Least Likely To Survive Read Online Free PDF

like a punk-rock Brad Pitt.  He had classic chiseled good looks: high cheek bones, Roman nose, and intense hazel eyes.  His hair was about chin length; a light sandy brown color and tucked beneath a hat straight out of Indiana Jones’ closet. He sported a well groomed goatee, and was dressed as I imagined most teenage gas station clerks looked like; complete with torn and weary boot-cut jeans, a T-shirt so old the writing was indiscernible, and a brown leather bomber jacket that had definitely seen better days.  I spotted a few tattoos, but as I was driving, couldn’t really see what they were. There was something dark and broody about him that gave off a ‘world’s sexiest serial killer’ vibe which turned me on just as much as it disturbed me to think so.
    Before we had gotten into the car, I had noted that he was about 6 foot, slim, and reminded me of an aging 70’s rock star.  What struck me though; from the moment he got in, was the aromatic cloud I was assaulted with.  Fuck, did he smell good.  Like God’s vagina.  No one should be allowed to smell that good during the apocalypse.  I felt a little self-conscious at the thought, as I was sure I smelled like I had spent the day working in a poorly ventilated sweat shop. 
    While conducting my sly investigation, it suddenly occurred to me where I knew him from.  I was sitting next to Jack Jones; ridiculously famous movie star and part time musician.  I had seen most of his films, and caught some of his musical performances on YouTube.  I had never been so close to a celebrity this famous before, and I found myself instantly nervous and intrigued.  I decided against telling him straight out that I recognized him and I that I was a fan of his work considering I had just killed his friend.
    The silence stretched on, and I eventually broke down and flipped open a pack of smokes, lit up, and pushed the button to crack my window.
    “Can I bum one of those?”  He finally broke the silence, as most diehard smokers do once nicotine joins the party.
    “Sure, help yourself.” I said as I tried my damnedest to remain calm and collected, so as to not let on that I had discovered who he was.
    “Thanks.”  He reached for the pack, took out a smoke, sparked the end and inhaled deeply.  “Fuck, I really needed that,” was all he said while the smoke slowly billowed from his lips.
    Clearing his throat, he finally looked over at me, “So what’s your name?”  His voice had a low rasp to it, probably from the smoking, and the hint of a southern accent mixed in with…British? It was weird, but not unpleasant to hear.
    “Angela.  Or Angie; makes no difference to me.” I turned and gave him a half smile I hoped didn’t come off as creepy or leering.  My people skills had never been that great.
    “I’m Jack.”  He smiled back at me.  I turned back to the road as quick as possible and hoped he didn’t notice the blush creeping up my neck.
    “I know.  I figured out who you were about an hour ago.” Fuck , I didn’t even make it an hour before letting on I knew who he was. I wanted to bang my head against the steering wheel, but refrained from such an obvious display of admitting my embarrassment. “Which lends the question, what on earth were you doing in bum-fuck Colorado anyway?”  I thought briefly about cleaning up my language, but decided I didn’t really care enough.
    “We were filming when shit hit the fan.”  He turned from me and gazed intently out the window.  I could see his jaw clench, and a vein start to throb in his neck.  If I were a vampire, that would have been totally hot. “We were coming out of my trailer when we were attacked by a fucking group of grips gone mad.  They took down George and Bill, and Steve had the wherewithal to pull out his gun and take out some of the bastards before we made it to the car.”
      Pausing, he looked down at his hands, and I’m pretty sure he may have been fighting tears, but I never