#like i’ll take these thoughts over repeated graphic imaginings of stabbing our eyes out with a scalpel but still. it’s not fun. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

waveridden · 6 years

Text

FIC: Crash Bang Boom

“I just realized there’s a zombie apocalypse going on,” Steve says, muffled by his hands. “Like, a zombie walked into Parker’s living room, the world’s falling apart, and now we’re in a kitchen supply store fighting about butter knives. Because that’s the best thing we could be doing with our time right now.”

A SP7 zombie AU. 26k. Cib/Parker, Autumn/Sami Jo. CW for death, guns, alcohol use, and one scene of graphic violence. You can find more detailed content warnings here.

Read on Ao3

“Dude,” James says, “we need to get butter knives. For melee combat.”

“Okay, for one-” Cib lifts a finger. “If you’re meleeing a zombie, it’s gonna eat your fucking face, game over. And for B-” a second finger- “if you’re gonna stab someone, why wouldn’t you want it to be a sharp knife? Really dig in there.”

“Sharp knives can carve their eyes out,” Steve says, so blandly that Parker can’t tell if he’s joking.

Cib snaps his fingers and points at Steven. “Carve their eyes out! They don’t need ‘em, you might as well take ‘em.”

Parker, against his better judgment, asks, “What do you need zombie eyes for?”

Cib snorts and shakes his head. “If I have to tell you, you already don’t know, dude.” Which isn’t helpful at all, but it’s technically right, so Parker doesn’t say anything.

“You can stab an eye with a butter knife,” James says insistently, drawing everyone’s attention back over to him. He’s holding a box of butter knives - or actually what looks like a box of normal dinner cutlery, which is maybe even less useful. “And it’ll hurt more.”

“Stabbing isn’t the same as carving out,” Cib argues.

James sighs in pure exasperation, shaking his cutlery box. “You can’t eat zombie eyes.”

“That’s not what I wanted them for!”

“You can’t fuck them either, Cib, they’re eyes. ”

“Well, clearly you’re not using your imagination!”

“I don’t wanna imagine that,” Steve mumbles.

“And I’m not gonna fuck them!” Cib crosses his arms. “You can plant them and use them to grow zombies!”

“Oh my god,” James says, horrified. “No, okay, listen, glisten, you can’t do that, because it doesn’t work with humans. And anyways, the stabbing will hurt more with the butter knife. Or a fork. We gotta get them.”

“Why does a butter knife hurt more?” Steve asks. He sounds very, very tired.

“So take a steak knife, right? Sharp knife.” James opens the cutlery box and rips out a knife. “Imagine this butter knife is sharp, right?”

“Sharp knife,” Cib repeats.

“You wanna cut someone open, no problem, you can just-” James mimes slashing with the knife. “It doesn’t take, like, effort. But if you wanna cut someone with a butter knife-” he mimes stabbing, so emphatically that Parker nearly takes a step away. “You gotta put some muscle into it.”

“I thought that was a sharp knife,” Cib says.

“Nope, it’s a butter knife now.”

“Well, you didn’t say you were changing the knife!”

“James, you have to say if you’re changing the knife,” Steven sighs. “You’re gonna confuse Cib.”

“Fine! I changed the fucking knife, Cib, it’s a butter knife again.”

Cib nods. Parker thinks, in passing, that they’re all going to die.

“So you have to stab someone with a butter knife-” James stabs at the air again. “If you wanna break skin, you gotta really go for it, right? Gotta have force behind it. So by the time you break the skin, you’ve got that follow-through going, and it’ll fuck someone up. And slashing - Cib, the knife’s sharp again - it’s all surface-level, it’s not the same.”

“Okay,” Cib says. “But I still want sharp knives. Real ones.”

“We can get sharp knives! We can have both, I’m just saying, we should get both.”

Steve groans loudly and puts his head into his hands. Cib glances over. “Steve, you decent?”

“There’s not a gun store in the strip mall,” Parker points out. “And there’s food in here.”

Steve waves him off. “We get it, Parker, you had a good idea, but it’s still the end of the fucking world.”

“Gun stores are probably empty by now,” James adds. “It’s been, what, three days? I’m amazed there are still butter knives here.”

“I’m amazed there’s any food left in here.” Cib looks around, presumably at all the jars of salsa and other weird cooking shit. “We should finish looting this kitchen store and get home, right?”

“Uh,” Parker says.

So mostly, Parker’s down for whatever. This is just as true in the zombie apocalypse as it was beforehand. He doesn’t know a lot about zombies, scary movies have never been his thing, but he knows that his best shot is sticking with the group. Lone wolves don’t do well at the end of the world, and he likes the boys. Even if they give him shit, he’s pretty sure they actually have his back, and so he’s going to roll with what they think is a good idea. But also, their home base is his house, and there’s been a zombie rotting in it for the past three days. And he’s not interested in staying there if they don’t have to.

“No,” Steve says suddenly. “No, we should stay here.”

“We should absolutely not stay here,” James argues. “This is too public! Parker’s house is out of the way, nobody’s going to come busting through our front door there.”

“Except the first zombie,” Parker says.

James glares at him. “Outlier.”

“Pretty important outlier.”

“Parker’s right.” Steve grimaces, because of course he does, but he continues. “Listen, this place is easier to fortify, we have more weapons on hand, it’s a more central location for supplies, and we’re in a better place to barter with people.”

James frowns and folds his arms, butter knife dangling from his hand. “Are we already on a barter economy?”

“I think that the economic structure of the civilized world is the least of our problems, dude,” says Cib. “You know, if we’re arguing about whether or not you can fuck zombie eyes, is the economy really important anymore? Was it ever really important?”

“Fucking eyeballs is not an argument,” Steve says. “It’s really, really not an argument, and I will kill you myself if you keep trying to arguing it.”

Cib nods. “Point taken. No arguing, just doing.”

“No, no, n-” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh my god, just mercy kill me right now.”

“If I kill you, am I in charge?” James asks.

“No, nope.” Steven practically leaps backwards until he’s standing behind Parker. “No, you can be in charge if you kill Parker.”

“Done,” Cib says.

“Hey,” Parker says mildly, trying to hide the sudden, deep panic that bubbles up inside him. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t work, given that James and Cib exchange their patented “ugh, fucking Parker” look, but it’s the thought that counts. Maybe. “Enough people are trying to kill me, I don’t need my zombie apocalypse crew to do it too.”

“Who the fuck is trying to kill you?” Steve demands.

“Zombies. Lots of them.” He pauses, considering. “Maybe Jeremy? I haven’t seen him in a few days, but he talks about it sometimes.”

“Jeremy doesn’t get to kill you,” Cib says indignantly. “I called dibs.”

“You absolutely can not call murder dibs,” Steve sighs.

James lifts a hand. The hand with the knife. “Can I call murder dibs?”

“No! Parker, oh my god, make yourself useful, help stop this.”

“If we stay here, I’ll be in charge of our inventory,” Parker offers. “There’s probably a stockroom and stuff in the back, and I’m good at keeping track of things.”

James lowers the knife. “That’s actually a pretty good plan.”

“Fucking-” Steve throws his hands up in the air and steps out from behind Parker. “Why is it a good idea when he agrees? It was my idea!”

“But we were in my house,” Parker points out feebly. “So, you know, maybe it makes sense that I get a say in if we-”

“All in favor of Parker not getting a say in anything?” James says, and everyone’s hands go up. Parker sighs.

“All in favor of Parker never saying anything?” Cib continues. All three hands stay up.

“The kitchen store was my idea,” Parker mutters.

Cib claps a hand down on Parker’s shoulder, hard. “We would’ve had that idea without you.”

“We need to figure out if we can get sleeping bags in here,” Steve says musingly, and just like that, they live in an abandoned kitchen supply store.

It takes time to get settled in. They have to move all the shelves, and all the supplies, and they also sort all the supplies. And that really means Parker sorts the supplies, because that’s his job as keeper of the inventory.

Which, okay, side note: that could’ve been either the worst or best idea he’s ever had. He likes that he has something to do, especially when nobody else has consistent things to work on, but he also has most of a partially-looted kitchen store to keep track of. So they have a lot of blenders, but no reliable electricity, so really they have a lot of loose blades and breakable glass. And not just from the blenders.

In retrospect, given the way that they are, or mostly the way that Cib is, a kitchen store may have been the most dangerous possible home base.

But anyways, Parker keeps track the inventory. The rest of the boys try to help, out of what they say is boredom and not legitimate compassion, but he thinks they might feel bad for how much he has to sort through. He doesn’t mind, mostly. He can stay in the kitchen store, with a pistol that James will not explain where he got, and everyone else can go out looting for more supplies and make Parker’s job harder.

“I want to be in charge of ammo,” James says, on their fifth day in the kitchen store. “Like, just ammo.”

“Not guns?”

“Can you not keep track of the guns?”

“Yeah, and I can keep track of the ammo.”

“What if I want to?”

“Find your own job, James,” Parker says, because he’s an asshole and this is the only thing he has to himself in the end of the world.

“Damn,” James says. He sounds either impressed, constipated, or like he’s trying not to laugh. Parker’s just gonna… let that one remain a mystery. “What if I want yours?”

“Didn’t we agree that you’d have to kill me to take my job?”

“No, we were gonna kill Steve.”

“No,” Steven calls from the opposite corner of the store, where he and Cib are doing something complicated with barbed wire.

Parker frowns. “Do we have barbed wire now?”

James rolls his eyes. “Use your fucking eyes, Parker, we obviously have barbed wire.”

“When did we get that?”

“A couple days ago. Same time we picked up all the guns.”

“I would’ve thought guns are a hot commodity at the end of the world,” Parker muses. “Or that it would’ve taken some effort to get them.”

“Oh, it did.” James flashes him a grin, disconcertingly genuine. “I was right about the butter knives.”

“You’re fucking with me,” Parker says automatically. He would’ve noticed if James came back one day with bloody butter knives. At least, he thinks so. Inventory takes a lot of attention. It might’ve passed him by.

“That’s for me to know and you to think about till the zombies eat you.”

“Are you planning on letting them eat me?”

“It’s cute that you think we wouldn’t.”

“Good luck sorting all the shit I leave behind,” Parker says, and goes back to sorting kitchen towels.

James pauses. “Oh, you bitch, you actually made yourself useful, didn’t you?”

“I might’ve.”

“You’re a crafty one.”

“I’ve always been crafty.”

“Our favorite craft boy.” James reaches down and ruffles Parker’s hair. It’s uncomfortably aggressive. “You’re like an edgy knitter. Making us a safe home.”

“It’s- I’m not that kind of crafty-”

“Parker really is kind of crappy,” Cib yells, and lifts a hand. Steve, without looking, high-fives him.

“Ouch,” Parker says, more to be polite than because he actually cares.

“Hey!” James points at Cib. “No verbally wounding him before one of us knows how to do his job.”

“I’ll learn to do it!” Cib jumps to his feet. “Parker, teach me how to be you.”

“No,” Steve says immediately. “One Parker is enough.”

Cib nods sagely. “You’re right. I’ll teach him how to be me.”

“ No, ” Steve and James say together.

Cib makes eye contact with Parker and mouths something completely unreadable. If Parker had to guess, it’s probably crude and insulting.

“Besides,” Parker says, “you guys are busy getting more supplies. I can’t teach you how to do inventory when I haven’t even inventoried everything here yet.”

James crouches down next to him. “You’re not done?”

“I’m probably more than half done, but no, I’m not.”

“Have you done the ammo yet?”

Parker sighs. “Yes, I’ve done the ammo.”

“Fuck!”

“Get another job, James, quit trying to steal mine.”

“Jobs? In this economy?” Cib demands. “Zombie economy? Ezonomy? What do you guys think the job market like in the ezonomy? Is it gonna be really specialized, or-”

“Jesus Christ, stop talking about zombie economics,” Steve grumbles. “Why is this so interesting to you?”

“Marxism,” Cib says, which might be an answer, might just be the one word he knows related to economic theory. It’s a toss-up.

“Oooookay,” Steve says. “Get back down here, I don’t wanna cut my fucking hands on this wire myself.”

Cib obediently kneels back down. Parker looks at James. “Go help them.”

“You sure?” James says, and for a second, Parker feels bad. They’re all scared, they all need things to do, and maybe it’s selfish of him to keep such an essential job to himself. Maybe he should teach James his system, or at least outline it for him.

“Yeah,” Parker says, because he actually is sure. This is his, goddammit. It’s the end of the world, and he’s holding on to what he can.

The problem with being in charge of inventory is:

Jeremy shows up. Like, literally materializes out of thin air, as far as Parker can tell. Like, everything’s fine and then Steven yells “Jesus fucking Christ” and Jeremy is outside one of the kitchen store windows. Holding an axe.

Parker has definitely, definitely had nightmares about this before.

“You should really board up those windows,” Jeremy says as Steve opens the door. “Could be dangerous. Hey, Parker.”

“Hey, Jeremy,” Parker says, trying incredibly hard not to let his voice shake.

“How did you find us?” Steve demands. “Is this just a freaky coincidence?”

“Yeah, I came here to loot, and then I saw you in the window.” Jeremy shrugs, adjusting his grip on the axe. His very, very tight grip on the axe. “How long have you guys been here?”

“Three weeks?” Steve glances at Parker. “Three?”

“Too long,” Parker says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because there’s an appropriate length of time for the zombie apocalypse.”

Parker personally thinks that it got really old after the second week. Around the time Cib and James started teaching him and Steve tricks for shooting moving targets, the situation lost any of the weird Hollywood horror charm that it had left.

“Yeah, about three weeks,” Parker concedes, because he’s not going to tell fucking Jeremy about how scared he is about the end of the world. The guy is his friend, but he’s also kind of ruthless.

“Good call,” Jeremy says. Parker hates that he actually feels complimented by it.

“Anyways.” Steve folds his arms. “You just visiting, or are you here for a reason?”

Jeremy’s eyes flick around the room, from Parker to the makeshift sleeping corner set up for the four of them (shit) to the open stockroom door ( shit ) and landing back on Steven. “You interested in bartering, Steve?”

“Depends,” Steve says warily. “What are we bartering?”

“I’ll give you the axe if you give me Parker.”

Parker’s entire body flash-freezes. He knows that they all joke about how badly they want him gone, but he’s really not in the mood to find out if they mean it. “Steve-”

Steve rolls his eyes. “God, Parker, I’m not gonna sell you for an axe without talking to James and Cib first.”

“Am I really only worth an axe?”

“It’s a pretty good axe,” Jeremy says. “What else can you give me? Other than telling me that James and Cib are staying with you, of course.”

“Don’t be stupid, I know you already figured that out,” Steve says, blase enough that Parker is almost convinced. “What else do you want?”

“Food.”

“Parker, can we do that?”

“We can give you two cases of MREs,” Parker says. Cib had found a shitton of full cases in an apartment complex lobby a while ago. Said it looked like an abandoned camp. Parker doesn’t want to think about what went so bad that they abandoned all that food. “It’ll last you at least a week.”

“I need enough for two people,” Jeremy says.

“So that’d be you and Andrew,” Steve says neutrally.

Jeremy doesn’t even blink. “A week’s worth for two people. Four cases.”

“Not a chance. Two cases.”

“Three cases.”

“Two.”

“Two, and I come back if that doesn’t last the full week.”

Steve nods. “Fine. Parker.”

“Yeah,” Parker says, and it’s not until he’s in the stockroom and looking at the rations that he remembers the other, bigger problem with being in charge of inventory.

Look, it’s not like they’re going to run out of food anytime soon, if they keep going at the pace they’re going. All the boys go out most days for supplies, which range from food to weapons to clothes to batteries. And that means two things. First, it means they’re doing fine on supplies, so they can give Jeremy a couple dozen MREs, no problem. And second, it means Parker spends a lot of time alone. Just him keeping track of the things they collect.

Just him and, every now and again, famous actor James Allen McCune.

He just showed up a week or so ago outside the store and Parker felt bad, okay? The dude clearly didn’t have a zombie crew, or at least not a good one, so Parker gave him a butcher’s knife (not high-end, but sharp enough that he could defend himself) and a couple MREs and sent him on his way. And he didn’t tell the boys because it wasn’t like it was going to make a big deal. Besides, it wasn’t like they’d notice. Parker’s in charge of inventory.

And then James had shown up again, and Parker had given him a couple more MREs, and it’s really not like they’re running out. It’s just that giving Jeremy two cases feels like a lot.

Maybe it’s not a problem, he decides, as he picks up two cases of MREs. If it’s a problem then he’ll tell Steve they’re running low on food, and if it’s not then nobody will ever know. This doesn’t have to be a problem.

When he comes out with the cases in his arms, Steve is holding the axe. Jeremy is still hovering by the door. “That’s two full cases?”

“Two full cases.” Parker sets them on the floor in front of Jeremy’s feet. “They should last you the full week if you’re careful.”

Jeremy - well, he doesn’t quite smile as much as bare his teeth. “Yeah, because everyone’s careful at the end of the world.”

“Jeremy, come on,” Steve sighs. “Parker’s handling this as well as his child brain allows him to.”

“Hey,” Parker says without heat. “I’m in charge of inventory.”

“We know.” Steve pats Parker’s shoulder. “We’re all very proud of you. Now, let me ask you this: do you know how to sharpen an axe?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“A directly relevant one.”

“I know. And I can tell you.” Jeremy leans down and drums his fingers on the cases. “If you gimme another case.”

