"I knew someone else was still alive around here," he said, coming down into the alley a bit more. "Saw charred bodies of a bunch of these fuckers a couple weeks back."
"Yeah, when I get bored, I hunt."
"Stupid."
"And yet here you are," I said, brow raising, nodding toward his sword.
"I'm more equipped to handle the hunting," he said, shrugging.
"What? Because you're a guy?" I shot back. It had been so long since I had been offended on behalf of my gender. It was almost a relief to be offended by his sexism. It was a sensation other than boredom and fear, at least.
"Because... fuck," he hissed, hearing it just when I did, the sound of the decapitated guy's friends.
Instinct kicked in faster for me, already facing the threat. Before Watts could even turn to face it, my arrow was shooting through the air, landing right in the zombie's eye before he could reach out for Watts.
"Damn... oh, incoming," he said, rushing back a few steps as more started coming in.
I shot forward, opening my door, climbing in, turning it over, and hitting the gas, slamming into one zombie as I went.
Reaching across the seat, I threw open the passenger door once I was past Watts.
"Get in," I demanded, not sure why I wasn't leaving him to his fate when I had dreamed about the moment for so long.
But before I could even think it through, Watts was flying in the seat, slamming the door, and demanding I take off.
So I did, clipping one more of the monsters as I floored it, getting us the hell out of Dodge.
"Gotta love that adrenaline," Watts mumbled as we flew onto the main drag in town, no more zombies in sight, letting me slow down as he turned in his seat, looking toward the back. "How many people are you feeding?" he asked, and if I wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of hope in his voice. My old, familiar friend.
"Just me. And my cat, Buffy," I said, shrugging.
"For how long?"
"As long as it takes. Why do you care how much food I have?"
"Because you're not leaving much left for other survivors."
"Aside from you, the last time I saw someone alive was seven months ago. I put an arrow through his head to save him from a slow, torturous death."
"Pete," Watts said.
"What?"
"That was Pete Wilson."
"You knew him?"
"We hunted together for a while."
"Have you seen anyone else?"
"No."
"So who am I saving food for then?"
"Me?"
"You put a lot of faith to rest in the idea that I wouldn't enjoy watching you starve."
"You talk a lot of shit for someone who just saved me back there."
"Purely instinct. If I had a second to think it through, I would have asked them to start with your heart. I mean, there couldn't be much of it in there, but it would be a little appetizer."
"Oh, Junebug, still bitter? Even with the end of the world and all that?"
"What can I say? I need someone's face to use on my targets. I chose you."
"How have you survived this long?"
"I'm going to drop you off here," I said, pulling toward the side of the road.
"I'm serious. I want to know. You were more worried about your pedicure than cardio when we dated."
"Yes, well, a lot has changed since then. Or haven't you noticed? A girl forgets things like her pedicure when she is watching her mother get her throat ripped out."
"Jesus," Watts said, wincing at the words.
"It was fast."
"That is all any of us can hope for anymore," Watts said, shaking his head.
"Yeah. So where am I dropping you?" I said, impatient to get back, knowing I had several trips on the boat before dark. Even then, I would likely lose strength in my arms before I could get it all across.
"Come on, June."
"Come on, what?"
"You're not dropping me anywhere."
"Ah, like hell I'm not."
"We should stick together."
"Ah, yeah, no," I said, shaking my head. "I'd rather let one of the zombies pluck my eyeballs out, actually."
"There's safety in numbers."
"And there's homicide. Namely, yours," I told him.
"June..."
"No, Watts. You've done fine so far. Go on and keep doing fine by yourself."
"I can't do that."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because you're the only fucking person alive that I care about, and I am not dead enough inside to let that go."
Care about?
I won't lie, there was a pathetic little heart-skipping sensation inside at that. You know, before my mind kicked in and reminded me that people who cared about you didn't treat them like Watts had treated me.
"Don't try to rewrite history just because we might be the only people left alive. You don't care about me. You never did."
"I cared, June. I still care."
"You treated me like shit."
"Now who is trying to rewrite history?" he countered, shaking his head. "I treated you like gold."
He did.