by Dayna Ingram
“She’s right,” I say. “There could be more coming. Let’s head for the state line. Maybe we can catch up with Fury’s convoy.”
“The state line?” Cherry repeats, alarmed. “But—”
“It’s safe now, Cherry.” I pat her shoulder. “No worries.”
Brad and Cherry help Renni into the backseat, as she’s developed a limp, favoring her left knee either as a result of a zombie bite or Cherry’s poor spatial judgment with the Jeep. They sit on either side of her, Brad pleasantly quiet, Cherry talking nonstop. Carmelle slips into the driver’s seat, abandoning her rifle for the steering wheel and speeding us down the road, careful not to run over the bodies of the pseudo-zombies. Cherry explains to us how she finally met up with Carmelle, and how none of them felt right about leaving me behind, especially after hearing the news report and plans for burning out the city. The three of them went to the hospital and found the tunnels that led to the high school boiler room.
“We heard all this noise upstairs, but when we got up there no one was around,” Cherry says. “It was really creepy. Also, hey, do you remember Randal Simmons from your fifth period English class in ninth grade? His picture’s up in the case outside the principle’s office; he’s totally a senator now or something. Isn’t that weird? Anyway, we got to the gym, and we found all these weapons and this Jeep, and Carmelle was like, we have to keep going, and so then we just drove, and then we heard all these, like, zombies moaning, and we just followed them, and there you guys were. Isn’t that awesome? How everything worked out so well?”
I avoid looking at Renni in the rearview mirror as Carmelle releases the gearshift to take my hand. Carmelle smiles at me, and I smile at her. I try to explain about the pseudo-zombies and Nick Fury and how everything is okay now, at least as far as us being able to get out and not becoming zombies goes, but my words get muddled, and everyone just kind of accepts that they’ll have to wait to fully understand.
We pull onto the main road, and I see taillights up ahead. Our convoy. As we near them, Carmelle slows down and shifts into first gear. She clears her throat, and licks her lips. “So, baby,” she says to me. “In this time apart, I’ve had some time to think. And what I was thinking was…. Well, how do you feel about open relationships?”
This time, I let my eyes wander to the rearview mirror. I catch Renni’s eyes there, and watch her lip curl up at the corner as she slips on her miraculously intact sunglasses. Being now well-versed in the facial quirks of Renni Ramirez, I return her smirk.
“I don’t know, Carmelle. How do you feel about long-distance ones?”
THE END
About the Author
Dayna Ingram grew up in Ohio and has since moved to the Bay Area, where she spends most of her time workin’, schoolin’, and forcin’ her dog to wear sweater vests. For more info on her writing projects, visit thedingram.blogspot.com.
BrazenHead: exceptional novellas of queer speculative fiction
No. 1: Eat Your Heart Out by Dayna Ingram (2011)
sentenceandparagraph.com/brazenhead
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