“Yeah,” Steve says flatly, “because we definitely can’t figure that one out on our own.”

“Google’s not working these days, Steve.”

“If you think Cib can’t figure out how to make something more dangerous, you haven’t been paying attention.”

Jeremy smiles, something reminiscent of an actual smile this time. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair. I’ll be seeing you guys.”

“Where are you and Andrew staying?” Parker blurts out. Maybe Jeremy is trying to kill him, but he wants to know that his friends are okay.

Jeremy lifts the cases. “Be seeing you,” He repeats, and then he’s gone just about as fast as he showed up.

Steve glances down at the axe. “I don’t know why we need this.”

“Firewood?”

“Oh, fuck, are we going to need firewood in the winter?”

“I mean, probably.”

Steve makes a face. “Can we make a suicide pact? I’ll chop your head off if you stab me.”

“I don’t think that’s how suicide pacts work,” Parker points out.

“This apocalypse has ruined everything,” Steve says. “I’m gonna go practice axing things, you wanna come with?”

“Absolutely,” Parker says, and Steve’s eyes crinkle up at the corners, and for a second everything feels… normal.

“Steve almost sold me to Jeremy for our new axe, you know,” Parker says.

Cib, who thankfully found another full case of MREs on his supply run, laughs. “Did he really?”

“Mmhm.” Parker leans over Cib’s shoulder and lets Cib push him away, like he always does. “Said the only reason he didn’t is he hadn’t talked to you and James about it.”

“I don’t know why you’re so worried about us selling you to Jeremy.”

“He tried to kill me before the world was ending, what do you think he’s going to do now?”

“Eat you.” Cib glances at him, nose wrinkled. “Duh.”

“Ugh, Cib, fucking gross.”

“What? I’d eat you.”

“I’d eat you .”

Cib, for some godforsaken reason, turns and winks at Parker. There’s tongue-wagging involved.

“Cib,” Parker says, “I’m going to axe you just so I never have to see that again.”

“Yeah, but if you did that, you wouldn’t have this.” Cib raps his knuckles against the computer monitor. It used to be part of the register system for the kitchen store, but Cib has claimed it as his own project. He’s also not explaining what he’s doing with it, or why it involves so many damn batteries, but Steve said it’s best just to indulge him on this.

Parker shakes his head. “I think we’d be lost without you, Cib.”

“Oh, dude, I’m the finder, remember?” Cib grins, and something catches in Parker’s chest because it looks… real. “If you guys lost me, I’d find you.”

“You think so?”

“I know so, bitch.” Cib goes back to the monitor. Parker leans in a little closer, and Cib barely nudges him back this time. “You can’t get rid of me that easy. You’d need four shotguns.”

“We have those.”

“Aw, well, then I’m fucked sideways on a futon.”

Parker laughs under his breath and decides, for now, to keep his mouth shut and watch Cib work. Whatever the hell he’s doing, he makes it fun to watch.

The zombie apocalypse tends to change your concept of a few things. How long you should go without a shower, for instance. How much sleep you need. How much food is enough for a day. Things like that.

Parker is having a bad day. And considering the world is literally ending, that’s saying something.

He managed to accidentally drop half of his first daily MRE on the floor, and considering how dirty everything is, he decided against eating it. He found out that his count for razors was off by a couple, and Cib also looked suspiciously cleaner than normal, but that wasn’t enough to accuse him of stealing. And on top of that Steve decided that Parker should go out on supply runs every now and again, so he and James got to bicycle down to a gas station.

(Steve is a good de facto apocalypse leader. This isn’t something Parker expected to learn about him, or about anyone, but he is. He has all these great ideas, like using bikes for transit and rotating who goes out. Parker’s proud of him, in a weird end-of-the-world way. Even if he hates going on supply runs.)

So he’s already not in a great mood, and on top of that he’s anxious as hell about splitting up with James, so he has one hand on the handle of his pistol as he goes through the aisles of the gas station. Just about everything is picked clean, and what isn’t is rotten, but he grabs things anyways. Some bottles of painkillers, a mostly-crushed bag of chips. He throws them all into an old backpack, sitting on the ground. Maybe one day they can trade luxury items for useful items. He’s got kind of a collection going in the stockroom.

And, because this is just how today is going, Parker leans down to pick up a bottle of ibuprofen, and when he stands up there’s a shotgun against the back of his head.

“Don’t move,” a voice says behind him, through gritted teeth. “Drop it.”

Parker drops the bottle. “Listen, I don’t want any tr-”

“Sami Jo!” the voice yells, and then prods Parker a little harder. “Stand up.”

Parker stands, turning around and lifting his hands as he does. There’s a woman in front of him, glaring forcefully up, shotgun pointed directly at Parker’s heart. “I swear to god, I thought this place was abandoned.”

“Are you gonna give us our things back?”

“I didn’t take any of the things in here,” Parker tries. It sounds like a lie, even to him.

“Yeah, whatever,” the woman says. “Sami Jo! Come on!”

“I’m a little held up right now, babe,” someone else yells back.

The woman jabs her shotgun at Parker. “Is it just you here?”

“Uhhhhhhh,” Parker says, trying to figure out what the odds are of James popping up out of nowhere. “Are you alone?”

Her eyes narrow. “You just heard me talking to someone else.”

“Was that you?” Parker forces himself to laugh. “Huh, here I thought I was going… zombie-crazy.”

“Zombie-crazy?” a new voice demands. When Parker turns, he almost sags in relief: there’s woman there, hands in the air, with James standing behind her, gun pointed at her head.

Parker’s shotgun girl narrows her eyes. “You could’ve just said you weren’t here alone.”

Parker laughs weakly. “Ha, well, you know.”

“Parker, you’re the only person I know who could get held at gunpoint in a gas station,” James complains. “This is ridiculous.”

The woman in front of James - Sami Jo, if Parker had to guess - clears her throat. “I’m also at gunpoint in a gas station.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know you.”

“Listen, I don’t know you either, but my girl has your boy-”

“Not mine,” James says. Parker glares at him. “I mean, sort of mine.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sami Jo says. “All I’m trying to say is we can put our guns down on the count of three. And everyone goes on their merry way.”

“And this one gives us back all our shit that he stole,” Parker’s shotgun girl adds, scowling at him.

“Aw, dude, you stole things?” James grins. “Nice. I changed my mind, I’m claiming you.”

“Guns down, then I empty my backpack,” Parker says.

Shotgun girl nods. “Count of three. One, two-” she lowers her gun, and James does the same. She points at Parker’s backpack, sitting abandoned on the ground. “Empty it.”

Parker bends down and upends the backpack. Ibuprofen might’ve been nice to have, but getting out of here alive is probably nicer.

“Dude, that’s a pretty sweet haul for being here all of five minutes,” James says, leaning over to look at it all. “Wait till we tell Cib, he’ll probably try and teach you about his Turkish method for picking pockets.”

“His Turkish what?”

“Cib?” one of the girls demands. When Parker looks over they’re standing together, arms tightly wound around each other’s waists. Sami Jo’s eyes are narrowed. “Did you say Cib? As in, Clayton James?”

Parker looks at James. James looks at Parker, and then back to Sami Jo. “Our answer to that is gonna depend on how you know this… Clayton fellow.”

“Like there’s gonna be more than one person we know named Cib?” Sami Jo snaps. “We were neighbors for a while, I fed his fish when he went on vacation to Florida. And got him a new one when I forgot to feed it and it died.”

“Cib did say that Turtle seemed different after Florida,” Parker murmurs.

James crosses his arms. “Okay. So you know Cib. What’s up?”

Sami Jo pauses. “Autumn and I need to talk for a minute. No looting while our backs are turned.”

“Sure thing,” James says. The minute they turn around, he reaches down and tucks a bottle of ibuprofen in the waistband of his pants.

“Dude,” Parker hisses.

James shrugs. “All’s fair in the end of days, baby. Tolstoy wrote that.”

“Who the fuck is Tolstoy?”

“I don’t know, but the man was a genius, haven’t you heard his operas?”

“James, I’m almost positive you’re making shit up.”

“Only almost?”

“Okay,” Sami Jo says loudly. When they look up, Sami Jo and Autumn look severely unimpressed. “First of all, I saw that, and you can keep your dick Advil to yourself.”

“Nice,” James whispers.

“And second, we want to cut a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“We want to join our crew with yours.”

Parker tries not to wince. The kitchen store isn’t small, but it’s also not a lot of space to share between the four of them, let alone six.

James must be thinking the same thing because he looks severely unimpressed. “And why should we say yes?”

“Because I’m a good shot,” Autumn says. “And because we have a lot of guns to share with you.”

James leans his head towards Parker and murmurs, out of the side of his mouth, “How’re we doing on guns?”

“Could always use more,” Parker admits. “And it wouldn’t be so bad to have more people as lookouts.”

“Neither of us are great lookouts,” Sami Jo says, surprisingly candid. Autumn frowns up at her, but she just shrugs. “Babe, you can barely hear.”

“I mean, no,” Autumn says. Parker blinks in surprise. Now that he looks a little closer, Autumn is definitely looking at Sami Jo’s lips as she speaks. He maybe would’ve written that off as a girlfriend thing, but it makes just as much sense for it to be lip-reading. “But I thought…” She jerks her head up at the ceiling significantly.

Sami Jo’s eyes widen. “You can’t be serious.”

“He’s a good lookout!”

“He didn’t even notice these two clownfucks walking in!”

“Clownfuck,” James repeats under his breath. “Gonna use that one.”

Autumn crosses her arms. “We can’t just leave him.”

“We-” Sami Jo sighs. “Okay. Maybe.”

“Maybe what?” James demands.

“We have another guy as our lookout.” Sami Jo grimaces. “He’s a little weird. Got scratched by a zomb, but he seems fine.”

“And anything that doesn’t seem fine, he was like that beforehand,” Autumn adds. Sami Jo nods next to her. “But anyways. The three of us, and all the supplies we got, and we join up with you guys. Deal?”

“We’re not in charge,” James says. “We’d have to talk to Steve.” But from the way he glances at Parker, he knows as well as Parker does that Steve is going to say yes. Even if he complains about it.

Sami Jo nods. “I want to meet him.”

“That could work, actually.” James glances at Parker. “You take her to Steven and Cib, I’ll stay here and help Autumn get everything ready to leave.”

“And Alfredo,” Autumn insists.

“And Alfredo,” James agrees. “Wherever he is.”

“The roof, probably,” Sami Jo mutters. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and turns to face Autumn, stroking a hand down the back of her head.. “Be careful while I’m gone.”

“You too.” Autumn leans up on her tiptoes, and Sami Jo smiles as she leans down to kiss her.

James glances at Parker. “Don’t get lost.”

“I’m not going to get lost, James, why would you-”

“And don’t get eaten,” James adds. “Steve’ll be pissed if one of us has to figure out that weird sorting system you’ve got going on.”

Parker is pretty sure that Cib has it at least half figured out by now, because it’s actually not that complicated, but he nods anyways. “See you soon.”

“See you soon, man.”

Sami Jo looks at Parker. “How’re we getting there?”

“We have bicycles.”

“Then let’s ride.” And she grins at him, and Parker feels himself grin back.

There is a specific, special way to open the kitchen store door that doesn’t result in a barbed wire trap maiming you. The day that Steve set it up, he showed everyone how to do it, and how to be careful about it. Parker has practiced opening the barbed wire trap dozens of times in the past month and a half.

“You’re bad at that,” Sami Jo says, after Parker narrowly avoids getting caught in the trap.

“It’s set up poorly, not my fault,” he mutters, even though Steve and Cib can probably hear him. He steps into the store. “Steve! We have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Cib pops up from behind the counter with the computer monitor, and his jaw drops. “Aw, Sami Jo!”

“Cib!” She practically flies over to where he is, throwing her arms around his neck, and he manages to both catch her and pick her up. “Oh my god!”

“Did you trade James for her?” Steven asks, sliding over to Parker’s side. “I’m not judging if you did, because this could potentially be a step up, but we need to get walkie-talkies or something so we can discuss these things on the fly.”

“I didn’t trade James.”

“Yeah, James probably would’ve traded you first.”

Parker shakes his head. Steve looks at him sidelong. “No, I mean it, he would’ve.”

“I know you mean it,” Parker admits. “I just mean he didn’t. And we’re not trying to trade, they’re trying to join up.”

“Join up?” Cib repeats. He still has an arm around Sami Jo’s waist, but now she’s sitting on the counter next to him, one foot swinging against Cib’s thigh. “Donezo. Welcome aboard, you’re a real pirate now.”

“Hold on.” Steven looks at Sami Jo. “First of all, I’m Steven.”

She waves at him. “Sami Jo. Can my girlfriend and I move in?”

“Girlfriend? Aw!” Cib grins at her. “Steve, we gotta, she was my neighbor, we have a code of honor.”

“Cib, there’s not a neighborly code of honor.”

“You just don’t know about it because you weren’t inducted into the order.”

Steve frowns. “What order? Is there a secret neighbor order?”

Sami Jo nods. “Cib, remember that fourth rite of passage?”

Cib shakes his head. “It was brutal. My nutsack is still bruised, and it’s been years .”

“Okay,” Steve says loudly. “Putting aside the fact that my neighbors apparently hate me, why should we?”

“We’ve got a lot of guns.”

Steve glances at Parker. “Do we need more guns?”

“It’s never bad to have more guns,” Parker says.

“That’s a good point.” Steve looks back at Sami Jo. “You and your girlfriend?”

“She’s hard of hearing, but she’s a good shot.” She grimaces. “And I guess our lookout, but he would probably just nest on the roof.”

“Roof?” Steven repeats.

“ Nest? ” Parker repeats, because that part is new information.

“Steve,” Cib says. “Steve, Steve. We have to. We have to or I’ll leave. ”

“You’re not gonna leave.”

“I’d leave!” He tugs Sami Jo in closer towards him. “I know her!”

“You know us too!”

“What if I like her more?”

“What if you like her girlfriend less?”

“I already love her,” Cib says solemnly. “Also, they don’t have a Parker.”

“Okay, that’s a good reason,” Steve admits. Parker sighs. Sami Jo giggles, because apparently it’s easy to get on board with Parker being at the bottom of the totem pole. “Just you three?”

“Just us three. And Alfredo eats bugs and rotten food, so you wouldn’t have to worry about that.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “And this is a human you’re inviting into our home?”

“We think so, yeah.”

“And you’d chip in, with supply runs and all that?”

“Of course, we’re not freeloaders.”

“Steve,” Cib says, eyes round. “Steve, say yes, please, please, I won’t ask you for anything ever again-”

“Don’t lie.”

“I won’t ask you for anything until tomorrow.”

“Cib.”

“I won’t ask you for anything for four hours.”

“That seems like a reasonable sacrifice,” Sami Jo says seriously. “I think you should give the man what he wants.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, fine, okay, let’s do it, why not?”

“Yes!” Cib holds up a hand, and Sami Jo high-fives him so hard that Parker winces. Cib doesn’t react. “I wanna meet your deaf girlfriend, I bet she’s great.”

“She’s the best!” Sami Jo beams and points at Parker. “She held up that one at gunpoint.”

“Parker!” Steve says, aghast. “You got held up? We’ve talked about this!”

Parker frowns. “No, we haven’t.”

“Well, we’re going to have to.”

“Well, James had Sami Jo at gunpoint!”

“ Dude ,” Cib says, and looks at Sami Jo. “I can fight him for your honor, if you want.”

“I can fight for my own honor, but thanks.” Sami Jo grins. “Can we go get my girlfriend now?”

“And James,” Parker mumbles.

“Girlfriend and James,” Steve repeats. “Alright, let’s shape up and ship out. And also find the weird lookout.”

Parker does not like Alfredo. The less said about that, the better.

“Hey.” Sami Jo pokes her head into the stockroom. “Is Cib in here?”

“I don’t think so.” Parker glances around and cups his hands around his mouth. “Cib, wake up!”

There’s no answer. Sami Jo frowns. “Nobody’s seen him in a few hours.”

“What? Why?”

“Dunno. That’s why I was hoping he was back here.”

“Well, he’s not.”

“Yeah, obviously.” Sami Jo shakes her head. “Just let one of us know if he turns up, okay?”

“I will,” Parker promises. As soon as she leaves, he grabs a flashlight and starts going through the aisles of shelves. There’s no telling with Cib, whether he could’ve left or fallen asleep under a shelf waiting to jump out and scare Parker, but it’s worth checking. And double-checking.

In fact, Parker is on his third pass scouring the shelves when he hears Steve demand, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Uh- I’m-” Parker swivels, flashlight in hand, and Steve shrinks back as the beam hits him in the face. Parker switches it off. “Sorry. Flashlight.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Steve shakes his head. “Have you seen Cib?”

“No,” Parker says, trying to ignore the sinking dread in his stomach. “Why, has he- isn’t he back?”

“No,” Steve says, clearly frustrated. “And nobody knows where he is.”

“Did he take one of the bikes?”

“James is in the toy store right now checking.”

Parker shudders involuntarily. “Why do we store our bikes in a toy store?”

“Because the zombies weren’t enough nightmare fuel, so we keep zombie bait in an abandoned toy store. And if you find Cib before we do, tell him to quit being such a cuck.”

“I- what?”

“And you can kick him. You have my permission.” He points at Parker. “One time only.”

“I’m not gonna cuck him- kick him, fuck- ”

“Whatever.” Steve turns and leaves, and Parker takes a deep, rattling breath.

