Least Likely To Survive (5 page)

“Not exactly,” I had the Atlas open in my lap and was studying the roads of New Mexico, trying to decipher the best route to south Texas.  “I did pack the bag before I left the house, but the rest I acquired at a gun store and grocer I stopped at.”

“You stopped, while being chased by zombies, for groceries?” he stared at me with his mouth open slightly; I could see chewed up corn still in the back of his mouth.

“And guns.”

“So you really do have a plan.”  This wasn’t a question; he had apparently come to some sort of realization about me as he went back to chewing thoughtfully.

“Told you I did.  Did you not believe me?”  I was somewhat indignant at that point at having my survival skills questioned by a guy who didn’t do his own stunts. 

“Well, it seemed possible, what with the guns and such, but I still haven’t figured out how Texas plays into things.”  He scraped the bottom of the can for the last few kernels before tossing the empty can into the plastic bag I had set out for trash.  The questions swirling around his expressive features weren’t lost on me.

It occurred to me that at some point, I would need to make a choice.  Should I clue him in?  What if he thinks I’m nuts and leaves anyway?  Did I want him to go with me?  Well, yeah; no one really wants to be the last person alive, and who better but incredible eye candy to be stuck with?  I wasn’t thinking of making a move, or anything as preposterous as that, but he was pretty to look at.  Besides, the last segment of my plot was going to be extremely difficult with just one person.  I made up my mind to see if he was game.

With a great heaving sigh, the likes of which any teenager who has been found out would approve of, I put down the Atlas and turned to face him.  “I’ve had a plan all along, I mean since before it actually happened.  I watch a lot of movies and I’ve always been fascinated with zombie movies in particular, and kind of had an idea of what I would do if it ever actually happened. You know those private islands in the Caribbean?”

“Yeah, a couple of my friends have places out there.”

Of course they did.  “Well, it being the apocalypse and all, I’d wager they’re deserted.”

“And….?” Jack let this word stretch on until the end of time.  He ended it on a high note; which would suggest it was a question, but it felt more like an accusation.

Trying to remain patient, and mask my growing irritation, “And what?  That’s where I’m going.  I figure I’ll head to the gulf, hijack a sailboat, and sail to an island.”

“Why would you think to go there?  Why not one of the, what do you call it?  Safe Zones?”  The look on his face would make you think that was the most logical conclusion in the world, and he was just humoring my brand of lunacy out of sheer curiosity.  Or maybe boredom.

My eyes narrowed, and I felt my temper about to flare.  I really fucking hate it when people look at me like I’m crazy.  They’re probably right, but it irked me nonetheless. “Think about it: most are extremely secluded; have luxury accommodations; are solar-powered; relatively easy to maintain water filtration systems…” I trailed off hoping he would get the point of what I was getting at.

“So you just planned to invade someone’s island? And what? Live there for the duration?”  A gleam started in his eye, and for a moment I started to think he may be catching on to the overall value of this plan.

“Well the duration of this shit, at least.  I figure zombies aside; they’re still human, and they still need to eat to survive.  Food will run out eventually, and they’ll die.  They can’t possibly be fucking immortal.”  I turned back to the Atlas, congratulating myself on the brilliance of my plan.

He looked down at his lap for a moment before clearing his throat; the way people only do when they’re about to say something awful as delicately as possible. “Are you aware that you may be slightly deranged?  I mean, it’s all just a bit sideways; yeah?”  He didn’t let me down with that statement.

My head shot up at that, and I couldn’t stop the anger from flaring in my eyes, as they narrowed at him.  “I don’t see
you
coming up with anything better.” I was fast losing my patience with him.  Obviously he was just another arrogant actor, placed on my path to piss me off.

He held up his hands in the classic surrender stance, “Point taken.  Okay, it may be crazy, but count me in.  If anything, at least it will be entertaining to see.  So do you know how to sail?”  I couldn’t help but notice how sly he thought he was at the subject change.  Apparently skillfully redirecting a pissed off woman was another of his many talents. 

