Bex Rollins killed her mom.
Tommy killed his dad.
Brought together by fate, Bex and self-named 10k have partnered up to fight the apocalypse together...that is, until 10k teams up with a group headed to California.
(Undergoing edits)
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Bex's POV
10K focuses on keeping watch, holding a flare as the two buffoons we're traveling with sleep soundly. My heart clenches when his alert eyes land on me, our eyes connecting in the darkness.
"If you're awake, keep me company," he says quietly and I nod, coming to sit down next to him.
"They're going to get us killed, you know," I tell him, gesturing to the slumbering figures.
"That's what you said about our group. We're still alive."
"For now. I will admit, I might've been too hasty in my judgment with them," I say, grinning and kicking softly at his boot with mine.
"There is something I've been curious about, Bex. What's your relationship with Murphy?"
I pause, wondering if I should tell him. Sighing, I scoot over into his personal space. "If I tell you, will you stop being mean to me?"
"Bex, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be—"
I put my index finger to his lips. "I know. I'm just joking. I'll tell you but promise you won't tell anyone else. Promise? Pinky swear?" I hold out my little finger and he takes it after rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Murphy is my uncle."
His eyes widen in shock. "I didn't see that coming. Are you sure?"
I stare at him. "I think I know my own family member from when I was a kid, Killer."
He nods, just soaking in the information. "What about Vasquez? What's your relationship with him?"
I pause, thinking it over for a minute. "He's too old for me, you know that. It's just banter. He's more Warren's type than mine."
"Who's your type?" he asks, leaning his shoulder into mine playfully.
"The silent types with a big gun," I reply, laughing quietly at the way his ears turn a soft pink.
The next morning, we continue walking.
"There you have it!" Sketchy says. "Opportunity presents itself, just as I suspected."
Skeezy turns to 10K. "Seriously kid, you must be magic. There is no end to our luck since we met you."
"I wouldn't call this piece of junk luck," I mutter, climbing into the cab, sitting on 10K's lap so we can all fit.
"Ever the pessimist, aren't you?"
The vehicle starts up fine and Sketchy drives it down the road and right into town. The townspeople wave at us. How odd.
"We thought you might've run into trouble," a lady says to Sketchy.
"Just the usual," he replies, probably starting another con.
"Usually you're right on time, but no matter," a man in a blue suit says, walking over to us with a cup in hand. It almost feels like it isn't the apocalypse. "Get those boys a drink. I don't think we've met. It's usually the other two."
