Gasoline | Ben Parish

43

WHEN the chopper is long gone, I emerge from the trees. I'm alone. There is a stain on my uniform from blood that doesn't belong to me. My rifle is warm, the heat from recent firing swirling off it in the cold air. 

My boots crunch through the snow. My eyes are searching, but I'm not really seeing my surroundings.

Dumbo is waiting for me behind a minivan. He smiles sheepishly. "I know that I said that I would meet you back at the parking garage, but I wanted to make sure that you made it out okay."

"You shouldn't have done that," I say flatly. "That's how Oompa got killed."

He presses his chapped lips into a thin line, but he doesn't say anything. We walk through the graveyard of cars side by side. The only sounds are our feet and our breathing.

"Zombie said that we should stay in this area for two days," Dumbo eventually says. "If he's coming back at all, it'll be within two days. Otherwise, we move on."

I shake my head. "Not happening."

Dumbo frowns. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his dark head turn to look at me. I stare straight ahead. "What do you mean? You think he's going to die?"

"Maybe," I say simply. "But in two days, if he's not back, I'm going after him. Dead or not, I'll find out for myself."

"You can't do that," he says incredulously. "That's suicide."

"What makes what I'm going to do any different than what Zombie's going to do?" I demand. "Why are you guys rallying behind him, but when I offer to do the same thing, I'm bat-shit crazy?"

Dumbo doesn't respond. Smart kid.

We make it back to the parking garage with no problems. When we reach the third floor, Teacup runs across the room. She looks like she wants to give me a hug, but then thinks better of it. She stops shortly beside me. "Well," she says awkwardly. "How'd it go?"

"The chopper picked him up, if that's what you mean." I rest my rifle against the nearest wall, then sit down beside it. "He's gone."

He's gone, he's gone, he's gone. Zombie. Ben. Both of them, both sides of this man stuck in a boy's body playing soldier that is going off to his death.

But he promised, didn't he? He'd promised that he'd come back. And promises mean more now than they ever did before – especially to Zombie. He's going back for Nugget, then he's coming back to me.

I have to believe that. I have to. I trust Zombie.

But it's not just him in this situation. The aliens are involved, and they take lives like it's nothing.

But don't I do the same thing? I have taken lives before, and I'm sure I'll take many more. Doesn't that make me have more in common with the aliens? Doesn't that make me just as bad as the ones in charge of this whole operation?

Zombie doesn't think so, and Zombie is inherently good. Everything about him is good. Surely he wouldn't care about something that is bad.

Ringer pulls me out of my internal monologue. "We need a plan," she says.

"Duh," I spit.

She ignores me. "We need to find a place to stay for the night. Preferably somewhere warm."

"No shit," I rephrase.

Again, nothing. She looks expectantly at the other three. "Does anyone know of a good place?"

Teacup raises her hand. "We could go to my house," she says.

Dumbo's brows raise. "You're from Dayton, Teacup?"

She nods wordlessly.

"How did you get all the way to Camp Haven?"

She lowers her head. We all know what that means: she was travelling with someone who she lost. Probably her mother.

Ringer adjusts the rifle strap over her shoulder. "Do you know the way from here?"

"Yes," Teacup says.

"Then let's go." Ringer moves toward the door. "Tomorrow, we'll check out that courthouse with the arsenal. See if there's any validity to this mission or if it was just another trick."

I stand up, attitude and anger radiating from my posture. "Who the hell made you the leader?" I snap.

She raises an eyebrow. "Do you think you're in the proper temperament to lead right now?"

Well, shit. She's got me there.

"This is a democracy. We'll make decisions together," Dumbo speaks up. "No one else is getting shot, okay?" He means to say it in a joking manner, but I flinch. Everyone notices it.

Annoyed by the rest of the squad witnessing my moment of weakness, I huff, "Well? What are we waiting for? Are you going to lead the way or what, Teacup?"

She rolls her eyes. "If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't fucking talk, Croak."

"Croak never has anything nice to say," Dumbo complains. Poundcake snorts.

"Then it should be a pretty quiet walk," Ringer chips in. "Which is good. We don't know if there are other Teds out there. Civilians don't know that we're the good guys. We should keep a low profile to avoid any unnecessary confrontations."

Dumbo nods. "I really don't feel like another fire-fight tonight."

"Who the fuck does?" I snap.

"What did I fucking say, Croak?" Teacup retaliates.

I roll my eyes and cross my arms, but I don't say anything back. I know that she's right.

Dumbo looks at Teacup in amazement.

Ringer speaks up. "We've been through a lot today," she says steadily. "We've lost a lot of our squad. We're all worried about Zombie. All this should bring us closer together. We're on our own now."