“Stop,” she protested.
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Are you ten years old?” Posture rigid, exasperation leaked out. “We’re on a mission here.”
“I’m old enough.” Quentin’s blue eyes twinkled.
“Good to know you’re so seasoned and battle ready.”
“Look at these arms.” Muscles bulged under his shirt. “Do they look like the arms of a pre-teen? I’m ready for battle…and other things.”
“All I see are the lovely and appealing stains on your shirt.” She did a double take. “Actually, I recant my statement.”
His smile was wicked. “I knew you would.”
“They look like the arms of a small child. Someone needs to be hitting the gym a little more often.”
“Ouch.” He shoved her.
Catching her off guard, she stumbled.
He reached out and drew her in. “Sorry.” His whispered word tickled her ear.
He didn’t let her go and she stood cocooned in his warmth. He might be flirting, but she could be reading too much into this encounter.
Maybe he needs someone to smack him to make him understand boundaries?
The heat of his body, close and warm, was confusing.
Where’s the snark? Must remain protected. Don’t envision his arms around you. It’s been such a long time since physical closeness with anyone was normal.
“There’s a pharmacy at the end of the next row we should check out.” She tried to break the spell of the moment.
“Really?” He didn’t take the hint and relinquish her. “There’s a lot going on right here I want to examine.”
“I take it back.” She wiggled out of Quentin’s grasp, then punched his arm.
“What?” His arms went limp at his side.
“You’re acting like a toddler.” She inched closer to the pharmacy, placing more distance between Quentin, the confusing emotions, and herself.
“Everyone okay?” Emma’s voice echoed from the next row.
“We’re good. At least Quentin is good. I’m suffering through his antics.” Jenna wasn’t sure what was going on or why, and she didn’t want to begin to address the sensations careening through her.
It must be sleep deprivation.
“Try your best not to judge him too harshly.” Muffled laughter filtered through the ramshackle shelving.
“I’m trying my darndest.”
To be over there with the rest of them. Why am I stuck in a teen dating movie?
She chalked her bewilderment and awkwardness up to the recent near-death experience with Streakers and nightmares. After some quality sleep, everything would be fine and dandy.
Like anyone slept well these days.
“Come on.” Jenna tugged the arm of his T-shirt.
He remained planted like a tree.
“We have a job to do and not a lot of time to do it.” Jenna edged back. “Let’s get moving.”
He groaned but followed, kicking at the discarded face masks littering the floor, some flaked with dried blood.
She checked the nook of a shelf on the way to the pharmacy.
Vermin squeaked, scurried, then scattered, sending dust bunnies flying as well as the edge of something aluminum.
“What do we have here?” Jenna stooped, then dislodged a dented can of beans under the shelf.
“Nice find.” He opened the sack he carried.
Jenna tossed the can overhanded, and it fell into the bag. “Score.”
“If only.”
She tilted her head. “If only what?”
The wink was comical. “If only I could score a beautiful babe in this less than lovely world.”
“And where would you find one?”
“There’s one close by.”
“At camp? Who are you interested in?”
“Never mind.” Quentin exhaled.
“I want to know.”
“You already do.”
“I don’t. Really. Tell me.”
“Let’s drop this conversation.” He called to Billy.
“All good here.” Billy’s voice sounded far away.
At the pharmacy, long-ago hair dye and serums had bled upon and decorated the shelves.
Please let there be toothpaste. The baking soda the group used is less than lovely.
“Look here.” She licked her lips. “Chapstick. I miss it so much.” The tube dropped into the bag.
Quentin salvaged a half bled out bottle of shampoo and a rat chewed, dried wedge of soap. He stopped in front of a torn and ransacked makeup display.
“Can I buy something to pretty you up?”
“Funny. Ha. Ha.” Her voice remained deadpan.
He plucked the cap off a tube of bright red lipstick. “I was going to ask you to the prom next week and thought you needed a new lipstick shade to match the color of your dress.”
She studied the color. Something looked familiar, but she couldn’t dredge up the memory. “Red? You’d dress me in red?”
“I would have enjoyed taking you to the prom and the after-party. Couldn’t care less about the color of your dress.”
“Stop.” The word came out petulant.
“Maybe we would have skipped the party and went straight to the hotel room.” He waggled his eyebrows.
She stepped back. “You’re being an ass.”
A thump from the back of the store silenced a longer retort.
“Time to go.” There was an edge to his words. “We don’t know what the noise was, but It’s probably Billy or the rest of the group. Let’s grab the pharmacy stuff and skedaddle.”
“Who says skedaddle?” She stuffed the lipstick in her pocket without thought.
“Grab whatever, and let’s go.” He pilfered random items, not looking at what they were.
She sneered at the sight of her partner holding a box of condoms and opened her mouth to say something but sucked in decay and death.
A Streaker lurched out of the shadows.
“Damn”—the word came out as a whisper, then she found her voice—“We’re screwed.”
How could she have forgotten? Always be careful—more than careful.
The lackadaisical attitude she and Quentin had shared could now bring death.
“Damn.” The beat of her heart accelerated.
We just killed a bunch of these shits. Can’t there be a few Streaker free weeks? We normally don’t get new hordes for weeks. Nope. Not this time.
“Let’s get out of here.” The words were ripped from between Jenna’s clenched teeth. The deformed corpse lunged with unexpected athleticism.
She ran, blinking away the fear. The fetid, decomposing monster following her as she skidded around the edge of the bakery kiosk was close enough that it blurred into a Picasso painting, face rearranged, a pallet of murky brown, green, and gray.
Her sprint intensified.
Outside, she spun in a full circle hoping to catch a glimpse of Emma or Billy.
“They’re not here.”
“I didn’t
