bourbon.
“Hood’s still warm,” Danny added, after they’d been silent a while. “Sit over here and keep your ass from freezing.”
They sat on the hood of the Mustang with their feet propped up on the zero-catcher wire across the fender. Danny leaned back on the windshield and looked at the night sky; Topper rested his elbows on his knees and watched the distant campfires scattered around the truck stop plaza. He could see the outline of Wulf Gunnar atop the White Whale, a hunched shape with the barrel of a rifle sticking out of it. The old man spent most of his time up there. Somebody else must be guarding the prisoner.
Topper found himself wondering if he and Danny were friends. They were more like buddies in a military unit than friends, precisely. They’d each been in the Marines, if years apart, so maybe there wasn’t much difference. Topper’s tour happened before women had combat roles. He and Danny had gone through some heavy bonding experiences after everything went to hell. Their first meeting, she had damn near shot him for murder; since then she was usually mad at him for something or other, but she relied on him a lot, too. Topper kept the scouts organized and stepped in when there was trouble among the chooks. Now it seemed almost like she was reaching out to him, trying to be nice or something. Or maybe it was nothing more than she didn’t want to drink alone.
They were silent except for the occasional hard swallow to get the raw spirits down. Danny could drink like nobody else Topper knew, excepting Wolfman Gunnar. But she was just passing the time on this occasion. She wasn’t drinking for effect, as far as he could tell.
“So,” Topper began, and said nothing more.
“I got too much on my mind,” Danny said, once it became clear Topper was done speaking. “You guys deal with the Chevelle however you want. Keep him away from the convoy. I’m more worried about how we’re going to get around those zeroes up ahead.”
“It’s bad,” Topper said. “Where we turned around they were horizon to horizon out ahead, thousands of them. Like fuckin’ two-leg cockroaches.”
“They didn’t follow you, right?”
“We’d be knee-deep in ’em right now if that was the case.”
Danny spat in the grass. “There’s something on the other side of that swarm. That guy I captured, Mike? I don’t think he’s bullshitting about doing the kid a favor when he tried to grab him. He says it’s the real deal. Safe place for children, out east of here. The Dakotas, somewhere. We keep hearing about that from different sources on the road. I’d like to find it. See if it’s true. That’s why we have to punch through here.”
“This would be a shitload easier if we had a phone. I miss having a fuckin’ phone,” Topper muttered, and drank deeply.
“I miss McDonald’s,” Danny said.
“I don’t,” Topper said, taking the canteen because his esophagus was on fire. “All it did was make me fart. And my sweat smelled like mayonnaise.” It also made him fat and impotent, but he didn’t particularly want to get into those details.
“What the hell does mayonnaise smell like?”
He considered it. “I honestly can’t remember.”
“We’ll never have mayonnaise again. Think about that.”
“There’s about a hundred million unopened jars of it out there. Go nuts.”
Danny coughed out her rough laugh. “Are you kidding? Eat mayonnaise after the sell-by date? That’s dangerous .”
They were silent for a minute. Topper couldn’t relax around the sheriff. He felt like moving on. She was still lying back on the windshield when he stood up, like a cheerleader waiting for the quarterback, except not. She was looking at the firelight through her bottle. It cast a rippling amber glow on her face.
“I miss beer,” she said, sadly.
“Oh, fuck yeah.” Topper missed beer so much he even dreamed about it. He looked around at the gigantic darkness beyond the truck stop. “You sure you
“Hood’s still warm,” Danny added, after they’d been silent a while. “Sit over here and keep your ass from freezing.”
They sat on the hood of the Mustang with their feet propped up on the zero-catcher wire across the fender. Danny leaned back on the windshield and looked at the night sky; Topper rested his elbows on his knees and watched the distant campfires scattered around the truck stop plaza. He could see the outline of Wulf Gunnar atop the White Whale, a hunched shape with the barrel of a rifle sticking out of it. The old man spent most of his time up there. Somebody else must be guarding the prisoner.
Topper found himself wondering if he and Danny were friends. They were more like buddies in a military unit than friends, precisely. They’d each been in the Marines, if years apart, so maybe there wasn’t much difference. Topper’s tour happened before women had combat roles. He and Danny had gone through some heavy bonding experiences after everything went to hell. Their first meeting, she had damn near shot him for murder; since then she was usually mad at him for something or other, but she relied on him a lot, too. Topper kept the scouts organized and stepped in when there was trouble among the chooks. Now it seemed almost like she was reaching out to him, trying to be nice or something. Or maybe it was nothing more than she didn’t want to drink alone.
They were silent except for the occasional hard swallow to get the raw spirits down. Danny could drink like nobody else Topper knew, excepting Wolfman Gunnar. But she was just passing the time on this occasion. She wasn’t drinking for effect, as far as he could tell.
“So,” Topper began, and said nothing more.
“I got too much on my mind,” Danny said, once it became clear Topper was done speaking. “You guys deal with the Chevelle however you want. Keep him away from the convoy. I’m more worried about how we’re going to get around those zeroes up ahead.”
“It’s bad,” Topper said. “Where we turned around they were horizon to horizon out ahead, thousands of them. Like fuckin’ two-leg cockroaches.”
“They didn’t follow you, right?”
“We’d be knee-deep in ’em right now if that was the case.”
Danny spat in the grass. “There’s something on the other side of that swarm. That guy I captured, Mike? I don’t think he’s bullshitting about doing the kid a favor when he tried to grab him. He says it’s the real deal. Safe place for children, out east of here. The Dakotas, somewhere. We keep hearing about that from different sources on the road. I’d like to find it. See if it’s true. That’s why we have to punch through here.”
“This would be a shitload easier if we had a phone. I miss having a fuckin’ phone,” Topper muttered, and drank deeply.
“I miss McDonald’s,” Danny said.
“I don’t,” Topper said, taking the canteen because his esophagus was on fire. “All it did was make me fart. And my sweat smelled like mayonnaise.” It also made him fat and impotent, but he didn’t particularly want to get into those details.
“What the hell does mayonnaise smell like?”
He considered it. “I honestly can’t remember.”
“We’ll never have mayonnaise again. Think about that.”
“There’s about a hundred million unopened jars of it out there. Go nuts.”
Danny coughed out her rough laugh. “Are you kidding? Eat mayonnaise after the sell-by date? That’s dangerous .”
They were silent for a minute. Topper couldn’t relax around the sheriff. He felt like moving on. She was still lying back on the windshield when he stood up, like a cheerleader waiting for the quarterback, except not. She was looking at the firelight through her bottle. It cast a rippling amber glow on her face.
“I miss beer,” she said, sadly.
“Oh, fuck yeah.” Topper missed beer so much he even dreamed about it. He looked around at the gigantic darkness beyond the truck stop. “You sure you
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