early thirties, with black hair shaved close to their scalps and dark chocolate eyes. If seeing double didn’t disorient me enough when I ran into them four months back, their creepy twin powers sure as hell did. Like the ones they’re displaying right now.
Steps taken in unison, matching camouflage pants, black boots and green shirts, plus the uncanny ability to complete each other’s sentences. It’s like those freaky dead chicks in The Shining demanding to, ‘come and play with them.’ Two words for you, fuck no. Danny’s trike tires would have left burn marks on the carpet if it had been me peddling away.
Carlos taking up the lead says, “We aren’t opposed to leaving per se...”
“It’s that we’re wondering where we’re gonna end up,” Oscar finishes.
John looks to me, but I just shrug, so he continues on to Cory whose no better help. Cory looks like hell would be a welcome option, not that the broody bastard talks much anyway. I’m still racking my brain to make up a destination when I hear John announce one word.
“South.”
“South?” I hiss. “What the fuck is in the south? Toothless wheezers?”
“Now that you mention it...” John trails off and I punch him hard on the shoulder. “What? It would be an added bonus.”
“Don’t knock the south boys,” Cory drawls from behind us. “Grandpa Ben may have had no teeth, but you’d have lost yours to his shot gun if he heard you insult his beloved Texas.”
I’m too stunned to reply because, hard ass, silent Cory just willingly offered up a sliver of his family history after eleven months with us. The two-tour Iraq War veteran found John and me soon after we started leaving the apartment to gather more food, almost six months after the order to sit tight and wait out the outbreak. He’d been alone, and for who knows how long on account of his refusal to talk about it.
All we know for certain by word of mouth is his name is Cory Prescott; his prior occupation was an army sergeant, and his age of 26. And he’s about as willing to give up more information about himself, as a horse is going to the glue factory; so we’ve given up on asking. But he’s a cool dude, and knows his shit, so we let it slide. His ability to kick our ass with both hands tied behind his back while blindfolded, may or may not be another reason that we leave him be.
The rest we gathered about him was entirely from observation. He’s got a couple inches of height on me with his 6’4” to my 6’2”, but I’ve got him in weight by about twenty pounds on account of his leaner muscle. Cory has a real knack for hunting, is a master at throwing knives; which he gratefully passed on to me, the stealth of a cheetah, and the ultimate bonus? His ability to nail a target, with fatal accuracy, from both long and short range.
Once John’s successfully picked his mouth off the floor from shock, he shakes his head and replies, “I meant no disrespect to your toothless grand pappy, I was merely suggesting we head south before winter. You know, follow the Canadian Geese?” Cory nods to say he understands John’s true motive of going south is to not in fact wrestle his toothless, possibly wheezer grand pappy, but the advantages of climate change. Before continuing, John shakes his head in mourning.
“If only they were as fierce as their birds, they might have lasted longer. Too bad they were so damn passive.” Ending his eulogy, John turns and faces the crowd again. “So, who’s up for a road trip?”
<~~~<~~~ ~~~>~~~>
Chapter Four:
Apparently, no one is.
Cries of outrage come from the hen house, a group containing Kelly and her two best friends for life, as of this minute anyway, Marissa and Chelsea. The trio are all in their early-mid twenties and as thick as thieves, that is, until John flashes an undirected smile their way. That’s when it gets interesting. Claws similar to the wheezers come out, hair is pulled, insults hurled, fat lips and crying
Steps taken in unison, matching camouflage pants, black boots and green shirts, plus the uncanny ability to complete each other’s sentences. It’s like those freaky dead chicks in The Shining demanding to, ‘come and play with them.’ Two words for you, fuck no. Danny’s trike tires would have left burn marks on the carpet if it had been me peddling away.
Carlos taking up the lead says, “We aren’t opposed to leaving per se...”
“It’s that we’re wondering where we’re gonna end up,” Oscar finishes.
John looks to me, but I just shrug, so he continues on to Cory whose no better help. Cory looks like hell would be a welcome option, not that the broody bastard talks much anyway. I’m still racking my brain to make up a destination when I hear John announce one word.
“South.”
“South?” I hiss. “What the fuck is in the south? Toothless wheezers?”
“Now that you mention it...” John trails off and I punch him hard on the shoulder. “What? It would be an added bonus.”
“Don’t knock the south boys,” Cory drawls from behind us. “Grandpa Ben may have had no teeth, but you’d have lost yours to his shot gun if he heard you insult his beloved Texas.”
I’m too stunned to reply because, hard ass, silent Cory just willingly offered up a sliver of his family history after eleven months with us. The two-tour Iraq War veteran found John and me soon after we started leaving the apartment to gather more food, almost six months after the order to sit tight and wait out the outbreak. He’d been alone, and for who knows how long on account of his refusal to talk about it.
All we know for certain by word of mouth is his name is Cory Prescott; his prior occupation was an army sergeant, and his age of 26. And he’s about as willing to give up more information about himself, as a horse is going to the glue factory; so we’ve given up on asking. But he’s a cool dude, and knows his shit, so we let it slide. His ability to kick our ass with both hands tied behind his back while blindfolded, may or may not be another reason that we leave him be.
The rest we gathered about him was entirely from observation. He’s got a couple inches of height on me with his 6’4” to my 6’2”, but I’ve got him in weight by about twenty pounds on account of his leaner muscle. Cory has a real knack for hunting, is a master at throwing knives; which he gratefully passed on to me, the stealth of a cheetah, and the ultimate bonus? His ability to nail a target, with fatal accuracy, from both long and short range.
Once John’s successfully picked his mouth off the floor from shock, he shakes his head and replies, “I meant no disrespect to your toothless grand pappy, I was merely suggesting we head south before winter. You know, follow the Canadian Geese?” Cory nods to say he understands John’s true motive of going south is to not in fact wrestle his toothless, possibly wheezer grand pappy, but the advantages of climate change. Before continuing, John shakes his head in mourning.
“If only they were as fierce as their birds, they might have lasted longer. Too bad they were so damn passive.” Ending his eulogy, John turns and faces the crowd again. “So, who’s up for a road trip?”
<~~~<~~~ ~~~>~~~>
Chapter Four:
Apparently, no one is.
Cries of outrage come from the hen house, a group containing Kelly and her two best friends for life, as of this minute anyway, Marissa and Chelsea. The trio are all in their early-mid twenties and as thick as thieves, that is, until John flashes an undirected smile their way. That’s when it gets interesting. Claws similar to the wheezers come out, hair is pulled, insults hurled, fat lips and crying
Similar Books
Distant Choices
Brenda Jagger
The Unit
Terry DeHart
Brooklyn Girls
Gemma Burgess
Head Spinners
Thalia Kalkipsakis
Infandous
Elana K. Arnold
Peter and the Shadow Thieves
Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson
HerEternalWarrior
Marisa Chenery
A Shot at Freedom
Kelli Bradicich
Infected 8: Impulse: A Whole New Day
P. S. Power
Substitute Bride
Margaret Pargeter