Okay. They can’t find Cib. This is fine. These things happen all the time. They misplace members of their group regularly. Nothing is wrong.

“Nothing is wrong,” Parker says aloud. It’s a little shaky to his own ears, and he sways on the spot, but he says it again. “Nothing is wrong.”

Something bangs on the back door.

Parker, to what he thinks is his credit, doesn’t scream too loudly, or drop the flashlight. It’s really more of a yelp, and he manages to swing the flashlight to face the back door. It used to be an emergency exit, and he’s never opened it. It’s pretty firmly one-way, so he’s not worried about zombies.

Or, well. He wasn’t worried about zombies until right now.

Slowly, gripping the flashlight with both hands, he walks over to the back door. Something bangs on it again, and he flinches, but he reaches one hand out and pushes the door open.

“Dead!” someone shouts on the other side, and Parker jumps back, reflexively throwing an arm up in front of his face. “Don’t open that door!”

Parker lowers his arm. “Cib!”

“Uh, yeah!” Cib wrenches the door the rest of the way open. He has a case of plastic water bottles tucked under one arm and dried blood under one eye. “Now, I know what you’re thinking, but really, the plastic bottles aren’t bad for the environment, because recycling is a thing rich people do-”

“Dude!” Parker hisses. “Close the door!”

Cib steps inside and lets the door close. “You really shouldn’t open that, by the way, because if I were a zombie you’d be filet high noon right now.”

“Where were you?”

“Supply run!” He drops the water on the floor with a loud smack. “You’re welcome.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“Well, where did you all think I was, fucking H&M?”

“Dead,” James snaps from the doorway. Parker turns to see him, arms tightly folded, with Steve hovering over one shoulder. “Dude, you can’t just fucking leave like that.”

“Whoa!” Cib frowns. “What’s the issue tissue?”

“No one knew where you were,” Steve says. “Haven’t you ever seen a zombie movie? When you do shit like that, normally it means you died horribly.”

“We were worried,” Parker mumbles. It feels a little lame, next to Steve and James’s real anger, but Cib looks at him in surprise. Parker looks away immediately and shrugs.

“Okay,” Cib says. “Okay. I won’t do it again.”

“New rule,” Steve says abruptly. “Nobody leaves without telling someone first, got it?”

Cib nods. “Nobody leaves without someone fisting them.”

“Jesus actual Christ,” Steve says. “Okay, I think that means you understand, and I don’t want to ask any more questions and find out. Everyone good with the rule?”

Parker nods. James turns and leans into the main room. “Hey! Nobody leaves without telling someone else first from now on, got it?”

“Got it,” Sami Jo yells back. “Now I just need to tell my deaf girlfriend.”

James grimaces. “It’s hard communicating these things,” he mutters.

Cib shrugs. “At least I’m gonna get fisted more now.”

“Not it,” Steve says immediately. “Not it, and I’m leaving.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted it to be you anyways,” Cib mutters as James and Steve both walk away.

Parker picks up the case of water bottles. “Hey, what… what happened to your face?”

Cib lifts a hand to rub at the dry blood. “Eh, missed where the corner of a building was. Bricks and I don’t get along anymore.”

“Not a zombie?”

“I wouldn’t come back if it were a zombie,” he scoffs. “Nah, I’d just leave you guys forever.”

Parker frowns. He knows it’s a joke, but… “Don’t do that.”

Cib grins. “Aw, what’s the matter, parking lot, you gonna miss me?”

“I’m gonna- gonna miss all the water you bring me.” Parker pivots on his heel, so hard that he almost stumbles, and he’s pretty sure Cib is laughing at him. But that doesn’t matter. Even the obvious lie doesn’t matter. He’s just glad that Cib is there, and that he probably understands what Parker didn’t say.

“Can’t sleep?”

Parker glances up as Steve slides down the wall to sit next to him. “Nah. You?”

Steve gives him a look. “Do I look like I’m asleep?”

Parker shrugs. “Sleepwalking is maybe the least weird thing that’s happening these days.”

“That’s true.” Steven tips his head back, to where it thuds against the wall. “Hey.”

“Hey?”

“What are we doing?”

“I dunno.”

“You don’t know?”

Parker shrugs. “Do you?”

“Maybe.” Steve looks at Parker. “What do you think we’re doing?”

“Right now? Or in the world?”

“Whatever.”

Parker looks up at the ceiling, considering. “I think we’re faking our way through an apocalypse.”

“Still?”

“We’re only a couple months in, none of us are survivalists, we’re all learning to do things we don’t know how to do. I still suck at shooting.”

“We know,” Steve mutters. When Parker glances over, Steve is half smiling at him.

“And I’m still here!” Parker hesitantly bumps his shoulder against Steve’s, and Steve bumps him back. “I’m here and I don’t know what I’m doing, but you guys are keeping me around anyways. And you might not know what you’re doing either.”

“Watch yourself.”

“I said might!”

“We can throw you out in the street.”

“Then who will do your inventory?”

“All of us know how to count, god, Parker.”

Parker grins. He knows it’s ridiculous, this whole thing is ridiculous, but it’s the end of the world and Steve is sitting next to him, tired and alive. Just like always. “Listen, my point is that we don’t know what we’re doing, but we’re doing it anyways.”

“And you think that’s good enough?”

“Do you think we should stop?”

“I don’t think we can.”

Parker shrugs. “There we go.”

“I hate that you’re good at making things less scary,” Steve says, but he’s smiling. He’s falling asleep, Parker can feel it. “Shouldn’t be allowed.”

“One of us had to be.”

“Yeah, it was supposed to be me, you total dick.”

“You’re just gonna have to settle for being good at everything else.”

“Not good enough.”

“Get over it, you one percent bitch.”

Steven laughs aloud at that, and his head finally tips over onto Parker’s shoulder. “Ugh, your bones.”

“My bones?”

“Not comfy.”

“Then go lie down in bed.”

“Fuck off,” Steve mumbles. “Parker, let’s sleep together.”

“I’ve had dreams about this,” Parker answers in a monotone.

“Don’t make it weird.” Steve scoots closer to Parker, relaxing against his side. “Just sit.”

“Close your eyes and think of England, Steve.”

“Is- is that a sex joke? Are you sex joking me?”

“You said we should sleep together.”

“Ugh.” He’s almost asleep now, his weight pressing down on Parker’s shoulder. Like he can’t hold himself up anymore. “Gross.”

“Yeah,” Parker says. “Gross.”

It takes about ten minutes for Steve’s breathing to even out, and for Parker to realize that he’s not going to be able to move without waking him up. Which is fine. Steven sleeps when he can, not every night but most nights. Parker… can’t do that. He didn’t sleep last night either. Naps during the day, sometimes, but almost never at night. He wasn’t going to sleep tonight anyways.

Parker lets out a deep breath. Steven doesn’t move.

“Alright,” Parker mumbles, as quietly as he can. “Okay.”

By the time Steve rolls off him and sprawls out on the floor, Parker has run through his mental list of inventory four times. He gets to his feet, a little numb but still steady, and finds a blanket and a pillow for Steve. It takes him about ten minutes to make his way out into the main room.

James, sitting against the far wall, looks up as Parker walks in. “Hey,” he says softly. None of the sleeping figures stir. There are the pieces of a dismantled revolver in his lap, because that’s what James does when he’s nervous. He takes things apart.

Parker sits down next to him. “Can’t sleep?”

“Woke up early. You know where Steven is?”

“He fell asleep in the back room.”

“I thought you slept back there.”

“Sometimes,” Parker lies. “What’re you up to?”

James shakes his head. “Just trying to find something to do.”

“You wanna play I Spy?”

“You’re not serious.”

“What else are we gonna do?”

“Sit in absolute silence.”

Parker waits. Because he knows James, and because there’s nothing else to do.

James sighs. “I spy, with my little eye, a bitch.”

“There are no mirrors in here.”

“And that’s why you don’t see him.”

Parker laughs, even though it’s a stupid joke. “Alright, you wanna go again? For real this time.”

“Ugh, for real this time,” James mutters, but his shoulders are already less tense. Parker thinks he could stay up all night every night, if it means helping his friends look like people again.

The next time Jeremy visits, he knocks on the door, which is an improvement by virtue of not being completely terrifying. But he stands outside patiently, and waits for Parker to open the door for him. “Good to see you again.”

��What do you want?” Parker sighs.

“Good way to greet an old friend.” Jeremy leans in. “And it looks like you have some new friends too.”

“I can shoot him if you want,” Sami Jo says, from a few feet behind Parker. She probably already has her gun drawn.

“I wouldn’t,” Jeremy says.

Parker kind of wants to say something snarky, like I would, or like Jeremy made jokes about murdering me before the apocalypse even started, but he stops himself. If Jeremy is visiting, he probably needs something, but he probably also has something for them. The axe is good to have, so maybe this is good to have, too. “Steve’s not here right now,” he says as a warning.

“Then I’ll talk to you instead. Tell your friend to put her gun down.”

“Parker,” Sami Jo says, warningly.

Parker turns to her. “No shooting until we hear him out.”

She lowers her gun, looking reluctant. “Who is this guy?”

“I’m the guy who’s gonna save your lives,” Jeremy says, almost cheerfully.

“Yeah? And how’re you gonna do that?”

Jeremy takes a step back. There’s something behind him resting in a kid’s wagon, something that Parker can’t quite make sense of. It’s huge and metal and comes up to Jeremy’s knees, and it looks heavy-duty.

Sami Jo takes in a sharp breath. “That’s a power generator.”

“Gasoline-powered,” Jeremy says. “Not that there’s much gasoline at the end of the world, but I figure with that big ol’ inventory room you guys have, you must have some fuel.”

They do. Not that Parker’s going to tell Jeremy that.

“What do you want for it?” Sami Jo asks, almost warily.

“And Steve’s not here,” Parker says again.

Jeremy sighs. “That’s a shame. I’d ask him for you again.”

“Again?” Sami Jo repeats.

“Although actually-” Jeremy looks Parker up and down. “Have you been sleeping?”

“Wh- th- you-” Parker scoffs. “Sleeping? In this economy?”

“Ezonomy,” Sami Jo says, because apparently she’s been talking to Cib, but she frowns. “Did you just say you haven’t been sleeping?”

“Sleeping?” Parker repeats. His voice is getting steadily higher, and he can feel Jeremy and Sami Jo’s eyes on him like little pin-prick lasers, and oh god, he’s definitely digging himself deeper here. “No, I just meant- who has- you know, it takes - takes a lot of time-”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Jeremy!” Parker claps his hands together. “Generator! What- trading?”

“I want a month’s food,” Jeremy says. “For two people.”

“Fuck off,” Sami Jo says immediately.

Jeremy raises his eyebrows. “You sure about that?”

“Wait,” Parker says. “Wait, Steve should be back in an hour or two, can you wait to talk to him?”

“This is a one time only thing, Parker, and there are a lot of people who would give me a month’s food for this.”

“But we don’t-” Parker looks desperately at Sami Jo. “What would we use it for?”

She bites her lip, worrying it between her teeth. “Recharging batteries once we find walkie talkies? Computers? A stovetop?”

“All good ideas,” Jeremy says. “All this can be yours for the low cost of eight cases of MREs.”

“Four,” Sami Jo says immediately. Parker lets out a breath of relief. He’s never been good at bartering.

“Eight,” Jeremy says evenly.

“Five.”

“Seven.”

“ Five. ”

Jeremy’s eyes move over to Parker, too slowly to be anything but deliberate. “I’m not doing five unless you can throw something extra in for me.”

“Five cases, no extra,” Sami Jo says. “Take it or leave it.”

Jeremy is still looking at Parker.

Oh, Parker thinks, and looks at the generator. They could use it. It’d be nice to be able to charge electronics. It’d be good for Cib, to use that for his weird monitor project instead of that complicated-looking system he has involving D batteries and foil. And they can always find more food, right?

Slowly, as subtly as he can, Parker nods.

“Five cases it is,” Jeremy says agreeably. “Help me get the generator out of the wagon, and then Parker can load the cases in.”

“Good,” Sami Jo says, with a vindictive level of satisfaction. Parker is so, so glad that she’s on his side. And she helps him unload it, and Parker takes the wagon to the back.

“What’s going on?” Autumn asks.

Parker jumps, violently, but he turns to where she’s sitting against the wall so she can see his lips. “Autumn! Uh, I forgot you were-”

“Here?” She shrugs. She has a book in her lap, not one that Parker recognizes, but they’ve been building up a mini library for her lately. She inventories that herself, with a lot of care. “I’m quiet. What’s the wagon for?”

“A friend of ours is trading us a power generator for food.”

Autumn’s eyes bulge. “Like, a real generator?”

“He says it’s gasoline-powered. Sami Jo is setting it up in the main room right now.”

“Can I help?”

“If you know how, sure.”

Autumn jumps to her feet, book all but forgotten, and runs out into the main room, leaving Parker alone.

They can afford five cases of MREs, probably. It’s only a week’s worth of food for them, and it’ll last Jeremy and Andrew way longer than that. But he promised something extra, so Parker opens one of the cases of MREs and gets to work.

When he wheels the wagon back out, Sami Jo and Autumn are fiddling with the generator. Jeremy looks up at Parker and the towering stack of MRE cases. “That one looks like it’s been opened.”

“We, uh,” Parker says, trying frantically to think of a lie that fits. “I just, uh. I opened it to make sure it was full. Because that… happens wrong sometimes. You can, uh. Double check, if you want.”

Jeremy opens the case. He doesn’t react as he sees all the water bottles, the ammo, the batteries, and the matchboxes, but when he looks at Parker, his lips are halfway quirked up. Like he knows that this was more than Parker should be giving him. “Yep. All there.”

Parker lets out a deep breath. “Cool. Uh, can you… can you get out? So we can figure out how to tell everyone else what we just did?”

“Sure thing. I’ll see you around.” He turns to Sami Jo. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, thanks for the generator,” Sami Jo says without looking up.

Autumn turns to Jeremy and opens her mouth, but before she says anything, Jeremy lifts his hands and does… something that Parker has to assume is sign language. Autumn’s jaw drops, but she signs something back, less clumsy than him.

Jeremy smirks, in the most unsettling way that he possibly could, and then he wheels the wagon out, and he’s gone.

Parker looks at Autumn. “What did he say?”

“He said he’d keep an ear out for me,” Autumn says, dumbstruck. “What do you think that means?”

“I think it means we should be careful when we make deals with him,” Sami Jo mutters. “Are we good, Parker? Five cases is a lot of food.”

“We’re extra good,” Parker says, with all the confidence he can fake. “Didn’t even hardly dent a thing.”

Sami Jo makes a face. “Make sure you’re more convincing when you say that to Steve and the boys.”

Parker sighs. “Yeah, okay. I’ll go practice.”

Parker’s working theory - and it’s not perfect - is that Cib is being nice to him because of the generator.

Cib had been ecstatic when he got back and saw the generator. Even Steve and James hadn’t been too mad about the food, because electricity is a hot commodity at the end of the world. They’ve been looking for gasoline for the past couple of weeks, alongside MREs and bullets, and they’ve been finding it. James showed everyone how to empty a car’s gas tank. And it’s been nice, having things like electric lights and Cib’s computer.

So Cib is being nice to Parker. And it’s probably because of the generator, which is fine, because that was a good trade on Parker’s part. Or mostly on Sami Jo’s part. Nobody knows about the extras that he gave Jeremy. Nobody double-checks the inventory. They just accept what Parker says.

Except:

“I thought we had more batteries than this,” Cib says.

Parker’s head jerks up. Cib is standing near one of the shelves, frowning down. “What?”

“I looked at this shelf a couple days ago, I swear-” Cib shakes his head. “Do you think being near zombies makes you stupider?”

Parker blinks a few times. It’s hard to follow Cib’s tangents when he’s well-rested and lucid, let alone when he hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a couple weeks. “Zombies?”

“Yeah, like, they eat brains so your brains get smaller in self defense.”

“Can brains do that?”

“I don’t know, I’m not a nerdologist.”

“Neurologist, they’re called-” Parker yawns, abruptly. “Fuck.”

“You’re a fuck. Shouldn’t there be more batteries, though?”

“Maybe your brain is shrinking,” Parker says. It’s hard to think straight. He knows James Allen McCune had stopped by again a few days ago, but he can’t remember if he’d given him batteries. The days are blurring together, lately. “Getting smaller ‘cause you’re not using it.”

“Uh, I said my brain, not my dick.”

“Cib, don’t be gross.”

Cib turns and spreads his arms wide. “It’s the end of the world, baby, there’s nothing left that’s clean.”

“You’re a clean,” Parker mumbles.

“Yeah, that’s because I shaved.” Cib snatches a couple of batteries off the shelf. “Hey, carpark.”

“S’not my name.”

“Do you still nap when you’re alone?”

Parker frowns, trying to clear his mind. “What?”

“You don’t sleep during the night,” Cib says. He’s giving Parker an eerily even look. “I can tell. You snore.”

“I would never.”

“You would sometimes.”

“Do you listen for me snoring?”

Cib shrugs. “Maybe it’s nice hearing my friends breathing.”

“That’s creepy.”

“But you quit snoring. Or you just quit sleeping, right?”

“I nap,” Parker says, a little plaintively. He can barely keep his head upright. “Sometimes.”

“When was the last time?”

Parker takes a deep breath and preemptively winces. “What day is it again?”

