AT THE END OF THE WORLD

The Great Outdoors

WFAN 101.9 WAS SCRATCHY ALL NIGHT. We'd dug an old radio down out Dorian's closet; found a worn notch, a red needle set on 93.9. WNYC. NPR. Case had propped it on a bookshelf beside Buddha as I lit a couple candles, a recently returned red BIC®. Nothing NFL-related. Fuzz. Eventually, on 92.1. WLNG. Oldies. Dozing off. Evil Ways by Santana.

Big swaths of silence sifted smoky. High again.

Dawn, and Casey had rolled a last joint, held it up. The World re...sett...ing. Lots of Bad Shit. Bodies. Rot. The World blowing... up on itself. I'd barely slept. A window in a dark kitchen, overlooking a deep cavern—

"I'm staying," Luke said carefully, as if afraid of Casey. Reactive. Explosive.

But Case only shrugged. "No hard feelings, man, yeah?" He offered a hand, drew him in, clapped his back genially. Friends, I guess. Sorry I stabbed somebody and I'm not gonna clean it up. "Seriously, be safe."

"Thanks."

Annika, however, had other plans. "I'm going with you," she declared, grasping my hand firmly. I squeezed back. "Yeah."

"Good. Okay. Three..." Case passed Dorian's body again. He'd been scanning and scoping Pacific by way of Luke's bedroom window. Eyes cloudy.

"Wait. No," Luke sighed, shrugging on a sweatshirt exhaustedly. His eyes seemed puffy, purple-y. Casey spared a look over his shoulder: What? "I'm coming with, okay?"

"Changed your mind real quick," I snorted. "Huh?"

"I don't really... wanna be alone."

I got it, I did.

"Okay. Four." Casey, passing back My Golf Club, nodded. Morning had sunk a greying sky, dreary, rain-slicked, dampening any leftover fiery glow. "'s clear, I haven't seen anybody—or anything—in a while. We, Kir..."

Oh, no.

"... are grabbing a Subaru Outback."

A Lesbaru. Ha. It's an icon. Honestly.

"Next Stop: Park Slope."

Dyke Slope. Great. Maybe I could be dropped off—near Yoona.

Downstairs, whirling a Crow Bar, Casey stepped over (who I believed was) Zachariah. Their Super. His body was splayed, contorted, awkward angles and bloody breaks; a shotgun laid inches from ashy, unfurled fingers. Case heaved an unsatisfied sigh, slung it up over his shoulder lackadaisically. "Alright. Subaru Outback. Blue. It looked untouched, I'll wire, y'all jump in, keep lookout, okay?"

It was a fifty foot sprint—and Casey rammed the butt of his gun into the window; glass shattered noisily. Unlocked, Annika and Luke grabbed back, I was always a shotgun passenger.

Down Kingston, Prospect fucking Park. Wrong Way on a One-Way. We'll blow through Prospect Park, he'd said. I lit a Marlboro, handing it off, Case leaning back lazily. Cruising.

"Did you know Subaru really marketed whole campaigns at Lesbians? It was all, like, winks and nudges, coded ads, kinda?" Luke had begun rambling, and I wished he'd shut up. Kingston was relatively quiet, eerily abandoned. It was early. Did Zombies sleep? "They'd have license plates in ads or commercials, y'know: P-TOWN, like Provincetown, Mass, really popular gay spot, or XENA LVR, Xena Lover," he kept... going. "Or like taglines, 'Get Out and Stay Out' and 'It's Not a Choice, It's the Way We're Built.'"

"Yeah, I know. The Great Outdoors."

Casey playing with a knob, blowing a smoky slew. An ESPN channel, reporting zilch. Static. High AF.