Gasoline | Ben Parish

17

"WHAT do you miss?"

I frown, cocking my head to the side. "What are you talking about?"

"Before all... this." Zombie waves his hand around the training room. "What do you miss from your old life?"

I drop my arms and stare down at him. "Seriously?" He nods and I roll my eyes.

It's been about a week since Tank left. We're supposed to be getting his 'replacement' in the next two days. I think it's funny how Reznik calls him a replacement, like humans are inter-changeable.

In this past week, Zombie and I have grown uncomfortably close – well, by Croak standards at least. It's now a normal thing for him to grab my hand or make some sort of physical contact with me at any time throughout the day.

At first it set me on edge. I didn't know if he was doing it because he really needed it, or if it was because he was taking advantage of the situation. But then I was like, "Croak, you dumb fuck, this is Zombie we're talking about. He wouldn't take advantage of you. He's probably the one person you can trust."

Which is true. I hope.

And that all leads to where we are now: Zombie trying to go beyond the physical bonding we've done to reach something more meaningful. I'm not so crazy about that. There's a difference between hand-holding and talking about your past. There's a huge difference.

"Get up," I nudge the side of his leg. "You're wasting time." Ever since the air-raid-drill-fiasco, Reznik has put a time limit on extra practice. We need to be back at Barracks 10 by 2200.

"We've been practicing for the past hour." Zombie protests. "It's the same stuff we've done for the past three days. You're awesome at it."

"You're not," I say, raising an eyebrow and inclining my head to his current position sprawled out on the floor.

Zombie grins. "Maybe I did that on purpose."

"You let me flip you on purpose? I highly doubt that." I pop my neck. "C'mon." I hold out my hand to help pull him up.

That shit-eating grin widens. "Zombie," I warn, starting to pull my hand away. I manage to evade the oldest trick in the book – but then a warm hand wraps around my ankle and I'm jerked off my feet.

The air leaves my lungs when I fall back onto the mats.

Zombie's laughing. It's a throaty, happy sound that makes my heart squeeze.

But I don't let him off the hook for that.

"You little shit," I growl playfully, kicking sideways at his head. He rolls away. "It's not funny," I claim, but a giggle is building in my chest and a beam is stretching my face.

Zombie crawls over to me, dropping by my side to stare up at the ceiling. "I was serious, you know." He says after a few minutes. "What do you miss?"

"Does it matter?" I can't stop the bite in my words. "It's gone now. No use missing something you can't get back."

"Of course it matters." He turns his head to look me in the eyes. "My family is gone. I still miss them. It's not useless; it's human." He turns back to stare at the ceiling, tucking an arm behind his head. "It's one of the things that separates us from them."

I bite my lip, admiring his profile. The circles underneath his eyes are dark as ever, even more exaggerated due to the pallor of his skin. His lips are dry and cracked yet pink and plump. His eyelashes are ridiculously long for a boy, framing such deep brown eyes.