How to Survive Z-Day Without Looking Like a Jerk But Still Looking Pretty Badass

FILE #7

We found our way to an obscure, nasty little gas station right outside of this cute little city called Greenville. Ryan, I noticed, was a born actor. His demeanor was perfect as he filled the tank with gas at... 11:34 PM, according to the dashboard. Raynee was awake, now, and sitting in the front seat, patiently waiting for the object of her affection to come back into the car.

Jett and I, as always, didn't have it so easy.

Ryan figured it would be suspicious to have four teenagers huddled together in a car this late at night, so he deemed Jett and me to lay on the floorboard where any passers-by wouldn't notice our skinny asses. Ryan removed the gas pump from the port, slid a few 20-dollar bills into the machine, and slipped into the vehicle.

"Turn on the radio," he said. Ryan sounded drained, and that wasn't good. We needed him to be the leader. Sure he ran over a dead, un-dead little girl a few hours ago and had to pick out bits of cold flesh and dirty fabric from out of the front tires, but damn it if he can't handle it. At least, I think he can.

We were on one of those late-night news stations, and, lo and behold, they were discussing us and the Infected outbreak.

"So, their identities and appearances will be released to the public at midnight tonight?" Oh. That's not good.

"Yeah, and to be honest? I think it's ridiculous. They're harmless kids. It's not like they're planning a terrorist attack-" Well, we aren't.

"But we don't know for sure." Yes you do, stupid lady.

"We do know. Nothing is evident to hint that they're planning on using their information received for anything malicious." Ah, thanks sir.

"But, still. They've broken into confidential U.S. files. What if they decide they don't like the country as much?" Dunno about that one, it's kind of hard to love a country that wants you detained.

Raynee turned the radio off immediately as she took note of Ryan's whitened, clenched fists around the steering wheel. He still did not notice the two of us, back here, contorted like little turtles. However, the guy was probably in a pissy mood, so I thought not to ask him.

"Ah. They're gonna know who we are, now." Raynee said, trying to make conversation. Ryan ignored  her. I took a glance at Ray's rejected face, and took note to give her a tough-love speech about going after older men.

Ryan's auburn hair was swept off his forehead, kept there by sweat. Ew. Though, I couldn't blame the guy, really. As he peered into the rear-view mirror, he glanced back at Jett and me and chuckled. A comforting sound after all of his sighs.

"You guys can get up, now. We're probably going to be taking quite a few backroads from now on, so you'll have to get comfortable. Can't take our chances with the interstates and highways and stuff. By the way, Raynee, did you bring anything to help-" Our backs popped as we made our way onto the seats.

"Say no more, I planned ahead in case we'd be needing to go incognito," Raynee smiled deviously, "I've always wanted to use that word!" Jett snorted. I elbowed him in the ribs, taking note of how skinny he's gotten.

"Great, whaddya got?" Asked Ryan, taking a turn into what was supposedly the city of Greenville.

"Hair dye, scissors colored contact lenses. I've always had a knack for make-overs. When I was ten, I made my dorky ginger friend Janet look exactly like Nichole Kidman within the course of a single sleepover. Of course, her mom was so angry I never saw Janet again, but damn, did she look awesome when she left the next morning. I think I even got her laid! Great, huh?"

I hoped silently that Janet was held back about ten years if Raynee managed to get her laid in the fifth grade.

"...Sure, Raynee." Ryan was actually grinning now. Raynee's mood had improved vastly since her little nap, and obviously she amused him. And also obviously, Raynee noticed how she amused Ryan, which made her eyes light up more. But, at Raynee's inconvenience, the most obvious was how Ryan did not look at Raynee with that admiration and protegesque affection. He looked at her like you'd look at your beloved dog, or your three-year-old sister.