Come Whatever Storms

by J. M. Snyder

  She stood a few yards away, a told you so grin on her face. “I said knock, knock. That was sort of your clue to stop doing anything you didn’t want me to see.”

  “Too late,” Court muttered. He glanced at Ronnie, who had grabbed the other bath towel and was now drying off with it. “We’re not even dressed here!”

  Bree scoffed, “Please. I’ve seen a penis before.”

  Still, Court wasn’t about to dress with her watching. “What do you want?”

  “I just wanted to let you guys know we were back.” She looked at Ronnie, who was squatting in the sand by their backpacks, pulling out clean clothes.

  Court frowned. “Where’d you go?”

  “Got another chicken,” Bree said. An impish grin flickered across her face. “So see, we were both getting some cock this afternoon.”

  Court felt his face burn with embarrassment. “We didn’t—I mean…it’s none of your business!”

  She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Someone’s a bit touchy.”

  “Just go away!” Court cried. He looked at Ronnie for back-up, but his friend was stepping into a pair of fresh underwear and didn’t seem the least bit bothered that Bree stood nearby, watching. “Ronnie…”

  “You better go.” Ronnie snapped the briefs into place and gave Bree a sardonic smirk. “He doesn’t want you seeing his penis.”

  Court whirled on his friend. “Hey!”

  “I don’t see what the big deal is,” Bree muttered. “They all look basically the same.” But she turned and disappeared back into the woods, heading for their camp and leaving the two men alone on the shore to get dressed.

  Court pouted as Ronnie handed him a pair of clean underwear to put on. “It doesn’t bother you she was probably watching us for a while before she said anything?”

  “Bother me how?” Ronnie asked, pulling on a pair of jeans.

  Court leaned on Ronnie’s arm as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other to dress. “She was just standing there.”

  He was having some difficulty with his briefs; he could step into one leg, but the other foot didn’t seem to want to go in right. His toes kept catching on the fabric, and he couldn’t stand long enough on his injured leg to free them. He fell forward but caught himself, toes still snagged in the briefs. He tried again, kicking his leg, and almost tumbled to the ground.

  Finally Ronnie grabbed the underwear and, with one swift tug, pulled them up into place. He snapped the waistband, then smacked Court’s butt. “You’re a bit of a prude, you know?” he asked with a grin. “I bet you and Jeanine never even had sex with the light on, did you?”

  Court bristled at his friend’s words. “We did,” he said, though to be honest, now that he tried to remember, he couldn’t recall one instance when he had actually seen his wife when they made love. It had usually been in the bedroom after dark, lights out, both of them already in bed when the mood struck. And, if Court were honest, more than once he had thought of Ronnie when he came. It hadn’t been fair to Jeanie, to be sure, but he wondered if maybe she hadn’t had a few fantasies of her own he had known nothing about.

  “I’m just kidding,” Ronnie murmured, planting a quick kiss high up on Court’s cheek, right in front of his ear. The peck was damp and hot, and sent a shiver of delight down Court’s spine. Then Ronnie held out Court’s new pair of jeans, waist open so Court could step into them. “Bree doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Come on, step in. Your dick is quite cute.”

  Placing his hands on Ronnie’s shoulders, Court stepped into the jeans. His face burned with the complement. “You think?”

  Ronnie lunged playfully at Court’s crotch, his lips barely brushing over the tight white briefs hiding Court’s dick from sight. The movement started Court so much, he really did trip backward, this time landing flat on the sand with Ronnie on top of him. Pinned to the ground, Court found himself staring up into his friend’s pale eyes that seemed to dance with mirth. “I know,” Ronnie murmured, tugging up Court’s jeans as he claimed a kiss.

  Chapter 10

  That evening, Court wore only his underwear as he lay on his stomach on his sleeping bag and fiddled with the knobs on the radio. “This thing never comes in,” he complained, trying to tune into something other than static.

