Least Likely To Survive (4 page)

I put the hose back on the pump, closed the gas can and reattached it to the back of the Hummer.  Dragging my feet, I headed to the driver’s side and climbed in.

  Once I was situated, I hit the locks.  Unstrapping my holster, I removed my guns and sword, and after buckling my seatbelt, started the car and steered out, heading back to the highway.

We drove in silence for a lot of miles.  I watched as the landscape around us faded from the winter brown trees and grass, with forest off in the distance, to the softer desert-scape. Soon there were smaller shrubs and dirt, and of course, a tumbleweed here and there.  Occasionally I would sneak a peek at him out of the corner of my eye.

He was by far the most beautiful man I had ever seen up close; 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 could tell with actors.  “The whole crew had been following the news for a couple weeks, but we figured it was just a flu, ya know? We thought we would be safe.  Steve and I were the only ones to make it off set so we thought we’d try to head home.

“We were about out of gas, so we stopped at that place, and Steve took out two of the fuckers inside that tried to jump us, but then we ran out of bullets and grabbed whatever we could.  Then you showed up.”  He finished his study of the back of his hands, and looked back up at me with a blank face.

I couldn’t help but snicker, “A group of grips?  That’s fucking priceless.”

“That whole story of ensuing mayhem and you focus on ‘a group of grips’?” His brow furrowed and I could feel him trying to make sense of me.  I wanted to wish him luck.

“Hey, you’re the one who said it, not me.  Don’t get indignant because you inadvertently cracked a joke.” I sneaked another glance in his direction before tightening my grip on the steering wheel.  I hated myself for not at least putting on mascara before I left the house.

I could feel his eyes on me, studying me as though I were an insect beneath a magnifying glass. Apparently he had come to some conclusion as his expression lost its intensity and said, “Fair enough.  So, Angie, what’s your story?”

I took a deep breath while glancing at him and cast my eyes back to the road as I leaned back into the seat. “I’ve been holed up in my apartment for 3 weeks studying the infected and figuring out the best way to survive this shit. The power went out a couple of days ago so I decided it was time to get the fuck out of dodge.  That’s when I made a pit stop for guns and food, a little Grand Theft Auto, and here I am.  I haven’t been on the road long; I just lived in the northern suburbs of Denver.” I got the whole account out on one long breath, and had to stop to inhale as my lungs had begun to burn.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out his cell and tapped the screen a few times.  He held it up, first one way and then another, “Fuck, no signal.”  He shoved it back into his pocket, and leaned over to the stereo and started pushing buttons.  I watched with interest as he pushed every button, turned every dial, and yet the only sound filling the speakers was the ominous static of white noise.  “Every station off air?  How can every fucking station be off air?!”  I couldn’t hide my amusement at the incredulous tone he took on.  The way he said it sounded as if it were affront to his very nature that the radio could have the audacity to not be playing something;
anything
.

“Well, the world
has
imploded.  Cities are burning, everyone’s dead; I’m sure that includes the broadcasters.”  I wasn’t really trying to be sarcastic, but felt the need to remain on guard anyway.  Famous or not, I didn’t know this guy and for all I knew he could be a mass murderer.

“I’m aware of this; however, wouldn’t you think they would still have some sort of emergency broadcast happening?”  I was mildly impressed with how quickly he lobbed the sarcasm right back at me.

I glanced at him, “Not if they’re all dead.”

He looked at me for a long moment, and then sat back in his seat with a sigh.

Chapter 3:  Sleep Is For the Dead.

The silence stretched on, as did the miles. The sun had finally made its exit behind the mountains to our right and as we passed Raton, New Mexico, I could see the signs that it wouldn’t be long before we crossed into Texas.  I knew at some point we would have to stop.  I had been driving for hours and needed to eat, study the Atlas, and get some rest if I could.  But stop where?  I highly doubted Motel 6 wasn’t going to be infested, and I wasn’t real keen on the idea of exiting the vehicle at all. 

