Gasoline | Ben Parish

22

AFTER the pissing contest I had with Zombie two days ago, on the night of Ringer's arrival, he and I haven't talked much.

Correction: our communicating has strictly become me cursing at him when he tries to give me instructions.

Like now, for instance. We're currently in the middle of a combat-simulator game. It's some of the virtual shit we got from the aliens. Our entire squad is hooked up on headsets, and we're patrolling a dark forest with light equipment.

"Croak, stay with the group." Zombie hisses into the mic. He's three chairs down from me, but I still see him send me a glare out of the corner of his eye.

"Bite me," I reply. I continue to let my character veer off into the woods.

Dumbo sighs. "What are you doing?" He asks me. I see a little red icon on the minimized map in the corner leave the line of red cruising through the trees to follow after me.

"Nowhere," I say. "Leave me alone. Go back to the group."

"She's right. We need to stay together." I cringe as the voice of my least favorite person fills my ears through the earpiece. "If she wants to go off on her own, let her."

"We're not about that, Ringer." Zombie tells her. I hate the way he says her name. I'm so damn jealous that I could puke. Ugh. I hate this. "Croak, re-engage. Now."

I groan loudly. Flintstone flinches beside me and makes a show out of grasping at his ears. I roll my eyes. "Zombie, just fuck off for once. This is a video game. You don't have to be Captain America all the fucking time."

Nugget fidgets on my other side. "Please stop saying all those bad words. I don't like them."

That spurs Teacup to begin reciting every 'bad word' she knows, filling the background static with Oompa's giggling and Poundcake's silent smirk.

"Guys, knock it off." Zombie orders gruffly. "Croak, quick messing around. Get back with the group. I mean it."

"How many times do I have to tell you?" I ask rhetorically as I move the controls to speed my character into a brisk run through the animated foliage. "Fuck off. Are you stupid or something? Just not used to hearing no? Well, get used to it, because I'm-"

BOOM. My character steps on a mine and goes flying into the air among fire and debris and all sorts of other blown-up shit. The rest of my squad's screens blink to the image of my character's lifeless, charred body smacking into a nearby tree and then dropping to the ground. The words 'MISSION FAILED' appear in bright red.

Flintstone huffs and rips off his headset, throwing it onto the table and standing up so swiftly his chair rockets back across the floor with a screech. "Goddamn it, Croak!"

Like a circling vulture, Reznik comes over. "What the hell is going on?" His beady eyes take in the scene on our screens. "You miserable pieces of kitty crap couldn't handle a simple recon mission?"

"We could handle it just fine if it weren't for Croak!" Flint rants.

I roll my eyes. "Are you entirely sure about that? You're kind of an oaf. I'm pretty sure you would've ruined it for everyone in the end anyway. I just saved us all some time."

"You're not being fair, Croak." Dumbo pipes up. I turn to him, slightly confused. I've never been on the other end of his self-righteousness before. "You should keep your personal issues with Zombie to yourself instead of broadcasting them to the rest of the squad."

"What's this I hear?" Reznik smiles coldly. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Jesus Christ," Zombie mutters under his breath, running a hand down his face as he adjusts the headset to sit around his neck.

"What the hell was that?"

"Nothing, sir." Zombie calls wearily. He clears his throat. "There is no trouble, sir."

"Really?" Reznik saunters over to stand behind Zombie's chair. "Seems to me like you're havin' troubles with the wife. What – is she tired of the dog pissin' on the carpet?" Nugget recoils at the mention of his cruel nickname.

"No sir. There is no trouble between myself and Private Croak, sir." Zombie meets my eyes. I can't bear to hold his gaze. I roll my eyes and turn my attention towards the ceiling.

I haven't been fair to him. I know it. I just can't stop myself from acting this way. I'm not able to think; I just react.

But it's hurting Zombie. And if there's anyone on this Earth that I'm shouldn't be hurting, it's him.

"Good. Couples' counselling would be a bitch to schedule into the day." Reznik quips sarcastically before moving on to the next squad.

___

LUNCH comes around. I drag my feet, keeping to the back of the squad as we make our way to the mess hall. Then I slip away to the Barracks.

I half expect Teacup to be the one to come check on me. I mostly anticipate a fuming yet concerned Zombie to come barreling through the doors, ready to duke it out.

I don't expect Ringer. And naturally, she's the one who comes.

She clears her throat lightly from the doorway, leaning one slender shoulder again the wall.

Of course, I ignore her. She's literally the last person I want to see right now. But she knows that. Ringer the grown-prodigy knows everything.

"You're jealous." There's that firmness in her speech again. That positive, final tone. That absence of a questioning infliction. She doesn't need to ask. She just knows.

"Yeah," I grumble, sitting on the edge of my bed.

Ringer raises an eyebrow. "You're not going to deny it?"

There it is! I finally stumped this girl.

"Nope." I say bitterly, reaching across the bed for my rifle. "Why bother? I know I'm not exactly subtle."

The corner of her mouth twitches, almost like she wants to smile. But there's no smiling in a military base training kids to fight aliens who have killed most of the population. There's especially no smiling on the face of the poster-child for the impending war.

"You're right. You're not."

I huff and slam the chamber closed. "Are you here to gloat or something? Because I really don't wanna hear it."

"I'm here to settle this." She hisses. Losing patience with me already. "I don't appreciate the tension and hostility." She pulls back slightly, turning her gaze to the first row of bunks. "I know it's part of the world we now live in, but in this case it's unnecessary."

I snort. "What makes you say that?"

"I'm not interested in your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend." I snap, glaring.

"He's something, though." She asserts. She waits. I don't protest to that. Ringer is right once again.