Page 7 of Between Two Thorns
Day One
S am Estrada didn’t know how long they drove straight into the desert.
Time had stopped having any sort of meaning the moment he registered bodies hitting the hood of the ambulance and bouncing off in the sickening way. The thud of flesh could only make that sound against unforgiving metal.
Sam, the former army medic, was no longer driving the getaway ambulance at midnight—it transported him back in time to another desolate and just as unforgiving desert. Where the sun beat down on every inch of exposed skin, and sand somehow found its way into the gap between neck and shirt and settled in every nook and cranny it could.
The Humvee wasn’t all that different from an ambulance, and though he hadn’t been driving down that dusty road all those years ago, he couldn’t make his hands unclench from the wheel in front of him, his elbows locked in and steering them ever onward and ever forward.
That was the last time he had seen bodies colliding with the hood of the vehicle he was in. Though it had been following an ear-rending explosion and a burst of fiery light—it was never something that was far from his mind.
Even if only cacti were colliding with the hood of the rig now.
“Sam?” the woman’s voice sounded like it was calling to him from the bottom of a deep well. Or maybe the medic was the one who was at the bottom of it—because it sure was dark out for an IED attack in the middle of the day.
The older man took a sharp inhale through his nose, blinked, and looked around.
He wasn’t on duty serving another tour. He wasn’t in that hellhole.
He’d traded it for another.
Sam wrenched his foot back from the accelerator petal, looking around through the dark windows as he tried to get his bearings, before he turned his head to the right and he looked over and saw his two companions.
The redheaded girl clung to Del’s arm as the rig’s tires bumped over things that Sam didn’t want to think about being crushed into the dirt—it was just sage brush and cacti, that was what the little pamphlet in the plane said on the way over here. Maybe a few rocks.
Or one massive mesquite tree that appeared in the middle of the headlight beams in the middle of nowhere.
Sam jerked the wheel to the right, feeling the tires on one side of the rig lifting from the already uneven desert floor. Everyone in the bench seat next to him slid into his side like a line of bowling pins.
He could feel Rose’s panicked breath right in his ear before the ambulance finally slid to a stop.
No one spoke for the longest time.
And then, Sam heard the only sound that he could describe as far worse than any metallic scratch or screech of tires he had heard tonight—or any of that God awful thumping music from the bar before.
The only other sound that could crush a soul.
the chugging, clunking noise of a diesel engine running out of fuel.
Sam’s grip re-tightened on the wheel, but it was no good. He could steer all he liked… but the tank was on empty and the whole thing came to a spluttering stop.
Empty.
The only noise left in the middle of the desert were heavy, panting breaths.
Reflexively, irrationally, Sam reached forward and attempted to crank the bus back up—but nothing would make more fuel appear in the dry tank.
Or ease the dryness in his throat.
“We’re out,” the medic said, his voice cracking and echoing in the heavy, cold air in the cabin.
Del opened his mouth, but as soon as Sam caught those grass green eyes, it was like his own words dried up on his chapped lips. The younger man swallowed and started again. “Ain’t there more? On the rig somewhere?”
“Yeah, yeah there is.” Sam murmured, finally loosening his grip on the wheel fully, his brain kicking into gear when it grasped something within his control. Supplies, manifest for the ambulance gear that he had glanced over before signing on for the night. What was typical in a private medical vehicle? The older man slumped in the bench seat next to Rose. “It’s in one of the compartments….on the outside.”
No one immediately volunteered for the suicide mission. And Sam couldn’t blame them. He was about to open his mouth when the young woman he had just met tonight spoke up.
“So, bigger question, sorta hanging in the air here.” The redhead said, with a very high voice, like she was trying to project a falsely casual tone. “Are we actually alone out here?” Rose asked, leaning forward over the dashboard, trying to peer beyond the beam of the headlights still running on battery.
There was nothing but cacti in the beams.
“Yeah, I believe we left those…things, behind.” Sam said, hesitating as he looked out the window to his left. His eyes narrowed as he tried to peer through the inky midnight.
“Zombies, they were totally zombies,” Rose said with a simple shrug of her shoulders, as if they were discussing one of those ridiculous movies that Sam’s son begged him to stay up late and watch. That only gave the kiddo nightmares.
“Fuckin’ hell.” Del’s voice barely came out from between his fingers, where he was chewing on his cuticles.
Sam had to resist the urge to reach over and gently pull his hand away. He might, if they were alone. If the redhead between them wasn’t constantly giving Del looks with her enormous hazel eyes.
Which made the medic feel a surge of pride…and protectiveness over the dirty blond. But he wasn’t the kid Sam was constantly saving from his asshole of an uncle anymore.
Then—it hit him. Smacked the older man right in the face.
What the hell were they actually talking about? He had been fretting over Del and not hearing the woman between them stating so matter-of-factly that there were B movie monsters crawling across the desert?
And Sam had just accepted that?
“There’s, no, it can’t be really happening,” Sam muttered, finally running a hand through his disheveled black curls. He rubbed his hand over his facial hair—already turning into more than just stubble. “There’s gotta be some sort of…rational reason—”
“Why green people are sinking their spikey black teeth into other people?” Rose asked, turning to him so fully that her orange curls were thrown over her shoulder. “Sorry, Doc, it’s not rabies or hysteria or whatever—the only answer is zombies.”
“Not a doctor, just a paramedic.” Sam said, on reflex to the common misconception, sighing as he leaned back against the bench seat.
“Well, Mr. Medic.” Rose said, easily on her feet, metaphorically, as her wrapped ankle was still delicately sitting on the floorboard. “Even if you did have some huge-ass flashlights so we could get the gas…where would we even go?”
“And it’s fuckin’ freezing outside.” Del chimed in. “Drops like a rock. Can see your breath. Got two jackets between us.” He gestured to his side, where Rose was still wearing his zip-up hoodie.
Sam rubbed at his face and wished he had more of his beard to occupy his hands as he weighed all of those things in his mind. Del was right. He could almost see every breath each of them took… even inside the rig.
“Okay.” Sam brought his hands down onto his thighs, startling the other two out of their thoughts. “First things first, avoiding hypothermia, until morning.”
He faced forward as he thought it all out, though he could see Del shifting to face him, his hand on the back of the bench seat.
“We crank up the heat, then turn it off to save the battery.” Sam plotted out. “And we get under the shock blanket. To reflect heat back onto us.”
“All of us?”
Sam didn’t even know which one of them asked it in a small voice. He turned to his side, looking at the two younger passengers on this crazy ride.
“Yeah, the more body heat, the better.”
Sam saw a smirk break on the young woman’s face—which gave him a little bit of relief, he had to admit, that she wasn’t worried about being wedged between two strange men who knew each other.
“So whoever has their hand on my shoulder can keep it there.” She shrugged casually.
Sam almost joined her smirk—until he saw the confusion on Del’s face.
He wasn’t touching Rose…and if Sam wasn’t either…
“?Ay—” Sam jerked forward, grabbing his steel water bottle from the dashboard cupholder. “Stay still.”
Rose froze, and her eyes clenched tight. Good, because she didn’t want to see what he was swinging at.
The disembodied, green arm went flying off her with a metallic thud. Before it hit the back windows of the ambulance with a distinctive crunch.
Rose was gasping, turning around in her seat to stare in horror, turning a bit green herself.
But Del was already on the move.
He grabbed the back of the bench seat and launched himself over it with just a whiff of her hair.
He jerked one of the back doors open, kicked the hand out with his heavy, steel-toed boot, and slamming the bus shut again.
A thick silence fell between all of them. For just a painful heartbeat. While it seemed they were all waiting for another shoe to fall.
Or another hand.