Roadtrip Z (Season 3): Pocalypse Road

by Saintcrow, Lilith

  “Uh.” Juju stepped aside, clearing the doorway. “Yeah. So, uh, I’m thinkin that’s best, Lee.” He tried to look anywhere except at Ginny, and if this was a movie, Ginny might have laughed at the screen.

  Lee cleared his throat. Now she could see his expression, and it was, in a word, dumbfounded. The urge to smile rose, but she killed it. Normalcy was called for here.

  Well, it was in short supply everywhere, but she could try.

  Juju apparently took that as agreement, because he motioned Lee inside. “All right, then. Imma turn in.” He all but shoved past the motionless man, the pompom on his hat bouncing, and Ginny could swear he was grinning. “Uh, see ya in the mornin.”

  Ginny gathered herself. “No watch tonight?”

  Lee finally moved, slow as a man in a dream. “Uh.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, nah. We hid the, uh, the cars.”

  “Good. You need the rest. I’m in here tonight.” Why was he just standing there? It was going to be embarrassing if she had to pick another office to overnight in. Rejection wouldn’t kill you, certainly, but it was uncomfortable. “Just sleeping,” she added, hastily. “Nothing else.”

  “Ginny…” He sounded breathless.

  “I need to feel safe.” So do you. Was that a good enough explanation? “If you don’t like it, I can choose another room and—”

  “No.” Lee made it through the door, half-turned, swung it closed. It latched, gently, quietly. He stepped to the side, then again, and turned, and she realized he was deliberately not putting his back to the door or locking it. Whether it was to make sure she didn’t feel trapped, or for some other reason, didn’t matter. Cold blushed his stubbled cheeks, and his hands were raw with the chill.

  Ginny’s heart beat high and thready in her wrists, her ankles, her throat. Traveller nosed at her fingers. She patted the end of her sleeping bag, and the hound hopped onto it, turning around and around like he always did before settling. She’d have to shove her feet underneath him and listen to his groaning before he finally cuddled next to her stomach; this was all part of the nightly ritual. “Good boy,” she told him, and tried not to look at Lee. Her cheeks were afire. “Did you brush your teeth?”

  There was a long pause. “You askin me, or him?” Lee’s voice was rusty. Of course, he hadn’t used it for hours.

  You’re a funny guy, Lee Quartine. Add that to the list of things she liked about him. “You.”

  “Yes ma’am.” He coughed, slightly.

  “Good. Get some rest.” She slid her unlaced boots off and snuggled into her sleeping bag. True to form, Traveller protested, but when she clicked off the LED reading light she used as a nightlamp, he snuggled in his accustomed spot near her right hip.

  Lee moved around with his flashlight, putting things away, finally unrolling his own foam mat and sleeping bag. Once he was settled, she turned on her right side and regarded him, steadily. He lay on his back, his flashlight pointed straight at the ceiling, and his profile was chipped out of some ancient, steady rock, polished just enough to show its bones.

  The flashlight clicked off, and he set it aside with a precise little sound. Traveller sighed, and spread out on his side. Ginny closed her eyes.

  “Goodnight,” she whispered.

  “Night.” Lee cleared his throat again, softly. “Goodnight, darlin.”

  A smile spread through every part of Ginny, blooming like a rose. Outside, the cold rain intensified, the river swelled, and stealthy movement slunk between buildings in the winter dusk.

  COMING SOON

  Stay tuned for Atlanta Bound, the fourth and final season of Roadtrip Z!

  Before the world ended, it generally took four to six hours between Cincinnati and Cleveland, depending on traffic. Now it took two days, even though Lake Erie hadn’t frozen yet and the snow cleared enough they had to take the chains off. Empty cars were everywhere—everyone had tried to get out of town, and road-clearing had fallen further and further down the emergency services priority list.

  On the first afternoon out of Cincinnati, raw grey chill roughened the iron pan of the sky, billows heavy with anticipation but refusing to drop just yet. Crashes clogged the road-arteries, and just outside Columbus was a snarl of deserted checkpoints, most with bullet holes chewed through thin plywood walls—holes they added to when they stopped.

  “That’s right,” Lee Quartine murmured. Nice and easy was the way to handle this. “Now breathe out, and in the middle, squeeze. Don’t pull.”

  Ginny Mills did her best. The gun barked, the recoil went all the way up her shaking arms and if he hadn’t been bracing her, it probably would have flown backward and clocked her a good one.

  Well, maybe not, but in any case, she couldn’t help but squeeze her eyes shut each time she got off a shot. As a result, they went wide.

  Real wide. And each time, she lowered the gun instead of tracking.

  Traveller, in the truck with both windows rolled a third of the way down, yip-howled unhappily. The bluetick coonhound plain hated being put inside and told to stay, but Lee didn’t want him pulling on a leash while someone was aiming. Or, God forbid, goin’ downrange.