  Ronnie was on his back beside Court, his sleeping bag right up alongside his friend’s. He stared up at the darkness above them—the tent was lit with only a single flashlight, and anything higher than two feet off the ground disappeared into the night. He ate a protein bar, chewing slowly, almost thoughtfully. Court wondered what he might be able to say or do to get back to the tender moments they had shared by the creek earlier in the day, but he didn’t want to rush things. He was happy just to have Ronnie near him, and the anticipation of their next kiss was almost as delicious as the real thing itself.

  Now, as Court messed around with the radio, Ronnie glanced over from the corner of his eye without turning his head. “If you just left it where we heard the transmission last, you wouldn’t miss anything,” he pointed out.

  “I think it changes,” Court said. He wasn’t sure, but it seemed to him that he had picked up the transmissions from Sumter on different frequencies. “Maybe they’re sending it out on different stations to make sure everyone hears it.”

  “Everyone who?” Ronnie asked. “There aren’t many of us left.”

  Frustrated, Court set the radio aside and turned down the volume so the static was only faint white noise almost too low to hear. Folding his arms beneath his head, he faced Ronnie and studied his friend’s profile in the dim light. “How many do you think?”

  Ronnie’s jaw worked as he chewed his protein bar. After a long moment, he shrugged. “How many what?”

  “People left.” Court rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his hand. “You, me, Bree, and Adam. That’s four.”

  Ronnie gave Court a sardonic look from the corner of his eye. “How should I know?”

  “The others we were with,” Court said, trying to remember them. The only one who stood out in his mind was the guy who had called himself Dizzy. “How many were there, do you remember? Like twenty or so?”

  “About that.” Ronnie took another bite of the protein bar and stared up into the apex of the tent. “When the virus first hit, the news said the survival rate was zero.”

  “That’s bullshit. We survived.” Court reached over and pinched off a piece of Ronnie’s bar for himself. He popped it into his mouth, and instantly regretted it. The thing was tasteless and thick and chewy, and as soon as he swallowed it, he wanted to wash it down with something.

  As Court leaned back to grab his water bottle, Ronnie pointed out, “We didn’t survive it. Neither of us ever got sick. So really we just didn’t catch it. Everyone who did, died.”

  Court’s water bottle was against his side of the tent, standing up amid the small pile of his belongings—his backpack, some folded clothes, an empty Thermos once full of soup he had forgotten to give back to Bree. He grabbed the plastic bottle and rolled back toward Ronnie. Unscrewing the cap, he drank deeply from it, then sighed. “I don’t know how you can eat those nasty things. Water?”

  Ronnie shook his head. This time he stared Court down as he took another bite of the protein bar, as if to make a point.

  Sipping from the bottle, Court pursed his lips and spit a short stream of water from between his front teeth. When they had been in school, they used to call that gleeking. He used to be pretty good at it, but apparently as he grew older, the small gap in his teeth had narrowed, and now he just managed to get a pitifully small spray to arc out. It landed on Court’s own bedding, not on Ronnie, though he wiped the side of his face anyway. “Stop that, will you?” Ronnie muttered. “I said I didn’t want any.”

  Court snickered, then sputtered and choked as the water in his mouth went down the wrong pipe. He started coughing, and when Ronnie laughed, he laughed, too, which made him cough more. His throat ached as he struggled to catch his b
reath.

  It seemed like an eternity before Ronnie sat up and clapped Court hard on the back. Court rolled onto his pillow, laughing and coughing and crying now. Ronnie cupped his hand and struck Court between the shoulder blades. Finally Court drew in a deep breath and cried, “Stop! I’m fine, really. I’m fine.”

  Ronnie ran his hand across Court’s shoulders. “What the hell are you trying to do, kill yourself?”

  “I just wanted to get you wet.” Court sighed as Ronnie rubbed his back. He folded his arms under his head and closed his eyes. “Now that I like. Don’t stop.”

  But Ronnie did. Court opened one eye and watched his friend put the cap back on the water bottle and move it out of the way. Then Ronnie lay down alongside Court, and his hand drifted back to Court’s shoulders. His touch was gentle, soothing. Court breathed in deep, content to finally have Ronnie’s body right up against his, where it belonged.

  Ronnie rested his head on Court’s elbow. His breath tickled Court’s eyelashes, ruffling them. After a few moments, Court lifted his head a little higher so he could look at Ronnie. “Hey,” he whispered.

