Gasoline | Ben Parish

31

AT 0800, my squad begins to file out of Barrack 10. There's something about the way we walk, silent and proud, that creates goosebumps up and down my arms. I know I'm not cold. I know I'm not afraid. I know I'm not uncomfortable.

It's like the meaning of what we're about to do is finally hitting us, and it's so overwhelmingly incredible that it has taken away our ability to speak.

We're getting out of here. Together. We made it. We did it. Out of the entire battalion, our loser squad came out on top.

We're in a tactical column. I'm at the back; Teacup is second to last and she keeps turning around to grin at me. She's excited, I can tell.

It's funny: before the waves, Teacup would have been this thrilled on Christmas Eve with the anticipation of Santa coming. After the waves, Teacup is eager to graduate from the military base she was stationed on so that she may go avenge her family by killing the asshole aliens who murdered them.

Sometimes I wish Teacup wasn't Teacup. Sometimes I wish she were still a kid.

We're turning a corner when something encircles my elbow and yanks me back. I let out an almost inaudible gasp and rear my fist back, prepared to swing. The hand that pulled me away from my squad is also the one to stop me from destroying his pretty little face on graduation day.

"Please don't punch me," he says. 

I scoff and rip my wrist from his grip. "Don't do that!" I scold in a low voice. "You should know better. Actually, I should punch you in the face."

"Maybe later," Zombie mutters. He's not looking at me; he keeps glancing over his shoulder and up and down the hall.

My brow furrows. "What's up?" I ask.

"I gotta tell you something," he whispers. His eyes are wide and earnest when he turns back to face me. "I don't know if it's anything, but I just need to tell you."

We're inches apart. His chest is heaving from the weight of the information. He's warm, nearly searing.

I blink. "Cameras," I murmur. "To your upper right and down the hall on the left."

"Yeah," he mumbles back. Then he does something unexpected. He leans even closer, pushing my hair to the side. Zombie inclines his head next to my ear. One of his knees edge between my legs. Our chests are touching.

According to the view of the camera, it looks like Zombie can't keep his hands to himself.

"Okay." His lips brush my earlobe. I have to fight the urge to shiver. "I just talked to Vosch. He made me sergeant-"

I smile, tilting my head back a little. "Congratulations, Sarge."

I feel him smile. "Thanks." His breath tickles the side of my neck. "But there's something else – when I was in there, he let me choose what our mission was going to be. Croak, I chose Dayton. We're going into the field to shoot Teds."

"Isn't that what we all want to do?" I bring my arms up to rest on his shoulders. Hey, I have to make it look convincing! I can have a little fun with it if I want.

"You didn't let me finish." One of his large hands slithers around my waist, holding me to him. The other splays out on the wall above my head. "There's the possibility that UnTeds will be there. And I think Vosch wants us to shoot them."

I stiffen. "What makes you think that?" I breathe. "He wants to save the human race, not make it any easier on the aliens."

"I don't know. I don't know." He's breathing even harder. Nearly panicking. "He told me this story, how after the fourth wave he had to evacuate these kids from this camp and then killed all the adults, Ted or UnTed. He said-"

My stomach drops. "Zombie." I don't even know how I manage to get it out. "That's where he got Nugget."

Now it's his turn to barely be able to speak. "What?"

"After I was picked up by the military, we rode on this bus to this makeshift compound. We brought all the children on and none of the adults. When all the kids asked about their parents, they were told that the military would come back for their parents. And has Cassie or Nugget's Dad shown up?"

"Shit," he grunts in my ear. "Shit, shit, shit." I agree with that statement. "We can't tell Nugget, okay?" Zombie quickly insists. "We can't do that to him. Let him figure it out on his own. But for right now, let him think that they're still coming."

"Nugget's not stupid, Zombie." My fingers dig into the neck of his uniform. "He's young, but he's not stupid. I think he already knows. Why do you think he's stopped crying about it? And why do you think he was so upset when you told him that he can't graduate with us? You're all he has, and he knows it."

Zombie's head drops, forehead resting on my shoulder. "Fuck," he whispers. "Nugget..."

"There's nothing we can do," I remind him. "So there's no use dwelling on it."

For most people, this would be impossible. But the waves and the base have made it possible for Zombie to focus on the biggest problem at hand.

He's about to say something when the faint sound of voices and heels clicking across the cement floors echo off the long hallway.

Zombie inhales sharply. "Someone's coming," he says.

No time to out-run them. No time to hide. No time to do anything that might make this situation look better.

He must recognize the look in my eyes. "Don't you dare kiss me right now," he warns playfully. "If I wasn't allowed to kiss you last night, then you're not allowed to kiss me right now."

I roll my eyes. "Shut up." I hitch one leg up, settling it around the hard curve of his hip. This causes him to stumble forward slightly, falling into the soft give of my body.

"What are you-"

The footsteps are coming closer.

My fingers run through his hair before latching tight near the roots and guiding his face back into my neck.

He gets the message. After all, Zombie's smart.

So, he proceeds to leave the hickey of a lifetime on the slope between my neck and shoulder.

And it feels fucking amazing. I'm clutching at his shoulders, arching my back and pressing myself as close to him as humanly possible. A small whimper stirs in my throat, and I know he hears it by the way he shakily exhales against my skin.

"Croak?"

My eyes flutter open and I straighten abruptly. Zombie pulls away, rigid, and stands still with pink cheeks.

It's Dr. Pam. She looks back and forth between the two of us. I feel my face heat up. I can't imagine what she must be thinking. Actually, I can, and it's bad.

Her eyes are practically bugging out of her head. "You two should be at the ceremony," she chokes out.

"Yes ma'am," Zombie answers for me. "We'll be on our way now."

He reaches for my hand. I take it somehow – I'm not sure how, exactly, because my entire body feels like it has been electrocuted – and follow him down the hallway.