Cib goes quiet for a few seconds. “Okay, number uno, nobody knows what day it is, calendars are not useful for fighting zombies.”

“You could throw a calendar at a zombie.”

“Papercuts do not stop the undead. Probably.”

Parker nods. “What’s numero dos?”

“Numero dos is, lie down.”

Parker doesn’t want to listen. He doesn’t mean to listen. But he blinks and suddenly he’s on the ground. “I don’t need a nap.”

“Did you sleep yesterday?” Cib asks. He sounds closer to Parker.

“No.”

“Day before?”

“For about an hour.”

“Parker, I can barely count things when I’m awake, how are you supposed to count them with one hour of sleep in the last forty-one?”

“It’s been more than forty-one hours.”

Cib sighs loudly. Very loudly. Parker opens his eyes (did he close them?) just in time to see Cib lower himself on top of him.

“Cib,” Parker says. “Get off.”

“Nope.” He pops the p. Parker can feel it against his cheek. “I’m your wanking blanket.”

“My what? ”

“Your weighted belater.”

“Cib, oh my god-”

“Your waiting baker.”

“Weighted blanket?”

“That’s what I said,” Cib lies, blatantly. “Go to sleep, dude, the world’s still gonna be shit when you wake up. You won’t miss anything.”

“M’s’posed to help Alfredo watch,” Parker says, but he can already feel himself falling asleep. “This is th’one day I need to stay up.”

“I’ll stay up for you,” Cib promises.

Parker wrinkles his nose. “Really?”

“None of you silly bitches are dying on my watch,” Cib says, with a stupid kind of confidence.

Parker wants to say… something. That they can’t guarantee that, or that he doesn’t trust Cib to keep himself safe, or something stupid like asking Cib to stay while he’s asleep. But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he lets his eyes slip closed again. “Okay.”

“Cool,” Cib says, and smacks a loud, wet kiss on Parker’s cheek.

Parker wrinkles his nose. “Get your… fucky fish lips away.”

Cib laughs, warm against Parker’s ear. It’s the last thing Parker hears for a long time.

“Twenty-six hours? ”

“None of us wanted to wake you up,” Autumn says, completely unapologetic.

“I didn’t need sleep that badly!”

“Well, clearly you did, or else you wouldn’t have slept.”

“I sleep!”

Autumn fixes him with a deadpan look. Parker sighs. “I nap.”

“When was the last time you got more than three hours of sleep at a time?”

Parker grimaces. It was probably before Autumn and Sami Jo joined up, and everyone probably knows it. “Where is everyone?”

“Steve and James are trying to figure out who’s still camping near us.”

“Cib and Sami Jo?”

“Supply run.”

“Oh,” Parker says. He doesn’t know why he’s disappointed. “So it’s just us?”

Autumn nods, looking a little too knowing. “Yeah, Sami Jo said she was getting weirded out by Cib watching you sleep, so he dragged him away.”

“So you’re watching me sleep instead?”

“Nope.” Autumn lifts up her book. “Reading.”

Parker blinks. “You’re reading World War Z? Was the end of the world not enough zombies for you?”

“They didn’t get very much right in the book,” she deadpans. “We don’t have anything to do, by the way. Cib said he took a few batteries, but that’s it, so there’s no point in recounting inventory.”

“Do you think we can come up with something to do?”

“Do you have any ideas?”

Parker glances around the inventory room. It’s all neatly ordered, but it also all looks… well, like it’s been in a zombie apocalypse for three months. “You wanna clean?”

“Seriously?”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Autumn says, but she dog-ears her page and puts the book down. “Do we have cleaning supplies?”

“Some.”

“What kind of ‘some?’”

“Clorox wipes.” Parker pauses, thinking. “Paper towels.”

“Do paper towels count?”

“They do if you clean things with them.”

“We should just Clorox all the hard surfaces,” Autumn decides. “Give us a little bit of a shine. We could use some shine.”

“Something shiny at the end of the world,” Parker says, and Autumn grins at him. And he wishes he’d had the chance to know her in a world without zombies, he really does. Her and Sami Jo both. All of them together. They could’ve been something spectacular, he thinks, something spectacular with a goal bigger than just staying alive.

Autumn takes the lead on the cleaning. Parker thinks it’s partly because she was bored, partly because she wants to get done and finish her book, and partly because he’s still moving very, very slowly. He’s going to have to dig up some sleeping pills, because this sleep schedule is kind of untenable.

It takes Parker until they start wiping down the sleeping bags that he notices the humming. He stops and turns to Autumn without thinking. She doesn’t notice, just keeps humming something soft that Parker doesn’t quite recognize, until--

“Bon Jovi,” he blurts out.

Autumn blinks a couple times and swivels her head towards him. “Did you say something?”

“Are you humming Bon Jovi?”

“Yeah, it’s a good song.”

“Do you…” Parker stops. “Is it insensitive to ask if you listen to a lot of music?”

Autumn’s eyebrows slowly climb up her face. “Not really?”

“Then do you?”

“I don’t listen to much these days.”

“Did you?”

She nods. “I listened to a lot of classic rock when I was younger.”

“Bon Jovi, obviously.”

“Yeah, Bon Jovi. I liked The Eagles.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

“I was in a really bad car wreck when I was twelve.” She shrugs. “Head injuries are weird. Lost most of my hearing from it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m fine with ASL and lip reading.” She smiles wanly at him, and Parker smiles back reflexively. “I miss my hearing aids, though.”

“You had hearing aids?”

“Yeah, but they quit working the day before the whole zombie thing.”

He winces. “Bad timing.”

“This whole thing is bad timing,” Autumn agrees. “But it could be worse.”

“I think you’re the only other person who says things like that.”

“James does sometimes.”

“Maybe James is just handling this whole thing well.”

Autumn snorts. “Are you implying you’re handling this well?”

“Are you implying I’m not?”

“You just slept for twenty-six hours.”

Parker sighs. “That’s going to be a trump card in conversations now, huh?”

Autumn pats his shoulder awkwardly. “You brought it on yourself.”

He knows she’s right, sort of. He would’ve slept if he could’ve, honestly, but it didn’t work out that way. It took Cib lying on top of him, and that was a level of weird that he’s not quite willing to dedicate himself to dealing with regularly yet.

“It’s not my fault that Cib physically held me down and made me sleep,” he says, and that same knowing look from earlier flicks across Autumn’s face. Parker frowns. “What?”

“Nothing,” Autumn says, just a little shit-eating, and looks back down to where she’s Clorox-wiping a sleeping bag.

“Autumn-”

She starts humming Bon Jovi again, with a little more determination than before.

“Fine,” Parker mutters. But he starts cleaning again. And if he starts humming along, it’s not like Autumn will say anything about it.

Steve and James give them shit for cleaning at the end of the world, and they give Parker gasoline and sleeping pills. They also give Parker shit for not sleeping, which he knew they would. And it’s shaping up to be just another night at the end of the world, and then:

Cib kicks the door in, narrowly avoiding the barbed wire trap, and shouts, “Who’s ready to get fucking wasted? ”

“We found vodka,” Sami Jo says behind him. She has three or four bottles in her arms, and Cib is brandishing another one in the air. “Like, a lot of vodka.”

Steven turns to Parker. “What do we have in the way of glassware and mixers?”

“Glassware, yes. Mixers, probably not.”

“Steve,” Cib says, offended, “are you trying to pussy out of drinking straight vodka?”

“I’m not trying to pussy out, I just think it’s a bad idea-”

“Dude,” James says. “Let’s get drunk. ”

Autumn jumps to her feet. “I’ve been stashing something for this in the library, hold on!”

“Stashing-” Parker turns to look at her, but she’s already running off to inventory. He sighs. “Do you all have stashes?”

Everyone nods. Parker wonders what the hell the point of doing inventory is if everyone has secret stashes.

“Where’d you even find that?” James asks, peering at the bottles.

“Oh, there were a ton more where these came from,” Sami Jo says cheerfully. “We just grabbed what we could carry. No idea why someone was hoarding vodka.”

“Because it’s the end of the world,” Steve points out. “If I were in charge of inventory, we’d have a lot less food and a lot more vodka.”

“And that’s why I’m in charge,” Parker says. Everyone ignores him.

“Okay!” Autumn reappears, holding two massive bottles of Sprite. “We can mix it with this.”

James frowns. “Were you just hoarding Sprite?”

“Babe,” Sami Jo says, eyes wide. “Holy shit, I love you.”

Autumn smiles. “Love you too.”

“Enough fucking talking, ” Cib groans. “We do enough of that on normal days, why don’t we start drinking?”

“Cib has a point.” Steve shudders. “Ugh, it really is the end of the world.”

Cib points at him. “I’ve been right about things at least six and a quarter times.”

“And how many times have you been wrong?”

“Six and three quarters.” He shrugs. “At least.”

Parker snorts. Cib finally looks at him, and his eyes light up. “Oh, hey, parkade’s awake!”

“Took him twenty-six hours,” Autumn says as she sits next to Parker, cross-legged. Parker rolls his eyes, but she just grins at him, a little slyly, before turning back to Cib. “He didn’t wake up till you were gone. I think he missed you.”

“Or maybe he subconsciously knew it wasn’t safe till Cib was gone,” James deadpans.

Cib casts James a deeply offended look. “He was probably safer with me than Sprite stash.”

“Hey.” Sami Jo nudges him. “That’s my girlfriend.”

“Hell yeah, she is.” Cib grins. “Someone go find glasses, I wanna get sloshier than a June fish.”

James frowns. “Hey, dude, a June fish ate my dad. Show some respect.”

Cib bows so deeply that his nose almost touches his knee. Parker grins as he gets to his feet. “I’ll get glasses.”

Autumn pats Parker’s leg as he passes her. “Don’t pass out.”

“I’m not gonna need sleep for a couple days, don’t worry.”

“That’s, like, the most worrying thing you could possibly say,” Steve says. “‘Oh, no big deal, I won’t sleep for two days,’ Parker, we got you sleeping pills for a reason.”

“Oh!” Cib reaches into his pocket and fishes out a prescription bottle. “Hey, catch!”

He lobs the bottle. Parker catches it and looks at the label. It’s more sleeping meds, because of course it is. “Guys, I don’t need-”

“Twenty-six hours,” say Autumn, James, and Sami Jo, all together.

“That’s half a week,” Cib says solemnly. “C’mon, take the pills.”

“But not tonight,” Steve says. “Because tonight if you pass out it will be because you’re drunk, or else we’ll use you as zombie bait.”

“I can run from zombies.”

“You’re gonna have to if you don’t find us vodka glasses.” Cib plops down. “C’mon, tall boy.”

Parker leaves to the sound of Steve yelling that there’s nothing wrong with being tall, god, Cib. When he comes back, glasses in hand, Steve is sitting on Cib. He doesn’t know why these things surprise him anymore.

“Ooh, I’m pouring!” Sami Jo, sitting next to Autumn, grabs one of the bottles. “Gimme the glasses.”

Parker sets all the glasses down in front of her and goes to Autumn’s other side. Cib smacks at Steve’s side until he gets up and then scoots over to where Parker’s sitting, pressing one of his knees against Parker’s. “Do we have a lot of glassware just back there?”

“We do, actually.”

“Well, no shit, this was a kitchen store,” James points out. “That’s why we have knives.”

“Do we have bowls?” Cib asks.

“We have bowls.”

“And spatulas?”

“Yeah, we have some of those.”

“What about immersion blenders?”

“Cib, you’re never going to use an immersion blender,” Steve snaps.

Cib shrugs, unbothered. “You could mix up a zombie’s brain real good with one of those lil bastards, is all I’m saying.”

Steve gags, and everyone else groans. “You just almost made me spill the vodka,” Sami Jo complains.

“I’m gonna make you guys brain soup,” Cib announces. “It’s gonna be delish.”

“Cib,” Steve says, strangled. “Cib, oh my god, stop-”

“Is this why you wanted the zombie eyeballs?” James demands. Steve goes even paler.

“Put your head between your knees,” Autumn advises. “It helps with nausea.”

Steve does, but he shakes his head. “I think it’s too late for that. Oh, god. Oh, shit .”

“You know what’ll settle your stomach?” Cib smacks Steve’s back, so hard that Parker winces in sympathy. “Vodka.”

“I’m never going to know peace again.” Steve huddles even further into himself. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m going to think about Cib cracking open a zombie head and pureeing it.”

“Like, slicing the top of the head off?” Parker asks without thinking.

James snorts. “Oh, yeah, let me just take my guillotine and chop off part of a zombie skull, that won’t get bone in my brain soup at all.”

“Well, but the skull can act like a soup bowl if you do that.”

“We need to stop,” Steve says. “Seriously, guys, this is-”

“Aw!” Cib shakes his head. “What’s the matter, Steve-o? Gettin’ a little queasy at the thought of brains over easy?”

“I hate you,” Steve says with feeling. “Cib, I hate you, and I hate Parker too.”

“Hey,” Parker says, more out of principle than because he believes it.

“You’re the one who brought up skull bowls, and I-” he shudders violently. “Oh, my god, it’s a zombie apocalypse.”

“Has been for about three months.” Sami Jo sets a glass of vodka and Sprite in front of Steve. “I think you need this.”

“I need a real shower and for zombies to go back to being fiction,” Steve says, but he sits up enough to take the glass anyways. “Thanks.”

Sami Jo hands two glasses to Parker, and he obediently passes one to Cib. “Boys, I’d like to propose a toast.”

James grabs his glass. “What’re we toasting?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I just wanted to bring it up.

“We’re not dead,” Autumn suggests. “That’s kinda cool.”

Sami Jo beams at her. “You’re kinda cool.”

“I’m getting nauseous again,” Steve announces.

“Okay, toast!” James lifts up his glass. “Everyone go around and say something.”

“You first,” Sami Jo says expectantly.

“Uhhh, shit, uh-” James wavers, but raises his glass higher. “So here’s to vodka, for existing even when society stopped.”

“Here’s to kitchen stores,” Steven adds. “For being the reason we made it this far.”

“And here’s to bitchin’ stories.” Cib puts his glass in the middle. “Because if we survive this, oh, man, I’m going to write a book. Parker, say a toast.”

Parker opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again - oh god, there are so many things and people he could thank-

“Parker!” James shouts.

“Okay, okay, here’s-” Parker searches frantically for something. “I don’t know, here’s to Cib for making me sleep for a day, and you guys for letting me.”

Autumn nods and lifts her glass. “Here’s to being okay even though I can’t hear shit.”

“And here’s to us.” Sami Jo raises her glass. “Because no fucking zombies could take us down.”

“Hear, hear,” shouts James, and all of them clink their glasses together. Parker only manages to clink a couple before everyone’s pulling theirs back, and so he does the same and drinks.

“Oh god,” Cib gasps after a few seconds. “Guys, I forgot how good booze is.”

“I’ll drink to that,” James says, and grabs another one of the bottles.

“No, you always pour drinks weird.” Steve reaches out. “Let me-”

“Dude, no, I’m going to-”

“James, I swear, if you ruin this for me-”

“Hey.” Cib bumps his knee against Parker’s. “You toasted me.”

“Uh,” Parker says. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Cool,” Cib says. “I like you better after you sleep. You’re toastier.”

Parker raises his eyebrows. “I… okay?”

Cib nods, like that’s the end of that, and holds out his glass. “James, gimme more vodka.”

“No!” Steve shouts. Autumn laughs, falling over on Sami Jo in the process, and Sami Jo snakes an arm around Autumn’s waist.

“Booze,” Cib is yelling, “I wanna drink, quit fucking jerking me off-” and his knee is still against Parker’s, pressing into him. It’s nice. Parker thinks he could get used to this.

The third time Jeremy shows up, they don’t have food to give him.

Which isn’t the same as not having food at all, it’s just that it’s getting harder and harder to find food. They’ve been branching farther out in search of it, but it’s not helping. It doesn’t matter how many times Parker goes through their inventory, or when they agree to lighter rations. They’re just… running out.

So Jeremy shows up, and Parker’s ready to turn him away. He’s pretty sure James and Sami Jo are, too, which is even better, because it means Parker doesn’t have to actually talk to Jeremy.

Except as soon as he’s inside, Jeremy says, “I’m not here to trade.”

“We’re not giving you anything for free,” Sami Jo snaps.

Jeremy shakes his head. “You guys have done me a solid a couple times now.” He looks at Parker, eyes resting on him for a couple seconds, long enough that Parker knows he means the extra supplies. “So I wanted to pass on something that I heard that’d help you.”

James crosses his arms. “No strings attached?”

“Not a single thread.”

“Just out of the goodness of your heart?”

Jeremy cracks a smile at that, a little wry. “You might be getting all the goodness I have left.”

“Which is?”

“A rumor. Or call it a tip. Something I’ve heard.” Jeremy glances around. “Is it just you guys here?”

“I don’t see why that matters,” Sami Jo says sharply.

Jeremy shrugs. “It’s a simple question.”

“It’s just us,” Parker says. James and Sami Jo turn to glare at him in unison, and he hunches his shoulders defensively, but he doesn’t back down. “So whatever it is, you can tell us.”

“Okay,” Jeremy says. “I’ve heard a rumor that there’s an abandoned camp about five miles north of here.”

“There are lots of abandoned camps,” James points out. “There are zombies in the north, we’re not going up there.”

