This Isn't the Zombie Apocalypse

22. I Swear I Actually Love Dogs

Calvin puttered next to a small, calm pond with overgrown, tangled grass—which, surprisingly, was a vivid shade of green, almost unnatural—surrounding it.

We were finally out of the city and had passed through the suburbs, leaving us in the weird not-country but not-civilization area. There wasn't much to see—only a long, unending road that led to the nearest city, and a pond with an abandoned school bus next to it. Which was completely normal. Nothing bad could possibly happen at this sort of serene, dirty pond with mutated fish swimming happily around in circles forever—until they die, that is. Then they would slowly drift to the bottom, where they were covered in muck and gradually deteriorated or got eaten. Unless they were eaten in the first place, and being eaten was what killed them. Just pray that no fish died of a bone getting stuck in them after eating another fish. What a way that would be to go.

But, yeah, ignoring that weird rambling about fish and dying and dying fish. And death in general. (I may or may not have issues.) Nothing bad could possibly happen. I had been on a lucky streak for—I dunno—a day or two, so it would be wonderful if it pulled through for, say, the rest of my life, however long that ended up being. Well, I kept on saying stuff like that, and then I jinxed myself. Fingers crossed that it wouldn't happen this time.

The poor BMW chugged a few feet, gas once again depleted, and then shrieked to a stop. "Well," Calvin drawled, "looks like it's time for a pit stop." He tapped the gas gauge, mumbling, "Must be busted." Then he swiftly unbuckled and stepped out of the car—like some sort of supernatural demon, I swear, because no one was capable of moving that easily after hours on end cramped up as we were—and scanned the area. Ducking his head in, he told me, "I'm going to use the restroom. Look for clues." Snatching some toilet paper, six pieces of the nice and expensive type to be exact, Calvin strode off in the direction of the pond before ducking behind the old yellow school bus.

Bones creaky, I stepped out as well, slamming the door shut to rid myself of the smell of the pleather seats mixed with the stink of sweat and dirt and bacteria. It was nauseating. Stretching my sore muscles, I made my way up the road, eyes scanning for clues. Calvin and I had spotted what looked like clues only a couple times since the first one, but it was iffy; we were going only by gut instinct, and that wasn't reliable a hundred percent of the time. One screw up here and Ana was toast.

After finding nothing, I made my way up a path opposite the direction Calvin had gone and did my business behind some taller grass that led to the water's edge. The ground around me was strangely worn down; a little to my left, there was a small tree, but it was broken, snapped in half and flopping over limply. Even though it obviously wasn't nature that did these things, there were no indications of another person: no footprints and rubbish or whatever it was people did to leave behind evidence.

I shook my head, wondering if I was hallucinating—because who would be out here besides someone as cuckoo as me?—and headed back to car, where, after a few steps, I noticed Calvin was already putting gas in, ready to go. He looked... odd to me, though, not that that didn't mean anything. In only the span of three days Calvin had become someone who was more like me: dirty and unkempt, clothes rumpled, bags underneath the eyes. It wasn't nearly as bad—not even close—but it almost made him seem more... human to me. Not that he wasn't before, but at least now I knew that Calvin had a heart and wasn't a complete germaphobe.

But if there was one thing I learned about Calvin, it was that he was ridiculously calm. All the time. Except for those few times where he wasn't calm—where he was furious—but those were few and far between, as far as I could tell. Because, really, Calvin hadn't once tried to slap me silly; he barely even reacted when I would make a cruel sarcastic comment or would ignore him or would evade whatever conversation we were having at all costs. He was a rock, but one that had cool Band-Aids and thought Germ-X was a gift from the heavens.