“Nope. But I’ve been studying on the internet, and I’m pretty sure I can figure out how to untie it from the dock and move it away from land.  I’ll figure out the rest as I go.”  I shrugged and looked down into my partially empty can of fruit cocktail.  Even I knew how crazy it sounded, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

He burst out laughing at my admission and took off his hat to run his fingers through his hair the same way people do when presented with insanity. “Fuck.  We are completely fucked.  I mean, royally.”

“Do
you
know how to sail?  Surely a big famous guy like
you
has a boat,” I felt the need to drench my words in the sweetest brand of sarcasm I could muster.  After all, the guy had insulted me quite a bit in a very short amount of time.

Jack cast down his eyes, muttering under his breath, “I have a yacht.”

“And who sails this yacht?
Hmm
?” I said with sugar-coated venom as I batted my eyelashes.

Cough.  More throat clearing. “The crew...”

“So you have a yacht, which you don’t sail, but pay others to do for you, and you have the balls to question my ability to maneuver a small vessel?”  My face lit up with a victorious grin; I had backed him into a corner.  I knew I had hit the target, smack in the middle with that one, and the feeling was akin to the first time I passed level three on Super Mario 3; fucking triumphant.  Then I remembered the severity of the situation and wiped the grin from my face.  Everyone we had ever known or loved was probably dead at that point, and here I was acting like an arrogant douche.

“Touché.”  Jack set his jaw in defeat and grabbed another cigarette, lighting it as he leaned back in his seat closing his eyes.  “I could really use a fucking beer right about now.”

I looked at him for a moment contemplating an apology over my attitude, but I couldn’t really find the words. Instead, I reached into the back and grabbed a couple of Coronas out of the case.  I knew drinking while driving wasn’t the best idea, but figured we’d live, as we were parked for the night and all.

I silently offered him the beer, and as he caught sight of it, his eyes lit up and a shit-eating grin spread across his face.  “Well I’ll be damned.  You really are fucking prepared for anything.”  With a heart-stopping wink at me, he grabbed the bottle and reached into a pocket producing a set of keys.  I watched with fascination as he used a miniature bottle opener on the ring to pop the top off.  He then handed me the keys without looking and took a long swig of the beer.  “Shit, that’s the best fucking stuff I’ve tasted all day.  Even piss warm it’s sublime.”

I popped the cap off my own bottle, and handed him the keys back.  I took a hearty swig myself, and felt every muscle and ligament in my body ease, as though I had been on high alert all day.  I suppose I had.

After a few more gulps he looked over at me, “So you managed to procure food
and
beer?” The approval on his face was hard to miss, as was the beat my heart skipped.  Spending the end of the world with him might not be so bad after all.

“Well the beer sort of came with the car,” I started sheepishly, “So did the bag of reef in the glove box.”  I looked away to hide the redness creeping into my cheeks and stared out my window.

“No shit?  You have smoke too?!  Let’s fucking light it!”  I could hear the excitement leeching from him like a tangible thing as he fiddled with the latch on the glove box.

Even as I longed to do that very thing, I knew it wasn’t the wisest idea at the moment. “I don’t think it’s wise to risk being mentally altered while we’re on the run from raving cannibals.  We can smoke when we’re safe,” I replied with a sigh of shared disappointment.

Jack made a grumbling sound in the back of his throat that I took as agreement. “Do you think we ever will be safe?  I mean, what if it’s just us, like we’re the last two people alive, and it’s only a matter of time before they get us too?”  I couldn’t fault his logic.  I had wondered upon the same thing myself.  I watched out the corner of my eye as he reclined his seat and leaning back, tipped his hat over his eyes.

“Jack?”

“Yeah Ang?” he grumbled back at me without turning his head.