“Well, you might want to. There’s an abandoned encampment of tents in a Whole Foods parking lot. Huge one. They have a bit of food. Medical supplies.” Jeremy looks at Sami Jo. “Hearing aids.”

Sami Jo takes in a sharp breath. “You’re lying.”

“I’m repeating a rumor. Not a lot of people need hearing aids at the end of the world.”

Sami Jo swallows. Parker knows what she’s thinking. It’s probably a lot like what he’s thinking. It’d be a lot easier for Autumn if she had hearing aids right now.

“Say you’re telling the truth,” James says. “Why didn’t you bring them?”

Jeremy snorts. “My goodwill only goes so far. You’re lucky I came out here to tell you.”

“Thank you,” Parker blurts out. “Even if we don’t go and- you know-”

Sami Jo whirls on him. “What do you mean, if we don’t? We’re getting those.”

“Well, I mean, we should at least try, or consider it, but-”

“ Consider it?”

“Guys,” James says sharply. “Not now.”

“You’re welcome,” Jeremy says, amiable, a little cool. “We’re even now.”

“Is Andrew still okay?” Parker asks, a little desperate.

Jeremy nods, thankfully. “I’ll bring him over sometime to prove it.”

“Good,” James says, “because I thought you ate him.”

“No, not him.”

“Uh,” Sami Jo says.

Jeremy grins, or really sort of snarls. It’s threatening. Parker is threatened. “I’ll see you guys around.”

The minute Jeremy is gone, Sami Jo puts her hands on her hips. “Okay, if we leave now, we’d need to leave a note or something so that everyone knows where we went if they get back early, but we could make it five miles-”

“Whoa, wait, Sami Jo.” James holds up his hands. “We don’t know when they’re coming back.”

“That’s why we’d leave the note.”

“But we can’t just leave our home abandoned for the foreseeable future.”

“It’s not abandoned, Alfredo’s still here.”

“And it’s against the rules.”

“No, we just have to tell someone where we’re going, and that’s what the note would be for.”

“The-” James sighs. “It’s dangerous! Just leaving like that would be dangerous.”

“And it’s not dangerous what everyone else is doing? They’re out looking for food, it’s been two days, we don’t know what kind of settlements are out there, or zombies, or-”

“Which is why we need to stay here!”

“Staying here isn’t going to get us anything.” Sami Jo’s glare sharpens. “We need to get those hearing aids.”

“And I’m with you on that, one hundred percent.” James looks at Sami Jo earnestly. “I want those. Autumn needs those, I get that, I want those for her. But if we just leave now, it could screw the whole group over. And Jeremy was right, when he said that not a lot of people need hearing aids. We can probably wait a day or two.”

Sami Jo shakes her head. “I don’t want to wait.”

“Neither do I,” James says. Parker’s pretty sure he means it, too. “But it’s for the best.”

“Maybe it’s for our best. But I’m thinking about Autumn’s best.” She pivots on her heel and goes back to the inventory room, stomping the whole way.

James looks at Parker. “It’d be dangerous,” he says again.

“I know,” Parker says. “End of the world, everything’s dangerous now.”

“Got a lot of ways things could go wrong.”

“I don’t think we have to fight about-”

James groans. “God, that wasn’t a fight! Everything is completely normal, you-” he waves Parker off. “Never mind, you don’t know how to handle minor conflict. Get out of here.”

Parker’s pretty sure that deciding if they go on a dangerous expedition for hearing aids isn’t a minor conflict, but he’s not about to risk pissing James off even more. Instead, he goes to the inventory room, where Sami Jo is sitting against a wall. Right where Autumn normally sits. She looks up at him as he walks in, eyes bright. “We have to get them.”

“I know,” Parker says, and sinks down to sit next to her. “We will.”

“We have to,” Sami Jo repeats, voice lower this time. “This isn’t - I don’t mean hypothetically, I mean we need to go and get them. Leave tonight, if we can.”

Parker pauses and points at her, then at himself. “We?”

“I don’t want to go alone.”

“But James said-”

“I don’t care what James said!” She reaches out and clasps his hand in both of hers. “Come on, please, for Autumn? Or for me? Whichever one will get you to do it.”

It’s a bad idea. James is completely right that it’s dangerous. There are zombies, and five miles north is a dangerous bike ride, and an even more dangerous walk, and to go at night on top of that would be the worst choice of all.

But it’s Autumn. Autumn, who hums Bon Jovi when she wipes down sleeping bags, and who keeps bottles of Sprite hidden away from Parker. And it’s Sami Jo, squeezing his hand in hers, staring at him like he has the potential to save the world. They’re his friends. And it’s… kind of nice to feel important.

Slowly, slowly, Parker nods. And Sami Jo’s face splits into a breathtaking smile.

“Hey.” There’s a hand on Parker’s shoulder, jostling him. “Get up.”

Parker’s eyes fly open. Sami Jo is standing over him. He takes a second to shake off the last of his sleepiness and sits up. “Are we going?”

“We’re going. Everyone else got back, so we have the bikes.”

Parker clambers to his feet. “They’re okay?”

“Yeah, they’re all asleep right now. But we’d better get going.” She leaves the stockroom, and Parker follows her, only stopping when she bends down near where Autumn’s sleeping.

Parker takes stock of the situation, as quickly as he can. There are supplies laid out in the middle of the floor: a couple of cases of MREs, a backpack that looks like it’s full of something, and an empty backpack. It’s not a lot, he thinks ruefully, but it’s something. It’ll last them a little while longer.

Steve is asleep next to James, one of his noodle arms slung across James’s shoulders. Cib is next to them both, breathing steadily, slowly. Parker watches his chest rise and fall, probably longer than is normal, but he thinks he’s entitled. He’s about to make a bad choice, he can take comfort where he can get it.

Parker picks up the empty backpack. “You ready?”

Sami Jo smooths back Autumn’s hair and stands up again. “Yeah,” she whispers, voice a little thicker. “Let’s go.”

Neither of them say anything as they leave the kitchen store, or as they grab the bikes from the toy store. As soon as they’re back outside with the bikes, Sami Jo shivers. “S’cold out.”

“Take my jacket,” Parker offers instantly.

“No, you shouldn’t be cold. I can get a new one-”

“No, it’s okay,” Parker says. “I don’t get cold.”

Sami Jo stares at him. “You mean you don’t get cold easily, or-”

“At all.”

“Why not?”

Parker shrugs and unzips his jacket. “Come on, I don’t need it.”

“I’m afraid of you,” Sami Jo informs him, but she slips the jacket on anyways. “Come on, we’ve got five miles to go.”

They ride in silence. Parker still doesn’t go out much, partly because of personal preference, partly because James pointed out one time that Parker’s the only one of them who’s any good at rationing food and they’d probably be fucked if he died. He’d sounded really disappointed when he’d brought that up. Parker tries not to think about it.

The city, his city, is nothing like he remembers. He loves Los Angeles, or at least what it used to be. He loved it and its shitty traffic, and its shitty takeout restaurants, and its shitty people. He wonders if maybe, one day, he could learn to love what it became. Or maybe he doesn’t have the time to love a new city. Maybe he’d be better off saving that love for other things.

“I miss how things used to be,” he says, when they’re about halfway into the ride. He looks over just in time to see Sami Jo wiping at her eyes furiously. “Whoa, you okay?”

“The wind,” she says, a little desperately. “Drying my eyes out.”

“You sure?”

Sami Jo slows to a stop and shakes her head, wipes a little harder with the sleeve of Parker’s jacket, waits until Parker pulls up next to her. “I hate leaving her.”

“You’ll be coming back.”

“I don’t know that. I never know that.”

“But you have every time so far.”

“I don’t want this to be happening,” Sami Jo rasps. Before Parker can even begin unpacking that - and oh, boy, is there a lot to unpack - she hops off the bike and buries her face in his chest.

Parker automatically lifts his hands to pat her shoulders, trying to ignore the alarm bells going off in his brain warning him that he doesn’t know what to do. “It’s gonna be fine,” he says, not quite because he believes it or because it’s what she needs to hear. He just doesn’t know what else to do.

After a few seconds, Sami Jo nods against his chest and steps away. “Let’s go,” she says briskly. He can almost ignore the way her eyes are rimmed red.

Parker doesn’t say another word until they find the Whole Foods parking lot. And even then, all he says is “Holy shit.”

When Jeremy said an abandoned encampment of tents, Parker was thinking half a dozen, maybe a dozen, spread out through the parking lot. But it’s huge. It’s a sprawling mass of tents all zipped together, like a hub. And it’s completely silent.

Sami Jo climbs off her bike. “We’ll start at the one closest to us and make our way through.”

Parker nods, trying to swallow down his panic. This wasn’t just a few people, not the way that their group is a few people. This was a group. This was a miniature society, and they’re just… gone.

“Do we have a flashlight?” Sami Jo asks as they reach the first tent.

“Yeah.” Parker rummages around in his backpack until he finds it. “Are we bringing the bikes with us?”

“No, we’ll just leave them in this first tent.” She reaches out. “You ready?”

“I don’t think this is-”

Sami Jo unzips the tent. It doesn’t immediately smell like rotting flesh or anything gross like that, which a good first sign. “Let’s go.”

Parker follows Sami Jo. It’s easy, because she doesn’t flinch as she leads him through. She just points out things that are worth grabbing. Painkillers. Sleeves of crackers. Bandages. Her head is on a swivel the whole time, one hand worrying at the hem of her shirt.

“What do they look like?” Parker asks in the ninth tent.

“Sort of like a case for glasses.” Sami Jo lifts her hands. “This big.”

“But what if they’re not in the case?”

“I really need you not to say that.”

“No saying that,” he repeats obediently.

They find old clothes. They find soap, and hand sanitizer, and shampoo. They find bullets. They find an empty duffel bag in the fifteenth tent, and Parker grabs it and starts loading all the food that he can carry. They find eyeglasses case after eyeglasses case, and every time there are no hearing aids inside.

“James is gonna kill us if we come back without hearing aids,” Sami Jo says conversationally, after the sixth case that has prescription glasses. “After ditching in the middle of the night when he specifically told us not to.”

“He might… not,” Parker says.

Sami Jo gives him a look.

He sighs. “Yeah, he’s gonna be pissed.”

“At least we’re finding other things.” She nudges a pillow with her foot. “You think we could steal this?”

“What if we get lice?”

“Do we have lice shampoo?”

“Would you use lice shampoo?”

“I don’t use regular shampoo.”

“When was the last time you washed your hair?”

Sami Jo shrugs and wanders into the next tent, pushing another pillow back with her foot. “I probably already have lice.”

“We share pillows!”

“Wash your hair better.”

Parker shudders and tries to resist scratching at his scalp. “Ugh.”

“That’s why I wash Autumn’s hair sometimes,” Sami Jo says, moving tents again. Parker pauses long enough to grab a couple of water bottles before following her. “There’s not a lot we can do to take care of each other, outside of, you know, shooting people to keep each other safe. But I can do that for her.”

“How long were you dating?” Parker picks up a couple of granola bars, and she wordlessly hands him a bottle of Neosporin. “Before… you know.”

“Five or six months?” She makes a face. “We were in that getting-serious stage, and then a few zombies crashed our date night, so it was kind of a trial by fire.”

“But you stuck through it?”

Sami Jo nods, a little wistfully, and kicks the sleeping bag in the tent, ignoring the way the asphalt scuffs her shoes. “Yeah. We’re doing okay. You bozos are helping.”

Parker smiles automatically, and then looks down. “There’s something under the sleeping bag.”

“What?” Sami Jo squats down and moves the edge of the sleeping bag over. There’s something peeking out from just under where she kicked it. Something that looks like a glasses case.

Parker bends over. “Is that-”

She snatches it up and opens it. There are these two weird, flesh-colored, crescent-shaped things with wires coming out of them.

“Uh,” he says, “is that what they look like?”

“Yeah,” Sami Jo says. She laughs, once, and snaps the case shut. “We found them.”

“Do we need… a charger, or batteries, or-”

“There’s a charging cord in there.” She gets to her feet and smiles at Parker, bright and tremulous. Parker smiles back, because how could he not? It’s Sami Jo. “We can- do you want to keep looting?”

“What?”

“We’re only, like, a quarter of the way through this whole maze, and I didn’t see any signs of zombies nearby.” She shrugs. “We came all this way, we might as well make it worth it.”

Parker glances around. “I mean… it couldn’t hurt, right?”

“Maybe we’ll find more hearing aids,” she muses. “Or scissors, or something.”

“Do we need scissors?”

“You tell me, stock boy.”

“We could use more scissors.” He clicks the flashlight on and shines it down the end of the tent tunnel. “We should keep going.”

Sami Jo grins, bright and sharp. “Let’s do it. This is our turf now.”

They get back to the kitchen store before dark, but only barely. It’s not because of danger, thank god, it’s because they stole more things than they could carry. Sami Jo has two backpacks on and a duffel slung over the handlebars of her bike, and Parker has twice that. Sami Jo also has the hearing aids case in one hand. She didn’t even let go for the bike ride home. Parker is impressed, and more than a little intimidated.

As soon as the bikes are stashed in the toy store and they have all their bags unloaded onto the floor, Sami Jo looks at him. “I’m only gonna say this once.”

“Okay?”

“Thank you for coming with me.”

Parker blinks. “But you would’ve gone alone.”

“I would’ve.” She smiles, tersely, genuinely. “I’m glad I didn’t have to.”

Sami Jo’s smile does this weird… thing to Parker, where it makes him smile back. It’s not intentional or conscious or anything. She just has a nice smile. Maybe it’s because she’s the only person here who doesn’t make fun of him every day. Maybe it’s just the Sami Jo effect. Either way, he smiles back.

He’s still smiling at her as the door flies open. Sami Jo reacts first, whipping a pistol out of her belt. Parker’s still reaching for his when he realizes who it is. “James-”

“You fucker, ” James shouts, and punches Parker so hard that Parker loses his balance.

It takes a second for Parker’s brain to catch up with his body, and when he does, he’s sprawled out on the floor, and his cheek is throbbing. Sami Jo is yelling, and James isn’t yelling back, but he sounds pissed. Really pissed.

“Fuck,” Parker moans, and pushes himself back to his feet. “James, what the hell?”

“What the hell me ?” James takes a step towards him, and Parker flinches back instinctively. “What the hell were you two doing just leaving in the middle of the night?”

“We got supplies,” Sami Jo snaps. “Sue us.”

“We have rules! You can’t leave in the middle of the night like that, that’s how people die.”

“But we’re not dead!”

“Not this time.”

Parker lifts a hand to his cheek. “James, come on, let us explain. Just listen.”

“You guys could’ve waited,” Steve says. When Parker looks over, Steve doesn’t quite make eye contact, and neither does Cib, from where he’s standing in the doorway. Both of them look pretty goddamn angry. “We all got back before you left, you could’ve woken us up or waited till morning.”

“But look at all the shit we got!” Sami Jo gestures at the duffels and backpacks. “And we got the hearing aids, so you guys can kiss my ass, because there’s no way to guarantee those would’ve been there if we waited.”

“That was stupid,” Steve says. Parker’s stomach sinks. He sounds like he means it. “Guys, we have these rules for a reason.”

“And we broke them for a reason.”

James points at her. “You broke them for a reason.”

Parker frowns. “What?”

He swings his arm around to point at Parker. “You didn’t have a reason.”

“I couldn’t let Sami Jo go alone!”

“You could’ve asked me,” James says. “Or- shit, you guys left after everyone got back, you could’ve asked any one of us.”

Parker shakes his head. “Wait, why couldn’t I have gone?”

“Parker’s the one who found the aids,” Sami Jo adds.

“But he’s also the one who keeps track of all our shit!” James’s arms twitch, like he wants to reach out, or run his hands through his hair, or do… something. “God, you’re not getting it.”

“You need to think about our side here,” Steve says. “Imagine we all wake up and you’re both gone. We ask Alfredo if he saw anything, and he says he saw you guys take our bikes and a backpack in the middle of the night. And that’s all we know.”

“Alfredo thought you guys ran off in a romantic passion,” James adds. “Not that Autumn believed him.”

Sami Jo’s fingers tighten around the hearing aid case. “God, Autumn- listen, not that this isn’t important or whatever, but-”

“She’s waiting for you,” James says. Sami Jo practically sprints out towards her, darting between the boys like they’re not even there. And, okay, Parker can’t blame her, because of course she wants to leave. But he… can’t.

“Guys,” he says weakly. “It was fine, I just wanted-”

“Shut up,” Cib says, still without looking at Parker. And it’s not the words that make Parker listen. It’s how evenly he says them. Cib’s not a venomous person, not really, but he’s looking at Parker so coldly that Parker wants to run away.

Parker’s mouth snaps shut.

“Look,” Steven says, and he finally makes eye contact with Parker. “You were doing a good thing for your friend, whatever, that’s great for you. But the rest of us woke up, and the one person who knew off the top of his head how long we have left to live was gone.”

Parker’s heart stops, just for a second. “I didn’t think about it like that,” he says hoarsely. He’d always figured that between the stashes and the way everyone rolled their eyes when he said he was in charge of inventory, it was more of an honorary title than anything. It’s not like they couldn’t have picked up the pieces without him. He was never supposed to be that important.

“You didn’t-” James hands both fly up to his head, raking through his hair furiously. “You didn’t stop to think about the rest of us before you and Sami Jo ran off to play hero?”