  His friend’s thin lips curved into a smile. “Hey yourself. You feeling better?”

  “I am now. With you.” Court sat up enough to plant a quick kiss on Ronnie’s forehead, then lay back down. With a wicked grin, he joked, “Maybe I should dig out those condoms tonight.”

  One of Ronnie’s eyebrows arched. Was that a yes? Court held his breath, hoping.

  Ronnie’s hand smoothed to a stop in the middle of Court’s back. It rested there, heavy and welcome, as if holding him in place. Scooting closer, Ronnie kissed the tip of Court’s nose, then said, “I gave them to Adam.”

  Court stiffened. “What? Why?”

  “He asked if I had any.” Ronnie shrugged, settling closer to Court. “You don’t honestly think he and Bree just sleep in their tent, do you? You weren’t using them.”

  “Not then,” Court admitted, “but now I wish I had them.”

  Ronnie grinned mischievously. “Do you want me to go ask for them back?”

  “No! God!” Court cried.

  Ronnie smirked, and Court shifted his arms to dislodge his friend. But Ronnie simply raised his head to avoid getting elbowed in the neck, then set it back on Court’s arm. “I’ll find more,” he said, and he started rubbing Court’s back again. “I’m going to take another run over to that neighborhood tomorrow to see if I can’t get those ATVs started, anyway. I’ll see if I can’t find a box of Trojans while I’m at it.”

  Court closed his eyes, letting the rhythm of Ronnie’s hand ease away his tension. What had happened to not wanting to rush things? Yeah, but I’d rather have the condoms on hand ready to use than give them to someone else. Still, Adam probably did need them more—neither Court nor Ronnie could get pregnant, and after the fiasco with May’s baby, it was best not to tempt fate. Sure, Bree and Adam were both immune to the virus, but the rest of their families had not been, and who was to say that a child with two immune parents would not get sick? He remembered those little squares they had learned about back in school, figuring out genetic traits and the chances of drawing one set of genes versus another. What had they been called?

  In his ear, Ronnie murmured, “What are you thinking about?”

  “Punnett squares,” Court said softly.

  Ronnie clapped his back and Court opened his eyes to find his friend staring at him oddly. “Seriously?” When Court shrugged, Ronnie shook his head. “It’s a wonder Jeanie stayed with you as long as she did.”

  Ronnie rolled onto his back, pulling away from Court, who sat up. “What?” he asked, confused. “What was I supposed to say?”

  “You’re supposed to say you’re thinking about me,” Ronnie muttered.

  Court leaned down and kissed away the furrows above Ronnie’s eyebrows. “That’s a given. I’m always thinking about you.”

  “And Punnett squares.”

  “I was thinking about condoms,” Court admitted. “And how, really, when you think about it, Adam needs them more than we do, because if Bree gets pregnant, what will happen to the baby? I mean, they’re both survivors, but—”

  “They didn’t survive,” Ronnie reminded him. “They never caught it in the first place.”

  Court sighed. “Fine, they’re both immune, but they might have genes that aren’t, right? Like we learned in biology…”

  Suddenly Ronnie grabbed Court’s shoulders and pulled him down. He held on tight, his arms wrapped around Court, who was pinned in place. “Did your wife ever complain you talk too damn much in bed?”

  Folding his arms over Ronnie’s chest, Court propped his chin in his hands and grinned. “God, all the time. I even talked when we were having sex—”

  Ronnie sat up and pressed his lips to Court, silencing him. Their kiss was sweet and tender, but it still managed to take Court’s breath away. When Ronnie lay back against his pillow, he smirked. “That shut you up.”

  “Do it again,” Court said with a sigh.

  Ronnie complied.

  In the morning, Bree cooked fresh scrambled eggs. “Where’d you get these?” Court asked, shoveling a forkful into his mouth. He hadn’t had eggs in months, and they tasted heavenly.

  “From those chickens Ronnie found,” she said. “If they weren’t such filthy birds, I’d suggest we take a couple with us when we move on.”

  “If we move on,” Adam corrected. “Court still can’t walk.”