I looked around.  As far as the eye could see, I could only make out the inky blackness of desert, no towns or houses, or any sign of life for that matter.  It was like we had approached the end of the world, or perhaps the gates of Hell would be a more appropriate depiction.  Briefly the thought occurred to me to let him drive, but I surmised that he had probably been up as long as I, if not longer.  I tried to stifle my yawn as my eyes started to burn with exhaustion.

I cleared my throat, “We’re going to have to stop for the night at some point.”

“I could drive,” he offered tentatively, gauging my reaction.  It was obvious he didn’t trust me anymore than I trusted him.

“If I have been awake all day, I’m pretty sure so have you, if not longer.  We both need some rest.” I wanted to take him up on the offer, but the idea of trying to sleep while a stranger drove me fuck-knows-where didn’t sit well with me.

He looked out the window, as if searching for an oasis on the horizon.  “I may never sleep again.  Not after today.” He mumbled almost too quietly for me to catch, but I did.  There was so much pain in his words I could almost feel it.  Maybe I did feel it, which would explain why I had decided to bring him along.

He was tearing at my heartstrings.  I wanted so badly to group him with other celebrities and label him ‘too cool to care’, but there was something so real about him, so human… I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the poor guy and what he had been through. Even though I didn’t really have anyone to mourn, I knew he probably had a family and loved ones out there that were surely piles of chewed up bones by now and I could understand how devastating that would feel.

“It’s been a fucked up day; well, few weeks if we want to get technical, and we both should rest and eat,” I said softly as I struggled to keep my eyes open.

Reaching into the pack of smokes, he pulled one free, and after tapping it on his knee a few times to pack it, put it between his lips, cupped his hands around the end and the lighter and ignited the tip.  He took a deep drag, and on the exhale, “Well, where do you suggest we stop?”

I paused for a moment, still mulling over our options. “I’ve been thinking about that, and while a town is completely out of the question, I think it’s best we just pull off the road and sleep in the car.”

“
In the car?
 
In the middle of nowhere? In the desert?”
He looked at me with eyes wide and mouth dipped into a frown.  I didn’t know a frown could be so hot, but here we were; apparently he was planning on finding a four star hotel in the desert.

I studied his expression for any signs he had been joking and found none. “Yeah.  I think it’s our best bet, unless you have a better idea?” I cocked an eyebrow and waited to hear his brilliant plan.

He studied me for a minute, and shaking his head, “No, you’re probably right.  The car it is.” Turning back to his cigarette, I thought I heard him grumble a complaint, but it was too faint to hear.

Now that it had been decided, I started to look around for a good spot to pull off and spotted one just off to the right.  It was really just a large shoulder to the road, but given the dirt, I knew I could easily make it several yards out where I spied a large group of bushes that would give the Hummer some protection from the road, and possible passers-by.

I turned the wheel, and guided the beast towards said destination.  Feeling I was far enough out, I put the gear in park, and after a few more minutes of us both peering intently out all the windows; ensuring we were well and truly alone, shut off the engine.  It clicked a few times as if to tell me it too, was tired. 

We sat there for some time, surrounded by nothing but darkness, just listening.  I could hear the occasional cricket, but nothing else.  No cars, no footsteps, nor the god awful groans of the infected headed our way.  We were alone, and for the first time all day, somewhat safe.

I leaned around in the driver seat and started to rifle through the back.  I didn’t want to turn on the dome light, fearing it might draw attention, and instead grabbed the flashlight from my pack.  Flipping it on, I rummaged around the shopping bags until my fingers touched upon a few cans of vegetables and fruit, grabbed the can opener, a couple bottles of water, the Atlas, and twisted myself back around in the seat with my loot.  I handed Jack a bottle, and held up a couple of cans.  “We have green beans and corn, or would you prefer the fruit cocktail?”

He grabbed the can of corn, and the can opener. “Thanks.”  He proceeded to twist the top off the water and nearly drained it in one sitting.  Setting the bottle down, he grabbed the can opener and went about the task of opening his corn.

He had been watching me poke around the back with a modicum of curiosity, and now that I was done, “So how is it you managed to find yourself so well stocked?  Were you planning a getaway?” he looked at me with curiosity as he shoved a giant spoonful of corn into his mouth.