Parker shakes his head. “No, that’s not- I figured you guys would be fine without us for a few hours, it was-”

“You didn’t ever stop to consider things going wrong? ”

“Of course we did, that was why i went instead of letting her go alone-”

“Parker,” Steven sighs, and now he doesn’t even look angry. Just disappointed. Just tired. “Come on.”

“I’m sorry,” Parker says helplessly. “Guys, I’m- I didn’t think, I should’ve-”

“You were being selfish,” Cib says. Parker looks at him, searching his face desperately, but Cib is staring at him without warmth, or familiarity, or… anything. “That’s all it was.”

Parker swallows, tries to keep the tears from welling up. “Cib-”

Cib just shakes his head. “Selfish,” he repeats, like an indictment, and the bottom of Parker’s stomach drops out. He opens his mouth but Cib is already turning and leaving, and James and Steve are following after him, and Parker is alone, alone, alone.

Selfish.

He doesn’t remember falling but he’s on the ground, braced on his hands and knees, shoulders heaving around his ears. There’s something that feels like broken glass digging into his palms, but he can’t make himself move, he’s not sure he could stand up or even sit, he-

Selfish.

Cib’s knee, pressing against Parker’s thigh as he tried to get more vodka. Cib’s hand against Parker’s chest, trying to get Parker out of his space, but still so, so gentle. Cib, lying on top of Parker and trying to force him to sleep. Cib looking at Parker like they were strangers, like he cut ties in that instant, like Parker was nothing to him, like-

Selfish.

Steve’s there, standing in the doorway when Parker comes back to himself. He’s still shaking and his cheeks are wet, even though he doesn’t remember crying. But he finally sits up straight, rubs some of grit off his palms, wipes his cheeks clean, ignores the way it throbs where he got punched.

“I thought,” Steve starts, and then shakes his head. “They were a little harsh.”

It’s probably the closest to an apology Parker’s going to hear, so he takes a deep, shuddering breath and tries to think what Steve would want to hear right now. “I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t have left,” Steve says, “but I think they understand. James is mad, Cib was just scared.”

“I fucked up,” Parker croaks.

Steve shrugs. “We all will, at some point,” he says, and it’s not kind, and it’s not helpful, but it’s something. “Let’s just bring this shit inside and we can figure out what to do from there.”

“Okay,” Parker says. And it’s not okay, and it doesn’t feel okay, and he can’t stop thinking about Cib looking at him like he wasn’t there anymore. But he’s pretty sure it has to be okay.

The first thing Parker does is close the door to the stockroom.

Nobody says anything to him as he walks in, and Steve leaves him with the new supplies and the old supplies, and he looks at the door and thinks, I can’t do this. And he closes the door, and he gets to work.

Five hours later, the entire inventory system is different. Three hours after that it’s different again. He barely remembers to open the door and put out enough MREs for everyone for the night. He adds a few shitty pre-packaged desserts, too, ones that he was holding onto for a special occasion. This isn’t special, but he thinks he needs to do it anyways.

Parker restructures the inventory again, and again, and one more time. Parker gives everyone more than enough food, because they can afford it now, and because he’s not going to let his friends starve just because he doesn’t feel like talking to them. Or just because they hate him.

“You could say something,” says famous actor James Allen McCune, who comes in through the back door during the second day of Parker’s exile. “Say sorry.”

“I don’t think this is something you can fix by saying sorry,” Parker mutters, digging through one of the food boxes. “I got punched.”

“I got punched one time for trying to eat someone’s pet possum,” James says. “But I still said sorry.”

“Did you eat the possum?”

He scoffs. “Of course.”

“Awesome,” Parker says. The only person who’s still talking to him killed and ate someone’s pet. “I guess the end of the world makes us all do weird things.”

“What? No, this was two or three years ago.”

Parker closes his eyes. Maybe Cib was right. Maybe he should just leave. It has to be better than this.

“You guys have a lot of stuff in here,” James adds. “Do you think you have roaches? Or rats?”

“What would you do about them?”

James shrugs. “I’d eat the rats. Can’t eat roaches, they have diseases.”

“And the rats don’t?”

“Rats hold up better to being cooked.”

“What do you even do when you’re not harassing me for food?”

“Harass other people for food.” James thinks about it. “Get lost looking for other people to harass.”

Parker gives him a compass, partly as a joke and partly out of genuine concern. And he gives him more food than normal, partly out of pity and partly because James was the only person who’s made any attempt to talk to Parker. That’s worth something. It’s worth a couple of bags of chips, at least.

Before James Allen McCune leaves, he grabs Parker’s wrist and squeezes. “I’ll remember this,” he says, and by the time Parker is done blinking in surprise, he’s gone.

Nobody speaks to Parker for four more days. He overhauls inventory a couple dozen more times, sneaks out the back once or twice to practice knife-throwing in the streets. He doesn’t let it bother him that he’s alone, because he did what he thought was right. He can hold onto that little kernel of integrity, even if everyone else hates him for it.

He’s thinking about leaving - abstractly, not actually leaving everything, but more seriously than he’d ever admit - when the stockroom door opens. He doesn’t even have time to try and hide before Autumn walks in and fixes her eyes on him. “Hey.”

Parker blinks a couple times, hard - maybe this is just happening because he stopped sleeping again? - but at last manages to say, “Hey.”

Autumn holds up her copy of World War Z. “Finally finished it.”

“Wow,” Parker says, and instantly hates himself for it.

“Yeah, it was okay.” She looks around. “You… moved the books.”

“The books are…” Parker tries to remember. Shit. Maybe this system isn’t as intuitive as he thought. “By the emergency exit?”

Autumn wanders over there, looking around as she goes. “You’ve been busy.”

“I haven’t had a lot to do.”

“You could’ve talked to us.”

Parker opens his mouth and realizes he doesn’t know what to say to that, so he changes subjects. “Hey, you can hear me.”

“Yeah, I can.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah.” Autumn reappears with a couple of new books in hand. For a second Parker thinks she’s going to leave, but instead she leans against one of the shelves, looking down at him. “The hearing aids aren’t perfect, because they weren’t calibrated for me or anything, but Sami Jo and-- uh, Sami Jo was trying to figure out if we could do that.”

“That’s cool,” Parker says, and decides to act like he can’t guess that she was about to mention Cib, or that she decided to avoid mentioning Cib. “I’m glad they work.”

“Me too.” Autumn drums her fingers against the shelf. “Oh, and thanks.”

He blinks. “What?”

“For not letting Sami Jo go alone. I don’t care what anyone else says, it was stupid but it was right.” Autumn smiles. “I’m glad she had you with her.”

Parker looks at her. She seems to guess that he can’t figure out what to say, because she gets back to her feet. “I should go. Sami Jo wants to read to me now that I can hear her.”

“That’s… sickening.”

“Yeah,” Autumn says happily. “It’s pretty cool. And I’m gonna leave the door open.”

Parker looks at the stockroom door, which is already nerve-wrackingly wide open. “What if people don’t want to talk to me?”

“Then they won’t talk to you.”

“What if they never talk to me again?”

“Then you need better friends,” Autumn says with conviction. “Take a nap or something, Parker, you look like shit.”

That, Parker decides as she leaves, is probably a sign that she cares.

“Do you think I should leave?” Parker asks, despite all his better judgment.

Steve doesn’t even look at him. “Do you want to leave?”

“Not really.”

“Then don’t.”

“But what if-”

“Do you think we’ll be better off if you left us?”

“I don’t know, maybe?”

“Then sure, leave.”

Parker stares. “This isn’t helping.”

“I don’t know what you thought it was going to do.” Steve plucks a screwdriver off one of the shelves. “I like this new inventory system.”

“Thanks,” Parker says. “I was going to change it.”

“Of course you were.”

“No, not because of you, I’ve just been rotating the system a couple times every day.”

Steve turns and stares at him. “Jesus Christ, why? ”

Parker shrugs. It’s all he can think to do.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Every day, every single day I wonder why out of all of the people I could be stuck with at the end of the world, I had to end up stuck with you.”

It’s a joke. Parker knows it’s a joke. It’s one Steve’s made before. He flinches anyways, because there’s a chance it’s not a joke anymore.

“Oh my god,” Steve says. “Why haven’t you talked to Cib?”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I can’t talk to him if he’s always working on that computer thing.”

“You’ve talked to James.”

Parker has had two conversations with James in the last week. Neither of them were longer than three sentences. “How are we defining talking?”

“What the fuck kind of a question is that?”

“It’s an important one!”

“Every single day,” Steve repeats. “Like, constantly, just constantly I wonder if there is a God, and if there is, I wanna know what’s up with the zombies, and why you and I are both here.” He raises his eyebrows at the end, significantly, like he’s trying to make sure Parker understands that he’s not being serious.

Parker ducks his head, half out of acknowledgment and half because he really needs this conversation to be over. He’s a little bit out of practice with talking to people. “I don’t know why, either.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Steve says, and that’s supposed to be the end of it, he should walk away, but he’s not doing that. Instead he’s looking at Parker. “Hey.”

Parker looks up. Steve is staring down, eerily… non-malevolent. “Hey?”

“I’m glad you didn’t die.”

“Me too.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, that’s what I expected.”

“No, I’m glad you didn’t die either, Steve,” Parker says. He tries to say it quietly so it doesn’t come out quite as earnest as he means it.

Steve gives him the smallest, most crooked smile. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Parker looks away, and this time, Steve does walk away. But Parker doesn’t mind.

There’s something going through the dumpster outside.

This is one of four thoughts that Parker is capable of having. The other three are I hope it doesn’t hurt to get turned into a zombie, and It’s three in the morning, and How bad would it really be if I just left? But no matter how far he gets down one of those trains of thought, every time there’s a shuffle and a bang outside, and he goes right back to that first one. There’s something going through the dumpster.

And, hell, it’s not like Parker can sleep anyways, so around the twenty-minute mark of dealing with either a wild animal or a zombie right outside the emergency exit, he grabs a pistol and gets to his feet. It’s probably not a good idea to open that door, in case it actually is a zombie and it gets inside, so he goes through the front door. Everyone’s asleep. Nobody stirs as Parker walks through, and opens the door, and steps into the chilly California air and-

“Fuckin’ seriously?”

Shit.

Parker turns around, trying to look as calm as he can. He’s pretty sure he fails. “Look, I swear-”

“Are you ditching us?” Cib demands, looking Parker up and down. Parker’s sure that he looks like shit. Cib kind of does too, but not any more than he normally does. Not like he’s been losing sleep over Parker or anything. “In the middle of the night?”

“I swear, I’m not, I’m just-”

“You didn’t even take supplies!”

“I’m not leaving!”

Cib’s eyes narrow. “So what do you call it when you open a door and walk out, bitch?”

“I call it trying to figure out what’s going through the dumpster behind the store.” Parker clutches his pistol tighter to his chest. “I can’t sleep with all the noise.”

Cib snorts. “Yeah, cause you’re a regular sleepy-time boy, aren’tcha?”

“Come on,” Parker pleads. “I swear, I’ll be back in five minutes, tops.”

“Uh, yeah, you will.” Cib pulls the door to the kitchen store shut and holds out a hand, wiggling his fingers. “Spork it over.”

“What?”

“The gun, dude, give me your gun.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t trust you,” Cib says, and something about how plainly he says it makes Parker hold out the gun. Cib takes it and shoves it into the waistband of his pants. “You said it was around the back?”

Parker nods mutely, and Cib pushes past him. “Let’s make sure it’s not a dragon.”

“A- a what?”

“Someone who breathes fire and shits in the street.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Everyone’s gotta deal with the world ending somehow.” Cib turns a corner, and Parker follows. “Some people smoke crack. Some people go on suicide missions and nearly kill their friends. Different strokes for different jokes, you know?”

He’s still mad. Parker doesn’t know why he’s so hurt by that. “Look, I-”

“Nah,” Cib says. “I don’t wanna look at you.”

“I don’t mean literally, just-”

“I’m not literate, and you don’t have to bring it up.”

“ Cib, ” Parker says, and Cib stops dead in front of him, thank god. “I swear, I’m sorry, I didn’t think about-”

“That’s my compass,” Cib says.

Parker stops. “What?”

“My compass.” Cib stoops down, picks something up, and turns to show Parker. “I found this bitch out a couple miles west. I gave it to you.”

“Oh,” Parker says. Shit, shit, shit. “Right.”

“How’s it out here, huh? Do you go on compass trips when the rest of us are sleeping?”

“I-”

“And don’t lie.”

Parker closes his eyes. “I gave it to famous actor James Allen McCune.”

Cib doesn’t say anything. Parker doesn’t open his eyes, because if he has to see Cib look at him like a failure one more time he’s going to leave, and he doesn’t think he wants to leave. “He stops by every now and again for supplies, and I knew him before everything went down, and he’s just… sad, okay? He’s a sad, lonely dude, and I couldn’t-”

Something slams into Parker’s shoulders. His eyes fly open as he stumbles back into the wall of the kitchen store. And it’s Cib, glaring at him, arms still out where he shoved Parker. He takes a step closer, still a few feet away, but it’s enough that Parker’s chest tightens. “You gave away our things.”

“Only things that we could afford to give up, I swear-”

“This isn’t a game, there’s nothing we can afford-”

“None of you even noticed!”

“Because we trusted you, ” Cib grits out, and Parker’s mouth snaps shut. “I thought you were good at this, you know that? It always seemed like you knew exactly how much of everything there was. But it was because you were lying, wasn’t it? You weren’t keeping track of supplies, you were trying to keep your lies straight.”

Behind Cib’s shoulder, towards the dumpster, something moves. Parker’s eyes follow it, almost subconsciously, and any excuse to look away from Cib is a good one.

“Hey!” Cib says sharply, and Parker’s eyes snap back to him. “Are you fucking listening to me?”

Parker swallows, trying to keep his throat from being so damn dry. “I th- I think James Allen McCune is back.”

Cib flicks his wrist and pitches the compass behind him. It looks like it hits James, and Parker winces in sympathy, but Cib doesn’t even turn around, just points at Parker. “Now, I’m glad as anyone Autumn can hear, because now she can hear herself well enough to watch her goddamn tone when she’s out on the streets, but you don’t get to put yourself in danger like that, do you understand? You wanna play hero, but there are no heroes in zombieland. There are people who live and people who die.”

Parker nods mutely. He wants to say something, anything, but he’s just stupidly glad that Cib is looking at him again.

Cib jabs his finger towards Parker’s chest. “And you don’t get to die on us,” he says with finality.

“Okay,” Parker whispers. It feels like his lungs are tying themselves in knots, and it’s hard to take a deep breath, but he tries anyways. He can still see James shambling towards them, out of the dark, keeping his head down. Maybe the compass hit him in the head. Parker feels a pang of sympathy, but he turns back to Cib, because Cib matters more in this moment. “Okay, I’m sorry, I’ll… I’ll do better.”

“Good,” Cib says, and Parker can see some of the tension drain out of his shoulders as he lowers his hand. “Look, man, I don’t want you to-”

He’s still talking. Parker knows he is, except time has slowed down too much for him to understand a single word that Cib is saying. James is finally close enough to see clearly, only a couple feet from Cib. He’s moving silently, which is impressive, considering the glaze in his eyes and the blood dripping from his mouth. He doesn’t look like a person or a famous actor anymore. He looks like a zombie. Like a pissed off zombie, trying to bite whatever just threw something at him, and Parker barely has time to realize that before James lunges forward.

And Parker’s an idiot. He’s an idiot, and maybe he wants to be a hero in zombieland after all, so he does what any hero would do. He flings himself forward as hard as he can and bowls Cib to the ground. And it would be fine, just fine, except he throws an arm up as he does it. Cib’s falling prone on the ground and Parker shouts “ No, ” and James Allen McCune’s teeth-

(From somewhere, far away, he remembers James, in the kitchen store, back when it looked like a kitchen store and not a camp, holding a butter knife, saying something like it’ll fuck you up, miming stabbing, like the knife is going to sink into someone’s chest, or throat, or-)

-sink into Parker’s forearm.

Parker screams.

It hurts. Jesus, it hurts so bad that he doesn’t want to look at it, because it’ll hurt worse if he sees what’s wrong. He hears a gunshot, and Cib yelling something, and then Cib saying, over and over, “Parker. Parker. Parker. ”

Parker opens his eyes. Cib is leaning over him, hands hovering like he wants to touch Parker. Like he’s not sure he can. “C-Cib?”

“Hey,” Cib says, a little manic. “Hey, don’t you worry, little boy, we’re gonna get you all fixed up lickety-shit, alright?”

“Cib, that- that was a zombie-”

“You just hold on tight, okay?”

“What happened to-” Parker lifts his head and wishes he hadn’t. He’s soaked with blood pouring out of his right arm, or maybe out of the missing chunk of his right arm. James is lying on the ground a few feet away. He swallows, bile rising in his throat. “Oh, god-”

“Hey!” Cib snaps his fingers a couple times. “You just stay with me, alright? This is Los Angeles, you can’t get killed by a zombie actor, everyone’s done it already, and I’m not gonna be friends with you if you die like a fucking copycat, okay?”

Parker stares at Cib. Cib’s looking back at him, strange and steady. It’s reassuring. Helps Parker catch his breath. “Okay?”

“Okay!” Cib jumps to his feet. “Now, I don’t want to rustle your jimmies here, or your fucked-up arm, but desperate limes and all, so-”

“Can you not call my arm fucked up?”