  Court tugged up the leg of his jeans to expose his bandage. “I can put a little weight on it.”

  “Not enough to walk,” Adam said.

  “Ronnie said we could use those ATVs…” Court looked at his friend for confirmation.

  Ronnie hunkered over his plate as he ate. It almost seemed he wasn’t even listening to their conversation, but when Court turned toward him, Ronnie shrugged. “I’m going to go take a look at them today. Which one of you thinks you can drive one of those things?”

  He glanced up at Bree, shifted his gaze to Adam, then back to Bree again. “You look like a girl who’s been mudding before.”

  Bree laughed. “God, it was fun. I once had a boyfriend who went out into the woods every weekend. But really, they aren’t hard to drive. Not like a motorcycle.”

  “I bet you’ve been on one of those before, too,” Court said with a grin.

  She gave him a saucy wink. “You know it.”

  “Can I say again this isn’t safe?” Adam protested. “The roads aren’t clear—”

  “An ATV is smaller than a car,” Court pointed out. “It can move in between the wrecks, or on the shoulder if necessary, even in the woods.”

  Adam ignored him. “Where are we going to find gasoline? Sure, maybe there’s some in the garage, but once we’re on the road, then what?”

  Court looked to Ronnie, who said, “There’s gas in tanks under the ground all up and down the interstate. Where do you think gas stations store it?”

  “The pumps won’t work,” Adam said, smug. “We can’t just fill ‘er up when we run out.”

  “We can siphon it.” Ronnie’s no-nonsense reply ended that argument. “Cut a piece of garden hose, we’ll be fine.”

  Adam glared into the fire as he stirred the remaining eggs on his plate. “Still, it isn’t safe. One tumble at high speeds and Court’s leg will seem like nothing compared to a broken neck or shattered skull. Then what?”

  “We go slow.” Ronnie stared Adam down, as if daring him to find another reason not to check out the ATVs. After a long moment, he added, “This isn’t a race, but we’re getting nowhere just sitting here on our asses. Food’s going to run out soon, and the chickens are half-gone already.”

  “We got eggs,” Court reminded him.

  Ronnie shot his friend a withering look over his shoulder. “We had eggs. But when the chickens are finally gone, there won’t be any more eggs, either. We’ve picked over the houses across the road pretty good, so I say it’s about time we move on. And if so
me of us can’t walk—” His expression softened as he nodded at Court. “Well, we ride.”

  Adam shook his head. “I’ve never driven one of those things in my life.”

  “Doubled up, then, if we have to.” Ronnie turned to Bree. “You want to come with me in a little to see what we’re working with?”

  Quickly Bree nodded. “Sure. I can grab the last of the eggs while I’m over there.” Placing a hand on Adam’s arm, she murmured softly, “It’s okay, babe. ATVs are completely safe. You can ride with me.”

  As Court scooped up the last of his eggs, he asked, “How’d you know these eggs are safe?”

  Bree frowned. “Why wouldn’t they be? They’re fresh, probably laid a few days ago.”

  “And you didn’t crack one open and find a baby chick inside?” Court asked. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ronnie’s head shake. “What? They didn’t come from the store, so I just want to know how she knew they weren’t fertilized.”

  With a smirk, Bree asked, “Have you heard a rooster crow in the morning? No? That’s because all the chickens are hens. No boys, no babies. Just like my momma used to say.”

  Later, when it was just the two of them sitting by the campfire, Adam unwrapped Court’s bandage to look at the wound. It was healing, even Court could see that—the red puffiness that had been pushing against the sutures had gone down, and the blood had dried into a dark scab. “This is probably going to scar pretty badly,” Adam warned. “Let’s leave the bandage off for a bit—let the air get to it. Just keep your knee up so you don’t get any dirt or leaves on it.”

  Court leaned back on his hands and raised his knee, his sneakered foot flat on the ground. He could feel the skin pull when he flexed his leg, but it no longer hurt. In fact, sometimes, it itched something fierce. When he had mentioned that to Ronnie, his friend just grunted. “Means it’s healing then,” Ronnie had said.

  At the time, Court had scratched helplessly at the bandage. “It’s going to drive me crazy.”