“What do you think the world is gonna be like when this is all over?  I mean, do you think it’ll go back to the way it was, and we can all go back to our lives like it never happened?”  I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted him to answer that, as I was pretty damn sure I already knew the answer, but the scared little kid in me held out hope for some reassurance.

He reached up and pushed the hat off his face and turned to look straight at me.  “No matter how it ends, things will never be the same.” There was sympathy in his eyes; even in the darkness of the Hummer I could see that he felt the same way I did: lost.  His voice was gentle as he continued, “Most of the planet is fucking dead, or soon will be.  No, I don’t think any of us who survive this will ever be normal or okay again.”

We stared at each other for a moment before we both turned away.  The silence was heavier than his words.  I knew he was right; I knew the world would never be the same, but goddamn it, I hated that fact more than I hated fingerprints on glass.  And few things in this world will make me foam at the mouth with rage more than fingerprints on glass. 

As his words continued to sink in, I felt the first few tears start to slide down my cheeks; wetting my lips.  I wiped them away as fast as they fell; I didn’t want Jack to see.  It’s like my emotions were hardwired to my tear ducts, and any intense emotion always makes me cry.  I really didn’t want to cry in front of Jack.  After all, I was the chick with the guns, weed and beer that had saved his life; it just wouldn’t do.

I leaned my head back against the headrest and let my eyes finally close.  I had no idea what I was doing, or how to get where we needed to go, but decided I could figure that out tomorrow.  As I fell into a dreamless and restless sleep, a final thought floated across my mind:
“Will surviving the end of the world be worth it?”

Chapter 4:  On the Road Again.

I woke slowly as the sun was cresting over the sands.  For a brief moment I couldn’t remember where I was, or why I was there, and then it all came rushing back to me.  I cracked open my eyelids and peered out the window trying to clear the fog.  It was early, much earlier than I was used to waking up, but then I also wasn’t accustomed to waking up in a car either.

I reached down and picked up my glasses, checking the lenses for spots before seating them on my nose.  Turning my head to the right, I caught sight of Jack.  He was still snoring away, and sometime during the night his hat had fallen from his face.  Even in sleep, his features were twisted in a frown, and I could see the deep laugh lines bordering his mouth.  I wasn’t a Super Fan or anything, so I didn’t know how old he was, but guessed he had to be mid-forties.

“Jack, wake up,” I shook his shoulder gently.

“Huh? What the…?”  His eyes shot open and he bolted upright in the seat, whirling towards me.  He caught sight of my face, and after a moment’s pause, relaxed and sat back.  “Oh.  Hey.  Is it time to go?”  He mumbled as he rubbed his face and rolled his neck.

“Probably soon.  At the very least, we need to wake up and get on with the day.”  I reached down and grabbing my water, took a big swig and swirled it around the desert my mouth had become.  Setting it back down, I reached around to the back and hauled my pack up to the front, placing it in my lap.  Opening the zippered pouch on the front, I grabbed my toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant.  Zipping the bag back up, I tossed it back into the backseat and proceeded to strap into my gun holster.

“Where are you going?” The alarm was clear in his voice at my apparent intention of getting out of the car.

“Really?  I would have thought the toothbrush would be a dead giveaway.”  I tried to shrug off his concern with what I was hoping was playful sarcasm and a smile.

Shooting a death glare at me he replied, “Are you always so cantankerous in the morning?”

My smile became genuine at his use of such a word at this time of day.  Clearly this guy was literate.  “Yes, unless coffee enters the picture.  And seeing as how there is no Starbucks out here; today may be difficult for me.”

He ran his hands through his hair and half-smiled at me.  “Yeah, not having coffee is going to be a bitch.”  He looked down at the items in my hands, and the small armory I was strapping on, “Um, can I go with you out there?  Or at least have a gun?”

I paused for a moment, feeling a little greedy at not wanting to give up any of my guns, and then chastened myself for being selfish.  “Here,” I handed him the Ruger and the Benelli.  “Six guns is probably a bit much for me anyway.”