“Nah, dude, it’s a little fucked.” Cib bends down and lifts Parker up, jostling his arm in the process. Parker chomps down on his lip, hard, but he still whimpers. Cib’s face twists a little. “It’s gonna be bumpy, I’ll try to keep from… from hurting you.”

“I don’t wanna die like this,” Parker says, even though he’s pretty sure he’s about to die like this.

Cib starts walking, clutching Parker carefully to his chest. “How’re you planning on dying, carpark?”

I want us to be on real speaking terms when I die, Parker nearly says, but instead he shakes his head and pulls his arm closer to his chest. “Old age, probably.”

“Aw, you’re plenty old, don’t worry about it.”

“About dying? ”

“Yeah.” Parker’s probably hearing things, with the blood loss and all, but he could’ve sworn Cib’s voice cracked, there. “Don’t worry about it.”

Parker swallows. Maybe there’s a chance to make everything okay, make this whole thing hurt a little less. “Cib-”

“Cib!” someone else shouts. Parker cranes his neck, but it’s so, so hard to pick his head up, and he lets it roll back against Cib’s chest. “Parker!”

“Steve!” Cib yells, rumbling through his chest and into Parker’s head. “Over here!”

There are footsteps pounding on the pavement. “Cib, what- oh, fuck. ”

“Steve,” Cib says, and his voice definitely cracks this time. He sounds scared. “What do we do?”

“Put him down,” James orders, sounding brittle. “Did he get bit?”

“M’arm,” Parker mumbles. “Ow- Cib, ow- ”

“I told you it’d be bumpy,” Cib says as he lowers Parker to the ground. “Careful, easy - can you stretch your arm out?”

Parker stretches his arm out.

“Your injured arm,” Steve says. It would probably be bitingly mock-patient, under other circumstances. It just sounds scared.

“I don’t wanna move it.” Parker blinks up at Steve until he can focus. “You’re not wearing glasses.”

Steve huffs. “Yeah, I didn’t have time to grab them. I was kind of trying to figure out why people were screaming in the middle of the night.”

“He means you,” Cib whispers.

“Can you see?”

“I can see the blood,” Steve says, and then his face does this… wobbly, twisty thing, and Parker can’t look at it anymore, so he looks away. “Cib, what the fuck happened? ”

“There was a zombie in our dumpster. We, uh…” Cib clears his throat. “He pushed me out of the way.”

“He would’ve got your neck.” Parker tries to look over at Cib, but he can’t figure out which side Cib is on. “Cib, he would’ve-”

“I know,” Cib snaps. “I’m gonna move your arm, okay?”

“Okay.” Parker’s arm starts moving, and he gasps. “That hurts.”

“Dude, I don’t know what to tell you,” Steve says. “You got bit by a zombie, it’s gonna hurt.”

“Am I gonna be a zombie?”

Steven sighs. “Maybe.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, I know how zombies work.”

“James thinks that because it’s your arm, we might be able to…”

“To?”

“To save you,” Cib says quietly. Parker can tell where he is now: at Parker’s right side, leaning over him. “By cutting your arm off.”

Parker blinks until he can see clearly through all the dancing spots. Cib is staring down at him, eyes wide. Cib has nice eyes. “Do I need that?”

“Your arm?”

“Yeah, do I?”

“Depends. Do you jerk off right-handed?”

Parker wrinkles his nose. “That’s kind of an intimate question.”

“It’s only intimate if I’m hitting on you, otherwise it’s just bros being dudes, am I right?”

“Are you hitting on me?”

Cib goes still for a second before forcing the widest, fakest smile Parker has ever seen. “We can talk about that later, right?”

Later. Right. If Parker doesn’t die or turn into a zombie.

“Okay,” James says, and he’s back now. When Parker looks up, he’s clutching the axe with both hands. “Okay. Sami Jo and Autumn are getting the medical things ready, but we need a tourniquet or something.”

Cib immediately pulls his shirt off and starts messing with the hem. Parker forces himself to smile weakly. “You’re stripping? So you were hitting on me?”

“Aw, you know I have a thing for devastating injuries.” Cib rips part of the fabric. His hands are shaking, but his voice is steady. “I look down at those gaping wounds and I think, I’ve gotta put my dick in that.”

“Oh my god, this is my nightmare,” Steve says. “This is- you understand that this is everything I am afraid of happening, right?”

Cib flashes Steve a grin before leaning down to Parker’s injured arm. “This is gonna hurt, so get ready, carpark.”

“It’s not-” Parker immediately cuts off as Cib wraps the scrap fabric around his arm, tight. “Ah, Jesus, just kill me, it’d hurt less-”

“I got you this.” James holds out a wad of fabric. “To bite down on.”

Cib finishes tying off the tourniquet, takes the wad, and quirks an eyebrow at Parker. “Open wide.”

“Romantic,” Parker says, but opens his mouth obediently.

Cib leans over and carefully pushes the wad into his mouth. “You’re gonna be okay,” he says, almost conversationally.

Parker tries to answer, but Cib pushes the wad in further and smacks a loud, ostentatious kiss on Parker’s forehead. “Gonna be fine,” he whispers. Parker wishes he hadn’t. It’s less confident, the second time.

“Cib,” Steve says, and Cib gets to his feet, steps away. “James, are you doing it?”

Parker looks up at James. James swallows. “I mean, unless one of you guys want to-”

“Nope,” Steve says immediately. Cib doesn’t answer. He’s just staring at Parker. Parker tries to smile back, but between the blood loss and the earth-shaking fear, he’s not sure it’s encouraging.

“Okay,” James says. “Ready?”

Parker shakes his head. James lifts the axe and swings.

Having one arm is… different.

The first thing Parker does is teach himself to write left-handed and it’s excruciating. He can’t read what he writes half the time, but it’s the only thing he can do anymore. Autumn took over inventory while he was recovering, quietly and insistently and with Sami Jo standing next to her glaring daggers every time Parker so much as insinuated he wanted to help out. Everyone’s constantly out on supply runs. And Cib isn’t talking to him, again, but there’s no point in getting upset about that. Parker’s saving his energy for the things he can control. Like his handwriting.

His right arm ends above the elbow and it’s a shock every time he looks at it. He uses most of their painkillers and antibiotics in the first few days and he feels horribly, horribly guilty about it. They’re practically out of bandages by the time he’s lucid, three days later, and he tries apologizing. And none of them let him do it.

“Dude,” Autumn says, around the fourth time Parker starts babbling about supplies. “You know we’re all just… glad that it worked, right?”

Parker doesn’t think it worked. But then again, it’s been ten days, and he’s not going to look this gift horse in the mouth any sooner than he has to.

“I am too,” he says instead of any of that.

“I mean it, though.” Autumn sets down the gun that she’s cleaning. She’s been doing that a lot lately. Parker thinks she likes having something to do with her hands. “Like, we give you shit and whatever, but we’re actually happy you’re alive. Even if we only have eleven hands on deck instead of twelve.”

Parker swallows. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank us.”

“But-”

“You’re our friend,” Autumn says patiently. “Our actual friend, okay? We want you to be in one piece-” she pauses and winces. “Sorry, dude, I’m not good at this. I wanted Sami Jo to do this talk.”

“What talk?”

“The one where we tell you to stop feeling guilty for not dying.”

“I don’t feel guilty for not dying,” Parker lies. “I just-”

“Feel guilty for taking up our supplies, which you wouldn’t have done if you died?”

Parker cringes. “Autumn-”

“No, you know what?” She picks up the gun. “You’re alive, and if that’s a problem, then tough luck. Because it’s not a problem for the rest of us, got it?”

“Got it,” Parker says, and fixes his eyes back on his notebook so Autumn can’t see the tears welling up.

Everyone seems to be handling the whole situation differently, which sucks for Parker, because it means he has to handle everyone differently. It also means that every time someone says a word like “handle” or “handy” they give Parker weird, guilty looks, which definitely makes the adjustment harder.

So instead of dealing with any of that, he writes. He keeps a shitty diary, full of boring stories. Sami Jo judges his progress every so often by snatching his notebook out of his hands and declaring his handwriting to be on par with “kindergarten” or “eighth grade” or “hobo.”

“Hobos can have good handwriting too,” Parker points out, about two weeks post-amputation. “That’s not necessarily a judgment on their handwriting.”

“No, I meant your writing style, bozo.” Sami Jo plops down next to him on the floor. “You write like a drunk hobo.”

“What drunk hobo writing have you been reading?”

She snorts. “They’re not even the bad ones, it’s the sober ones who are a problem.”

“I still-”

“You use too many nouns.”

Parker frowns. “What?”

“Nouns,” Sami Jo repeats patiently, and plucks the pencil out of his hand. “Look at all the nouns you use, it’s too many.” She taps the pencil on a series of words, too quickly for Parker to catch them all, but she definitely points at “jumps” and “big.”

“Sami Jo, do you know what a noun is?”

She looks at him blankly. “I just pointed at all your nouns.”

“Right,” Parker says. “Cool.”

“Don’t be such an adjective, Parker.”

“I’m not- can you be an adjective?”

“That question is a lot to unpack,” she says, and sniggers.

Parker thinks, absently, that it’s kind of ridiculous that Autumn thought Sami Jo would be good at this. Or that any of them would ever be good at this kind of conversation. They don’t do serious emotions, any of them. They just make fun of each other.

Parker actually kind of misses being made fun of. Maybe it really is the end of the world.

“Should I try and be… a noun?” he hazards, and Sami Jo’s resulting smile is way, way brighter than he expected.

“Yeah,” she says. “You don’t have to be anything other than a person.”

Parker nods. “I can do that.”

“You already do, silly.” She shakes her head and pulls Parker’s notebook closer to her face. “We gotta edit this, though.”

“Go for it,” Parker says, and he’s surprised to realize that he actually can’t wait for what she has to say.

“Dude,” Andrew says.

Parker looks at him expectantly, but he doesn’t say anything else. He’s just staring at Parker’s… stump.

“Told you the axe would come in hand,” Jeremy says. “What happened, anyways?”

“Uh,” Parker says, “it’s a long story.”

“We’re gonna be here for a while.” Andrew lowers himself to the ground and sits cross-legged. “Come on.”

The thing is - and this is so, so stupid, and Parker knows it, but he can’t stop it - that he still hasn’t talked to Cib about it yet. Or about anything. He’s not even a hundred percent sure that Cib is still there, most days. It’s been sixteen days, and they haven’t talked. And Parker doesn’t want to tell this story without Cib.

“I mean,” he says haltingly, “it- I can’t- I definitely got bit, I can tell you that.”

“What?”

Jeremy actually takes off his sunglasses. “In the arm?”

“Yeah.”

“And chopping it off actually saved your life?”

Parker shrugs. “I mean, it’s been a couple weeks and I don’t really want to eat any brains yet, so… maybe?”

“Oh my god,” Andrew says. Parker missed Andrew a lot, it turns out. “But you’re - I mean, you’re up and walking around, obviously it’s okay.”

“Well, it’s been a tricky past few weeks,” Parker admits. “You don’t think about how much stuff you use both hands for until suddenly you don’t have both hands.”

Andrew looks down at both of his hands consideringly. Jeremy shakes his head. “You guys know you could’ve found us and asked for supplies, right?”

“I don’t know where you live these days.”

“Couple miles west of here. Not far off. We have painkillers and things. Do you still need them?”

“Nah.” It doesn’t hurt most days, and the days it does hurt, it’s all phantom pains. Nothing that he can do about it.

“Still,” Andrew says. “You could’ve.”

Parker nods. “I mean, hopefully we never have to ask you again, but we’ll ask next time.”

Andrew and Jeremy exchange a look that Parker can’t parse. After a few seconds, Andrew sighs. “We might not be there.”

“What?”

“We’re thinking about leaving,” Jeremy says. “Heading out east. Lots of people are.”

Parker frowns. “Why east?”

“Because if we go west we’re in the ocean,” Andrew says.

“And because we don’t want a cold winter in the north, and we think the south will smell like garbage with all the bodies,” Jeremy adds.

Parker shakes his head. “How are you getting there?”

“Walking, mostly.” Jeremy tilts his head. “Unless you-”

“We’re not trading the bikes.”

“Trading the bikes?” Steve repeats, coming out of the back room with a couple of cases of MREs. Parker’s not sure how many cases they have anymore, but he’s pretty sure they shouldn’t be giving that much food away. He doesn’t say anything. “Uh, that’s going to be a hard pass.”

“We don’t need the bikes,” Andrew says as Steve sets the cases down next to him. “We were thinking about driving, but you know how the roads have been lately.”

Steve frowns and looks at Parker, then Jeremy. “Driving where?”

“We’re aiming for Utah, but anything goes at this point.” Jeremy shrugs. “There’s nothing left out here for us, Steven, and we all know it.”

“There’s nothing left anywhere these days.”

“We won’t know until we look.”

“So you’re leaving?”

“Probably,” Andrew says. “In a couple weeks.”

“You guys could come with,” Jeremy says. “If you wanted. We could make room for you.”

Parker raises his eyebrows at Steve. He doesn’t necessarily trust Jeremy as a person, but he trusts Andrew, and he trusts that Jeremy wouldn’t let his traveling companions die. It’s not a bad deal.

“Pass,” Steve says. “But thank you for the batteries. We were running low.”

Andrew frowns. “You sure you don’t want to come?”

“We’ll let you know if that changes,” Steve says, in a tone that makes it clear that it’s not going to change. “Now get out of here, leave our hero alone.”

“Hero?” Jeremy repeats. “What’d Parker do?”

Steve frowns at Parker. “You didn’t tell them?”

“It wasn’t heroic-”

“You saved Cib’s life!”

“Yeah, but I-”

“Saved his life?” Andrew and Jeremy exchange another meaningful look. Jeremy looks back at Parker with an eyebrow quirked. “I bet Cib’s handling that great.”

Parker blinks. “What?”

“Hey,” Steve says warningly.

Andrew holds up his hands in surrender. Jeremy slides his sunglasses back on. Parker just looks at Steve.

“Get out,” Steve says.

Andrew obligingly gets to his feet, but not before reaching out to clap Parker on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay, man.”

Parker smiles at him. “You too.”

“Andrew,” Jeremy says quietly. He looks at Parker as Andrew lifts the cases of MREs. “Congrats on surviving, hero.”

“I’m-” he grimaces. “Thanks.”

“We’ll try and come by one more time before we leave,” Andrew says.

Steve nods. “We’ll see you then. And if not, good luck out east.”

“Good luck out west,” Jeremy answers, and the two of them leave.

“Steve,” Parker says before he can stop himself. “I’m not a hero.”

Steve makes a face at him. “I’m not here to argue that with you.”

“No, but I’m not.”

“You saved Cib’s life.”

“But-”

“From the way he tells it, you guys were actually fighting, and you still saved his life.” Steven raises his eyebrows significantly. “You gonna try and tell me that’s not heroic?”

“No,” Parker says desperately. “That’s being a good person.”

Steven sighs. “I’m only gonna say this once, so listen up, okay?”

“...okay?”

“You’re the worst person to have during a zombie apocalypse.”

“Steve, you’ve said that before.”

He shakes his head. “Let me finish. You’re the worst person here because you’re always gonna do the right thing, even if it’s stupid. You’re the kind of person who throws yourself in front of a zombie and goes out on dangerous midnight supply runs and make sure we take care of ourselves. You’re not built for this kind of a world, Parker, you’re too… good for it.”

Parker opens his mouth and then closes it again. He doesn’t think there’s a good answer to that.

Steve, for his part, just nods. “When I say you’re a hero, I’m not saying it because you do dumb shit, I’m saying it because you do dumb shit for the right reason. And because it makes you uncomfortable.”

“It makes me really uncomfortable,” Parker mumbles.

“Win-win,” Steve says. “You’re gonna be a good person, this is the price you have to pay.”

“I think I liked you better when you guys were being dicks to me.”

“We’ll be back there soon,” Steve promises. “Just give us time.”

“I will,” Parker says. He’ll give them as much time as he has left.

“We should throw a party,” Autumn says.

James looks at her sidelong. “Now?”

“Why not?”

“Do we have things for a party?” Parker asks. It always feels strange, not knowing inventory anymore.

Autumn nods. “We have a ton of that vodka left, still. And juice boxes.”

Sami Jo snorts loudly. “If we’re mixing vodka with kids’ juice, it really is the end of the world.”

“I want vodka,” Parker says. He actually wants whiskey, but beggars can’t be choosers, or whatever.

“Cool,” James says. “We can get it set up while we wait for Steve and Cib?”

Sami Jo jumps to her feet. “I’ll get the glasses.”

“I’ll get the drinks,” Autumn adds. Sami Jo offers an arm, and Autumn uses it to pull herself to her feet. “You guys wait here.”

James waves them off as they go and looks at Parker. “What flavor juice box do you think best goes with vodka?”

“Mixed berry,” Parker answers immediately.

“You drink that shit?”

“You don’t?”

James makes a face. “You know you’re the worst kind of person, right?”

“More for me,” Parker says smugly as the door swings open.

“Steve,” James yells, “tell Parker he’s disgusting.”

“Parker, whatever you did, you’re disgusting,” Steve answers. “Also, check out what we got.”

Parker turns and sees Cib holding, over his head, a guitar. “Is that thing playable?”

“Sure is!” Cib grins at Parker, like it hasn’t been three weeks since he and Parker had a legitimate conversation. “Got it all tuned up like a sandwich and this little lady is ready to rock and rumble.”

