seemed concerned, straining at her leash to reach me.
“I lied,” Tony said. “I thought they were going to roast us over a spit. Figured you shouldn’t see it.”
Graybeard pulled a face. “Not sure I’d roast you up. Y’all look kind of diseased, no offense intended.”
What the hell, dude? I started to take offense, only to realize that Tony and Dax were still covered in their hive-like marks. I glanced at my hands and knew I hadn’t escaped it, either. “We splashed through something the other day,” I said, feeling an instinctual need to inform them I was not carrying some freakish superbug. “We don’t have smallpox or anything. Well, I don’t. Tony might.”
“Hey!”
Graybeard looked between us. “I’m relieved to hear it, miss, but we’re still not going to eat you.”
“Vibeke,” Tony said, “next time potential cannibals think we’re diseased…please let them continue to entertain that fantasy.”
It hurt to nod, so I gave him the finger.
Graybeard chuckled. “You guys are funny…you could start your own comedy troupe.”
“I hear most of Hollywood is gone,” Tony said. “We could probably corner the market.”
Dax scowled at him, but had his hands full controlling the prancing Evie.
A low, menacing rumble split the air, and all of us looked at the doors in alarm. Graybeard seized Tony’s upper arm and gave him a harsh shove toward the back of the store. “You guys better split. Blair’s gang has been fighting with Rattler’s, and God help us all if they’ve decided to pick on us.”
Blair? Rattler? The bikers yesterday had been afraid of someone named Root Canal. How many biker gangs were we dealing with?
I managed to get to my knees. Dax extended a hand and helped me wobble to my feet. My rifle found its way back over my shoulder, and Dax pressed my backpack into my hands. “Who are Blair and Rattler?” he asked.
“They’re sort of local warlords,” the younger one said, taking my other arm and hauling me firmly toward the back of the store.
Local warlords? “I didn’t know we had those in the Midlands Cluster,” I said.
Graybeard quickened his pace. “Yeah, well, Blair’s been trying to induct us into his little gang. Wants our store. He and Rattler both want Plum Street, and of the two…I’d rather deal with Rattler. Seems like people Blair is displeased with get reduced to component parts, if you catch my drift.”
“More biker gangs,” I groaned.
Graybeard turned to narrow his eyes at me. “ We were a biker gang,” he said, gesturing to his companions. “Those bastards out there are just assholes with bikes.”
Well, I was glad we could make that distinction.
The rumbling sound grew louder. I would’ve assumed my poor, damaged brain was creating auditory hallucinations, had Graybeard’s eyes not gotten wider. “Look, you can take what you found. I ain’t about to come between a lady and her sanitary napkins, but you gotta scram.”
Tony and Dax both looked at me the way a woman looks at a cockroach. “What?” I snapped, trying to follow the younger biker without tripping. “It’s just in case. And you’re grown men. You’ve probably bought them for girlfriends.”
“I’m going with the South Park gospel on this one,” Tony said. “Bleeding for five days and not dying is just unnatural.”
“Do you think the revenants can smell it?” Dax asked.
This is what happens when you spend the apocalypse with two guys.
“They aren’t bloodhounds,” I said.
Tony peered at me suspiciously. “How do you know? Did the good doctors test that theory?”
The rumbling reverberated throughout the entire store, rattling the shelves and bouncing off my already-fragile eardrums. I almost doubled over, but Graybeard’s buddy kept me moving. “They’re still a ways off,” he said, “but they’re coming.”
We followed them through the vitamin aisle. On impulse, I reached out and grabbed a couple bottles of vitamin D,
“I lied,” Tony said. “I thought they were going to roast us over a spit. Figured you shouldn’t see it.”
Graybeard pulled a face. “Not sure I’d roast you up. Y’all look kind of diseased, no offense intended.”
What the hell, dude? I started to take offense, only to realize that Tony and Dax were still covered in their hive-like marks. I glanced at my hands and knew I hadn’t escaped it, either. “We splashed through something the other day,” I said, feeling an instinctual need to inform them I was not carrying some freakish superbug. “We don’t have smallpox or anything. Well, I don’t. Tony might.”
“Hey!”
Graybeard looked between us. “I’m relieved to hear it, miss, but we’re still not going to eat you.”
“Vibeke,” Tony said, “next time potential cannibals think we’re diseased…please let them continue to entertain that fantasy.”
It hurt to nod, so I gave him the finger.
Graybeard chuckled. “You guys are funny…you could start your own comedy troupe.”
“I hear most of Hollywood is gone,” Tony said. “We could probably corner the market.”
Dax scowled at him, but had his hands full controlling the prancing Evie.
A low, menacing rumble split the air, and all of us looked at the doors in alarm. Graybeard seized Tony’s upper arm and gave him a harsh shove toward the back of the store. “You guys better split. Blair’s gang has been fighting with Rattler’s, and God help us all if they’ve decided to pick on us.”
Blair? Rattler? The bikers yesterday had been afraid of someone named Root Canal. How many biker gangs were we dealing with?
I managed to get to my knees. Dax extended a hand and helped me wobble to my feet. My rifle found its way back over my shoulder, and Dax pressed my backpack into my hands. “Who are Blair and Rattler?” he asked.
“They’re sort of local warlords,” the younger one said, taking my other arm and hauling me firmly toward the back of the store.
Local warlords? “I didn’t know we had those in the Midlands Cluster,” I said.
Graybeard quickened his pace. “Yeah, well, Blair’s been trying to induct us into his little gang. Wants our store. He and Rattler both want Plum Street, and of the two…I’d rather deal with Rattler. Seems like people Blair is displeased with get reduced to component parts, if you catch my drift.”
“More biker gangs,” I groaned.
Graybeard turned to narrow his eyes at me. “ We were a biker gang,” he said, gesturing to his companions. “Those bastards out there are just assholes with bikes.”
Well, I was glad we could make that distinction.
The rumbling sound grew louder. I would’ve assumed my poor, damaged brain was creating auditory hallucinations, had Graybeard’s eyes not gotten wider. “Look, you can take what you found. I ain’t about to come between a lady and her sanitary napkins, but you gotta scram.”
Tony and Dax both looked at me the way a woman looks at a cockroach. “What?” I snapped, trying to follow the younger biker without tripping. “It’s just in case. And you’re grown men. You’ve probably bought them for girlfriends.”
“I’m going with the South Park gospel on this one,” Tony said. “Bleeding for five days and not dying is just unnatural.”
“Do you think the revenants can smell it?” Dax asked.
This is what happens when you spend the apocalypse with two guys.
“They aren’t bloodhounds,” I said.
Tony peered at me suspiciously. “How do you know? Did the good doctors test that theory?”
The rumbling reverberated throughout the entire store, rattling the shelves and bouncing off my already-fragile eardrums. I almost doubled over, but Graybeard’s buddy kept me moving. “They’re still a ways off,” he said, “but they’re coming.”
We followed them through the vitamin aisle. On impulse, I reached out and grabbed a couple bottles of vitamin D,
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