  Steph Meacham took a bead next, concentrating so hard her feathery eyebrows almost met in the middle. She had a good stance, nice and braced, and hit what she was aiming at more often than not. Once, twice, thrice, a neat little grouping of holes exploded in the side of a plywood shack set in the left lane ahead of them.

  Each time a gun went off, Ginny flinched. There was just no way around it. Cold wind riffled a stray chestnut curl escaping from her knit cap. Lee stood behind her, his arms on either side of hers, walking her through the motions of checking the gun. “How many shots you got left?”

  “Th-thirteen.” Ginny’s teeth all but chattered. Lean dark Juju Thurgood was coaching Steph, beak-nosed Mark Kasprak leaning in to listen with his gloved hands dangling. Next time they stopped, it would be Mark shooting and Steph observing. They were both coming along right well.

  Ginny was a different story.

  “You get used to it,” Lee said. If there hadn’t been firearms involved, he would have downright enjoyed being so close. Bracing her and teaching her to deal with the recoil had its pleasant parts. “Don’t worry.”

  “I am worried.” She lowered the pistol even further, finger locked conscientiously outside the trigger guard. “I’ve got to get this down.”

  “Well, you’re doin all right far as I can tell.” And she was. She took every safety measure to heart, and didn’t do a damn thing he didn’t tell her specifically to. If only more of the asshole kids coming through basic had been half as careful.

  “You see that?” Mark crowed, hopping in place. “Damn, girl!”

  “Mama always said girls were good shots. Said it was hand-eye coordination.” Steph blinked owlishly, her face smoothing out. “Your turn, Miz Ginny.”

  “I’d rather not.” But she gamely lifted the piece again, and Lee stepped back to give her room this time.

  “Keep yo arm straight,” Juju said.

  “I don’t like guns,” Ginny said through gritted teeth for the fiftieth time, and blam, muzzle flash. This time she actually hit the checkpoint, about shoulder-height on the plywood. “Oh.”

  “Yeah!” Mark cheered. “Now that’s what I’m talkin about!”

  “You’re such a dork,” Steph said, but gently. She wasn’t keeping her distance from the boy anymore, but something had sure enough changed between them.

  “I’m bein supportive,” he popped back at her, with a grin.

  “Check yo clip, Steph.” Juju squinted, glancing back down the freeway. They could get past on the shoulder here, but a crash near the checkpoint had involved fire. Twisted metal corpses stood silent sentinel, charred and dripping with melt. “Comin up on fifteen, Lee.”

  It wasn’t a good idea to stay in one place for a while after making a lot of noise. “Yeah.” Lee checked his half of their surroundings—a modesty screen of wind-torn bushes, a yellow-gras
s embankment crowned with a high fence and the back end of mini-mall. “Ginny, check and clear, now.”

  “Okay.” Her fingers trembled visibly. Still, she popped the clip out and checked the chamber, carefully pointing the business end away from Juju and the kids. “Like that?”

  “Just like that.” He didn’t miss her sigh of relief when she surrendered the gun, or her almost-flinch when he clipped it again and holstered it. “You’re doin all right, Ginny. Learnin just fine.”

  “Great.” She bit at her lower lip, and he was powerfully aware that she’d moved her sleeping bag closer to his last night. He kept meaning to lay awake and listen to her breathing, but as soon as the light was off, he was too, just like the damn dog. It was the best sleep of his life, nevermind the cold office floors. If she curled up next to him again he’d probably snore until spring.

  At least she’d stopped saying sorry each time she shot. Progress was being made.

  “Uh…” Steph said, and pointed ahead, past the abandoned checkpoint, the wrecks, and another thin dribble of abandoned cars. “Mr Thurgood?”

  Juju glanced the way she was looking, and his face hardened, full lips compressing. “Get on in the four-by, kids. Lee?”

  He saw it, too. Shuffling down the middle of the highway, blundering between wrecked cars, its head cocked at that queer angle and its eyes filmy-grey, a walking corpse in tattered desert camouflage dragged its boots along. So far, there was just the one.

  That was why the practice stops were only fifteen minutes long. The noise drew the shuffling, chewing, dead-eyed critters.

  “Pack it up,” Lee said. “Next stop’s t’other side of the city, we’ll find food. And more ammo.”

  “I’m not that bad a shot.” Ginny edged for the truck. Her dark eyes were wide, and Traveller’s yodeling took on a sharper edge.

  Lee caught another flicker of motion near the back of the mini-mall, behind a sagging chainlink fence. “Rather have it and not need it, darlin.”

  “Darlin,” Mark mouthed, and Steph giggled, elbowing him as she lengthened her coltish stride.

  Inside the truck, Ginny held Traveller’s collar and soothed him, petting behind his ears while Lee twisted the key. Juju had scouted a way around this checkpoint and took it, the four-by’s tires crunching on the wet-gravel shoulder, sinking a bit in freezing mud before hauling itself along.

  All told, it wasn’t a bad morning.

  About the Author

  Lilith Saintcrow lives in Vancouver, Washington, and cannot stop writing.

  www.lilithsaintcrow.com