“Whoa, dude, why’s your guitar a lady?” James points at Cib accusingly. “Objectification!”

“That’s not what objectifying is,” Steve says exasperatedly.

“Also, it’s because ladies are cooler,” Sami Jo says as she emerges from the stockroom. “Hey, are we doing music with our booze?”

“Uh, are we doing booze with the music?” Cib grins. “Because that’s the right way to do music.”

“With booze?”

“With other people.”

“Yeah, jackass, because we were all going to leave the room when you started playing guitar.” James gestures at Cib. “C’mon, serenade us.”

“Play Wonderwall,” Autumn says, appearing with a bottle of vodka in each hand and a case of juice boxes tucked under one arm.

Cib clears his throat and strums the guitar. “I will not be playing Wonderwall, because I am an artist, and a savant, and-”

“Cib doesn’t know what Wonderwall is,” Steve says. “How’re we doing drinks?”

“I was thinking we can pour vodka, then add a juice box,” Sami Jo offers. “Keep it classy.”

“Flavor the booze, don’t booze the flavor.” Cib points the guitar at her. “Respect.” And then he starts playing something atmospheric, a little clumsy. Parker’s sure that going five months without a guitar made him rusty. It’d make anyone rusty.

Autumn sets the juice boxes on the floor. “Everyone grab your own.”

“Parker likes mixed berry,” James says loudly. “Everyone shame him.”

Steve and Sami Jo boo obligingly. Parker ignores them and grabs two berry juice boxes, because no matter what the rest of them say, he’s going to drink the shit out of this juice. And the vodka mixed with it.

Two or three drinks later, Cib is still playing guitar softly, sitting next to Parker in their makeshift circle. Autumn is half asleep on James’s shoulder, and Sami Jo has both her arms around Autumn’s waist.

“I love you guys,” Steve says, and topples over onto James’s other shoulder. “Don’t tell Parker.”

“Yikes,” Parker says.

Sami Jo giggles. “I wish we could leave,” she says wistfully. “Go somewhere… bigger.”

“We could,” Cib points out. “We’re running outta stuff, right?”

“Mmmmhm.” Autumn blinks sleepily. “Where would we go?”

“Dunno,” Sami Jo says. “I always wanted to see the Grand Canyon, though.”

“Basic,” Cib whispers.

“Yeah,” Sami Jo agrees happily. “It always seemed so… big, y’know? I think I used to want to feel small in the world.”

“Grand Canyon’s pretty,” Parker says. He hasn’t been in years and years, but he still remembers being in awe in front of it.

James loops an arm around Steve’s waist. “Well… why can’t we go?”

Cib stops playing. “You serious?”

“Yeah, dude.” James shrugs slightly, ignoring the way both Steve and Autumn whine at him. “Like, what else is there to do? Let’s go on a road trip.”

“We probably could,” Autumn muses. “If we found a car.”

“There are cars that still work.” Steve frowns. “Somewhere.”

“We can make them work,” James says. “Hey, guys, do you wanna go to the Grand Canyon?”

Sami Jo beams. Autumn lifts her head just enough to kiss Sami Jo’s temple. “Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Sami Jo sighs. She tugs Autumn off of James’s shoulder until they’re both lying on the ground, her arms still around Autumn. “Love you, babe.”

“Love you too.”

“I’m so lonely,” Cib whispers, and goes back to strumming the guitar softly. There’s no real rhythm behind it, just chords. Something nice.

“Play us to sleep,” James commands, and Cib grins and keeps playing soft and steady.

It takes about fifteen minutes until everyone else is asleep. Parker blinks at Cib a couple times. Everything is still tinged and hazy with the vodka, but Cib is as clear as ever. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Cib stops playing abruptly. “I’m sorry.”

Parker sits up a little straighter, frowning. “Sorry?”

“About… your arm.” Cib grimaces and sets the guitar aside, doesn’t really look at Parker. “About trying to pick a fight.”

“You were mad.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make excuses for me.” One of Cib’s hands curls into a fist. “I get it, you wanna be chums in a bucket or whatever, but you almost died.”

“But I didn’t.”

“But you could’ve. And I had you cornered against a fucking wall, and you-” he looks away. “I can’t even fucking look at you.”

“That’s not fair,” Parker says. He doesn’t mean to sound so hurt, but maybe he is hurt. Maybe he’s tired of Cib hurting him. “I’m here. I’m dealing with it. Why aren’t you?”

Cibs hands curl into fists. “It would’ve been my fault.”

“No, it would’ve been the zombie’s fault.”

“No,” Cib says, sharply enough that Parker freezes. Cib notices immediately and drags a hand down his face, curling even further away. “Shit, I’m sorry, you don’t… do loud noises, I should’ve noticed.”

Parker takes a deep breath. “First of all, I forgive you.” Cib snorts, and Parker frowns. “I’m serious. I don’t blame you, I blame the zombie, but this is my permission to quit blaming yourself.”

“Okay,” Cib says, and tips his head towards Parker. He still doesn’t meet Parker’s eyes, but Parker can at least see his face now, the weird wry smile on it. “What else?”

“What else is that we can’t fix the arm thing now. And it’s not that I don’t miss having two hands, but that already happened.” Parker reaches his amputated arm out. “But I miss talking to you, and we can fix that.”

Cib shakes his head. Parker tries not to frown at him again. “Dude, come on.”

“Maybe I was flirting,” Cib says abruptly.

Parker blinks. “What?”

Cib looks up at him, a challenge clear in his eyes. “Y’know, maybe I was hitting on you because I thought you were dying and I didn’t know how to deal with it because I’m a little bit in love with you. And maybe I was so angry about everything because I was scared, huh? What do you think about that?”

Parker takes a deep breath. “I think that’s an unhealthy way to express your feelings.”

“Well, yeah.”

“And I think it’s shitty that you didn’t give me a choice.”

Cib frowns. “Uh, you don’t pick my feelings for me, dipshit. I pick ‘em, and I like you.”

“Not what I meant,” Parker says patiently. “I mean that I want to talk about your feelings with you.”

“You don’t talk about your feelings with me.”

“I’m willing to try if you are.”

Cib blinks a couple times. “Okay, you gotta jog that by me one more time.”

“Okay,” Parker says. “I’m drunk. But, like, just a little bit.”

“Same here.”

“There was a lot of juice in that vodka.”

“I like the berry too.”

“Good,” Parker says, and scoots over until he’s sitting in next to Cib. “This is gonna be weird.”

“It’s already weird,” Cib mutters, but Parker can see how unsure he is, underneath. “What is?”

“I dunno.” Parker leans his head onto Cib’s shoulder. Cib’s arm slips around Parker’s waist, squeezing him tight. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Okay,” Cib says. Parker puts his good arm around Cib’s shoulders, and Cib grabs his wrist with his free hand. “What’re we doing now, carpark?”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Because you let me.”

Parker smiles. “I was thinking we could just… talk, or sleep, or something.”

“You probably need sleep.”

“I’ve been sleeping!”

“Mmmhm?” Parker can almost hear the raised eyebrow in Cib’s voice. “You gonna swear by that?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Cib laughs, low and rumbling through Parker’s chest, and smacks a kiss on Parker’s forehead. It’s not any different from any other time he’s done it, only-

Only this time, Parker looks up at him, and Cib is looking back, with something like wonder in his eyes. He doesn’t move when Parker leans in, or when Parker brushes his lips against Cib’s, barely, carefully.

“In the morning,” Cib says after a second, like it’s being wrenched out of him. “It’s- god, I can’t believe you’re real, Parker, in the morning-”

“I’m real,” Parker says, and squeezes Cib’s hand to prove it. Cib squeezes back. “I’m right here.”

“And you’re never going anywhere,” Cib says, desperate and resolute, and kisses Parker’s forehead one more time.

(Parker doesn’t remember falling asleep. But he remembers waking up with Cib next to him, strumming the guitar, one of his feet pressed up against Parker’s arm. Steve and Autumn are both grinning at them like they know something, and they might, but all Parker knows is that he smiles up at Cib, as happy as he’s ever been. And Cib, bright and relieved, smiles back.)

James claps his hands together. “The first thing I want you to know is that this was my idea, but it’s also Cib’s fault. Okay?”

“Cib’s fault?” Parker repeats. “Why did Cib want you to take me out to a parking lot?”

“This’ll all make sense as soon as you say you understand that it’s Cib’s fault.”

“Everything is Cib’s fault, isn’t it?”

“Good point.” James holds out a revolver. “This is yours. Welcome to target practice.”

Parker stares at him even as he takes it. “What?”

“See that car’s windshield?” He points across the parking lot. There’s a car at the other end, one that’s been rusting outside the kitchen store for the past five months. “You’re gonna shoot through it.”

“But-”

James moves so he’s standing behind Parker and guides his left arm up so he’s pointing his revolver at the windshield. “Hold it steady.”

“I could barely do this with two hands,” Parker says, bordering on desperate. “James, I don’t-”

“Just do it. I’m gonna hold it and help with the recoil, okay?”

Parker hates guns. He hated guns before he had to use them and he hates them more now that they’re a part of his daily life. James was best with them, always had been, but Parker’s not comfortable with them. He hopes he never is.

“Shoot,” James says, and Parker swallows and does. The shot goes wide, hitting a couple of yards to the left of the car. “Again.”

“James, this-”

“Parker!” he shouts. Parker flinches so violently that he almost falls over. James catches him with a hand on his shoulder, looking guilty. “Sorry, dude.”

“Why is this such a big deal?” Parker demands. His ears are ringing, and he thinks it’s from more than just the noise of the shot. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll explain once you hit the windshield three times.”

“Three times?”

“Hold the gun sideways.” James positions himself behind Parker again and rotates Parker’s wrist. “Try that.”

Parker takes a deep breath and aims at the windshield. James squeezes his wrist encouragingly. Parker closes his eyes, remembers he’s trying to shoot a gun, opens his eyes, and squeezes the trigger. The bullet cracks through the windshield.

“Good,” James says. He moves so he’s gripping Parker’s shoulders. “Go again.”

Parker sighs, but he takes aim and shoots again. And it hits again. The force of the gun nearly sends him stumbling back, but James keeps him upright. “Okay. One more?”

“One more.” James lifts his hands, but Parker can still feel him there, hovering. “Go.”

“James-”

“Swear, dude.” James pokes him in the back, which might be his way of expressing solidarity. He also might just be an asshole. “One more.”

Parker grimaces, but he points the gun at the windshield and squeezes the trigger. This time the windshield shatters, glass falling all inside the car, and Parker immediately spins around to face James. “What are you doing?”

“Teaching you to shoot one-handed,” James says, unbothered.

“But why? And what does Cib have to do with this?”

“Glisten.” James reaches and takes the revolver away from Parker. “You gotta be able to defend yourself, dude. Especially if we really go road tripping, because weird things happen on road trips. But it’s different shooting with one arm, right?”

“Of course,” Parker says. The balance is different, the recoil is different, and he probably hates it even more than he did with two arms. “And the gun’s different.”

“Yeah, we’re practicing reloading next.”

“James-”

“My point is,” James says, “if you don’t think every one of us was really freaked out when you almost died, you’re not paying attention, dude. Sami Jo said that she’d never seen that much blood when she wasn’t on her period, and I think she might’ve been serious.”

“Dude,” Parker says, because he’s really not sure what else to say to that.

James nods seriously. “I know, I didn’t want to think about it either. But then you went and I had to cut your arm off, and I think that was almost as bad as me as it was for you.”

“Disagreed.”

“I said almost. Anyways, point is, you gotta be able to defend yourself.” James holds up the revolver. “We’re gonna practice with this, because you need to know how to shoot things. All of us do, but you’ve gotta learn something new before we get out of here. Because the southwest was kind of a shitstorm before there were zombies everywhere, and Cib’s gonna be actually pissed if you die.”

“Yeah, also, what part of this was Cib’s fault?”

“Uh, all of it? Didn’t we say everything is his fault?”

Parker shakes his head. “No, at the beginning, you said that it was your idea but it was Cib’s fault. What part of it?”

“Ahhhh.” James smiles, and it’s a weird kind of smile, like he knows something Parker doesn’t. “He was the one who said you needed a different gun.”

“So it was his idea?”

The smile vanishes immediately. “No, dude, I told you it was my idea! Inspired by Cib!”

“No, I know, it just sounds like-”

“Are you accusing me of fucking stealing? ”

Parker holds his arms up in surrender. “No, no, I just wanted to clarify! When did you guys have time to talk about this anyways?”

“What do you mean now?”

“I mean I don’t think you guys have been in the same room in like a week because of supply runs!” And it’s true: with everyone gearing up to go to the Grand Canyon, Parker and Autumn have been by themselves most nights for the last two weeks. It’s been almost uncomfortably empty, and hard to communicate, even with the walkie talkies that James found a while ago.

James snorts. “Haven’t seen him in like a week. That’s cute. He was talking about this last month.”

“Oh,” Parker says, and something warm unfurls inside his chest. Last month, when Parker was feeling useless with only one arm, Cib was trying to figure out how to help him. “Okay.”

“Good,” James says. “Now, are we gonna find more shit to shoot, or are we gonna just keep shooting the shit?”

“Are we- what?”

“Let’s shoot things, come on.”

“Do we have to?”

“Cib’s gonna kill me if you die, and I’m too young to die from anything other than zombies or exposure.”

“Isn’t dying by zombies dying by exposure?”

James holds out the revolver. “Shut up and shoot out that car’s tires.”

Parker smiles despite himself, takes the gun, takes a deep breath, and takes aim.

Steve, in the driver’s seat of the shittiest, shadiest Jeep that’s left in their entire broken world, slams the car horn. “Get in, come on, today’s the day!”

“I could’ve found a better car,” Cib yells back, but he turns and looks at everyone. “We ready to go?”

“Let’s do it!” Sami Jo leans down and kisses Autumn before running out, carrying half a dozen cans of gasoline. Autumn follows her, arms full of MREs, and James trails behind with what he called a survival kit. Parker’s pretty sure that it’s just a flashlight and a map, but he’s not going to rain on James’s parade.

Cib bumps his shoulder against Parker’s. “Ready to say goodbye?”

“To the place where I lost my arm? Absolutely.” But Parker turns and looks at the store and his breath catches. He already left the stockroom earlier, but now he’s leaving the store. The place he called home for nearly six months, where he and his best friends figured out how to survive. “Oh, my god, you never finished what you were doing with the computer.”

“The computer?” Cib laughs. “Naw, dude, I was just fucking with that. I was never doing anything.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You amaze me,” Parker says, and he means every syllable of it.

Cib’s eyes go soft. He hooks a hand around Parker’s head, and Parker leans in and kisses him. He thinks he could stay all day, just like this.

“Hey!” Steven honks the car horn. “Get all that out of your system now, because there will be no banging in my new car.”

“We’re gonna fuck in the trunk while you’re driving,” Cib shouts back. “Fuckin’ bangarang all night long!”

“Or all day,” Parker mumbles before he can help it. It’s too quiet for Steve to hear, but Cib laughs, and that’s worth it.

“Not if we do it first!” Sami Jo yells. Steve drags a hand down his face. Autumn shakes her head.

“Get your asses in the car,” James yells. “We will leave you behind with a shell of a home and no supplies!”

“We have all the guns, bitch!” Cib lifts the box that they’re storing the guns in. “We can eat those!”

“We can’t eat those,” Parker whispers.

Cib grins. “Aw, don’t worry, babydoll, we’d find other things to eat.”

“Is that a sex thing?”

“Mmmmmmaybe.” He winks, twice with one eye and then once with the other. Parker is, despite all logic, a little charmed.

“Get in the goddamn car,” Autumn yells, and Cib bumps his hip against Parker’s and goes to the car. Parker takes one last look at the kitchen store, pushes down the swell of unspeakable emotions that threatens to rise up, and follows him.

It takes fifteen minutes and a lot of yelling to fit all the supplies in, but they manage it. Cib calls immediate dibs on the backseat, which means Parker also gets the backseat. “For leg room,” Cib explains, and slings one of his legs over Parker’s.

Steven glances in the rearview mirror. “Everyone got your seatbelts on?”

Cib groans. “We all got seashells, Steve, let’s get this fucking show on the highway!”

“Grand Canyon!” Sami Jo bounces excitedly, and Autumn smiles, fondly and full of love. “Let’s go, come on, come on!”

James unfurls a massive paper map. “Okay, I gotta find where we are, hold on.”

“I’m just gonna follow signs that say south and east,” Steven announces. “Until you can figure out something better.”

“No, that seems like a pretty safe bet,” James says, and looks back. “We all ready?”

“Ready,” Parker says. “Can I pick the music?”

Everyone groans. Cib sits bolt upright. “The guitar-”

“I put it in the trunk while you were throwing rocks at Alfredo,” Parker says.

Cib’s face lights up. “You’re the best.”

“Do not encourage him,” Steve says sharply. “Parker, you don’t get to pick the music, because we don’t have any music to pick from. Understand?”

“Understood.”

“Good. James, we good?”

“We good,” James says. “We good?”

“We good,” Cib answers, and he grins at Parker. Parker grins back, and Cib points at Steve. “Let’s get this bitch rolling.”

Steve pulls out of the parking lot. Parker closes his eyes and breathes.

#ship pine 7 #cib x parker #autumn x sami jo #spooky pine 7 #ragehappy #zombie pine 7 #zombie au tag #waveridden.fic #rpf for ts #parcib #shipping pine 7

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