lowered the gun. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait!” Court reached for her, but she was too far away. He watched, incredulous, as she disappeared around the tent and out of sight. “Bree!”

  She was gone. And so was the gun.

  Shit.

  “Bree!” Court tried to yell and keep his voice down at the same time, and his voice sounded almost strangled to his own ears. He heard footsteps in the leaves but they were on the side of the tent, out of view. Suddenly he felt too vulnerable—damn the bullet that had grazed his leg and left him unable to do anything but just sit and wait for whatever might happen. Where had Bree gone off to? Where the hell was Ronnie?

  “Bree!” he called out again, louder this time. The only response was the rustling of the leaves, but whether it was the wind or someone out there just on the other side of his tent, just out of sight, Court didn’t know. He struck his knee in frustration, then winced when the movement made his leg twitch in pain.

  An eternity seemed to pass before a shadow darkened the open tent flap. Court tensed, little good it would do him. How could he hope to fight off anything? He was unarmed—he held an empty Thermos in his hands, and his radio was within reach, but neither of those would serve as much of a weapon. Under his breath, he muttered, “Damn it the hell.”

  “What are you bitching about now?” It was Ronnie’s voice. The shadow took shape as Ronnie leaned into the tent, bringing with him a rush of cool air.

  Relief coursed through Court, but anger followed hard on its heels. “Where’s Bree?”

  “Hello to you, too.” Ronnie tossed something into Court’s lap. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

  Court looked down at the handful of Slim Jims Ronnie had given him. His mouth salivated at the thought of meat—maybe not fresh, but something other than soup or beans. His hands shook as he tore into the first package. “Where’d you find these?”

  “At the 7-11. Where else?”

  Ronnie reached into Court’s lap and snagged one of the Slim Jims. His hand came deliciously close to Court’s crotch. Just a few inches further, Court thought, half-hoping, half-praying. Please, oh please…

  But Ronnie sat back on his heels and concentrated on unwrapping the Slim Jim. If he’d felt anything a moment ago, it was gone now. Court bit into his Slim Jim and the heady spices of the smoked meat filled his nose and throat. Closing his eyes, he leaned back and moaned in delight. “God! So good.”

  More footsteps outside, then Bree asked, “We’re not interrupting anything, are we?”

  Court glared at her, but Ronnie just scooted into the tent flap and made room for her to sit by the fire. Adam sank into view behind her and waved at Court. “How’s the leg feeling?”

  “Better,” Court admitted. “If I had a pair of shoes, I could probably get back on the road sooner rather than later.”

  Ronnie gave him a wry grin. “Yeah, about that…”

  “I heard.” Court took another bite of his Slim Jim, tearing it off viciously with his teeth. “Why couldn’t you just wash them out in the creek? I liked those shoes.”

  “And these jeans.” Ronnie picked at the remaining leg of Court’s pants, then reached for the remaining Slim Jims at his crotch. This time, Court covered Ronnie’s hand with his own, trapping it against his thigh. “You aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Share these, will you?”

  Reluctantly, Court released his grip, and Ronnie passed the last two Slim Jims to Bree and Adam. “So, did you guys find a lot out there?” Bree asked as she peeled open her wrapper.

  “Two things,” Adam told her. “Diddl
y and squat.”

  “You found Slim Jims,” Court prompted. “These would taste delicious with rice. Like in a stir-fry, maybe? You know what I miss? Pepper steak. Little Szechuan out at Crossridge had the best—”

  “Hush.” Ronnie’s voice was low, so soft it barely carried beyond the tent; Court wasn’t even sure if Adam or Bree had heard it. But he did, and he fell silent immediately.

  Bree looked from Court to Ronnie, then turned to Adam. “So where’d you get these?”

  “We got a few things,” Ronnie said.

  As Ronnie chewed, Court watched the muscle in his jaw clench. It should’ve been him out there with Ronnie. He was the one who knew where to look to find things. He’d been doing it for weeks now, months almost. He could barely remember life before this, anything other than living in a tent and scrounging through wrecked cars and destroyed stores in search of something they could call food.

  Softly, chastised now and careful not to ramble on to keep Ronnie from quieting him again, Court asked, “Like what?”

  Ronnie glanced over his shoulder, indicating a spot beyond their tent. “There’s a bag…”

  “I fell and dropped it coming down the hill,” Adam admitted. Finishing off his Slim Jim, he pushed himself up off the ground. “I’ll go get it.”

  “What’d you get?” Bree asked.

  Ronnie shrugged. “A box of cereal. Some sort of health mix, I’m sure no one wanted it. A can of beans—”

  “Ugh,” Court groaned. “I’m so sick of beans.”

  “Yeah, well, there was a fence behind the convenience store,” Ronnie said. “I saw some houses on the other side, but it was getting late. I want to get back over that way tomorrow.”

  Court frowned. “Why? You got everything you could from the store.”

  “I heard something,” Ronnie admitted. “I’m not sure, but I think—”

  “It was a chicken.” Adam reappeared, a small plastic grocery bag in one hand. He gave it to Bree and took his seat beside her again. “I heard it, too.”