Gasoline | Ben Parish

49

THE soft knock at the door startles me. I sit up, nearly banging my head on the green bunk above me. The sheets tangle around my legs. I slide my hands over my rifle and wait. The only sounds I hear are my heart and Teacup's even breathing. 

The door creaks open. I squint through the shadows to make out a slender form hesitating in the entry way.

My eyes adjust within seconds. "What?"

"I thought you'd be up," Ringer remarks evenly. She steps inside and closes the door behind her.

Well, that makes one of us. When we first arrived at Teacup's house, I was dead-ass tired. I thought I would crash out in no time.

...but of course, by the time the sun went down and Teacup had started to softly sigh in her sleep, I found it near impossible to shut my eyes for longer than .02 seconds.

"Okay," I say. "You were right. So what do you want?"

She comes to the edge of the bed and ducks, sliding in to sit cross-legged at my feet. I sigh and scoot back, resting against the headboard behind me. My hands run over my face, trying to rub the exhaustion from my eyes.

"Why weren't you sleeping?" She questions.

"Why do you think?" I snap, letting my hands fall back into my lap. "Zombie's supposed to be coming back tomorrow."

Ringer's voice stays steady, almost apathetic. "Shouldn't that make you happy?"

"Not when I think that he's not coming," I retort. I cross my arms over my chest. "I don't think anyone expects him to be alive."

She shifts, bringing her knees to her chest. "Why do you think that?" She presses.

I shrug, frustrated. "Everyone agreed to just leave if he doesn't show up. Like it was an easy thing. Like they would've done it anyway."

"It's not an easy thing," she quickly says. "I'm sure everyone just agreed to whatever he said to make him feel like he was in control."

Now I fall silent, taking in her words. That would make more sense, anyway. "So... you guys were planning on waiting on him anyway? You weren't going to leave him?"

"He's not coming out of Camp Haven on his own," Ringer reveals. "The aliens wouldn't let him go. I doubt they're letting him out of their sights, since he's injured."

"And his story is bullshit," I concede.

Ringer nods. "They're probably treating his wounds now. As soon as he's stable, they'll probably run him through Wonderland. Then they'll kill him."

My chest suddenly feels tight. "Shit. I forgot about Wonderland." I run my fingers through my hair roughly, yanking at the roots. "So what the fuck do we do now?"

"I was thinking of infiltrating the base and extracting him in an organized fashion," she relates calmly. "And Nugget too, if Zombie tries to fight us on it." She rests her chin on her knees. "But we need a plan."

Immediately, I'm on board. "To be honest, I was planning on ditching you guys and going after him if he didn't show up."

It's too dark to tell, but I think she smiles. "I don't doubt that for a second," she says. "I wouldn't have expected anything else. You're predictable when it comes to Zombie." She doesn't say it with cruelty or teasing. She just says it like a fact. Grass is green. Water is wet. Croak is predictable when it comes to Zombie.

Even though I know she doesn't mean it like a dig, I still react to it. "Sorry for giving a shit," I hiss.

"I didn't mean for that to sound negative," she tells me what I already know. "I just mean... you love him."

"What?" I scoff. "What makes you say that I love him?"

Ringer stares at me. Even in the pitch-black, I can feel the weight of her penetrating gaze. "You should stick to sarcasm. Denial doesn't work well for you."

I snicker, shaking my head. "Whatever you say, Ringer."

"There's nothing wrong with loving someone," she assures me. "Love is just something that... happens. You can't control it."

"Life is easier without love." My words are short. "It's easier to survive without it."

"A lot of things are easier without love," Ringer responds. "But none of them are worth experiencing without love – including existing."

I sit quietly, taking in what she has to say. "Wise words from someone who never shows emotion."

Ringer shifts; the mattress creaks. "I am the way I am for reasons beyond my control."

"Like love?" I press.

She doesn't answer.

I reach out and nudge her leg with my foot. "Hey," I say. "You can't just drop a bomb-shell like that and then expect me to not say anything."

"I don't want to talk about it," she growls. This is the first time I've ever heard Ringer become anything close to angry.

I roll my eyes. "Then why did you say that? It makes it seem like you want to talk about it."

Nothing.

I sigh and shift, taking the pressure of the hard headboard off my bony spine. "Tell you what: you tell me one piece of your past, and I'll tell you one piece of mine."

The offer is a lot, and I don't know if she'll take the bait. I do know that human curiosity is something that not even the waves can eradicate.

It's quiet for a few minutes.

"How do I know that I can trust you?"

"Well, I've been letting you boss me around for the past day and a half without me smothering you in your sleep with a pillow." I hold up my fingers, ticking off the reasons. "I didn't shoot you for shooting Zombie – when I really wanted to, and I still kind of do." I mockingly tap my chin. "I'm in your squad, a.k.a. the only people it is safe for you to trust now that we know the truth..."

She sighs. "I see your point." Then she doesn't say anything else.

"Okay..." I swallow. "I guess I'm going first."

Croak wouldn't have let it go down that way. Croak would've insisted that Ringer spill her guts first.

But lately I've been letting Mary Beth back into the mix. I've been letting the two sides of me gradually mingle, piecing themselves together until I become one person again, a mosaic of before and after the waves.

My voice sounds overwhelmingly loud in the stillness of the night. I listen for a moment, ensuring that Teacup is still asleep. Then, I say, "I killed my parents... indirectly." I cringe. "Your turn."

At first, I think she's chickening out. I wouldn't have blamed her. The past has become something that no one wants to talk about. It's too painful, too dark, too deeply imbedded into who we once were.

Then she surprises me – Ringer always does. She speaks, so softly that I almost don't hear her. "My father was an alcoholic."

The words hang in the air as I process what that could mean for Ringer's upbringing.

There's no real words of comfort to be said. We both take in this new information about each other and move on.

I'm the one who changes the subject. "So, back to the whole busting Zombie out thing..."

Ringer clears her throat. "We need a plan. I've been trying to remember the external layout of the base, but there are too many unknowns for me to formulate anything solid."

"I know what you mean," I tell her. I remember all the various patrols taking place all around the perimeter. "It's going to be hard."

"But worth it," she reminds me.

"Definitely." My tone has become soft. "Zombie... he's definitely worth it."