Metastasis

Chapter 5

For a long moment, they stare each other down. Lowry reminds himself that, logically, he doesn't want or need a companion—not when a peaceful death is at the top of his list. The stranger... Who knows?

The stranger is the first to break the silence. "Why don't you grab your things and come with me. It's going to be dark in a few hours and we should find a place to hole up for the night." None of it is a question. Not even Lowry's neighbors had spoken like that, with a stubborn 'you are one of us' matter-of-factness. The words and the tone are so sincere that he nods despite himself, and then stops because: no.

"Yes," the man says as Lowry starts to transition from a nod to a shake. Without waiting for another response, one way or another, he pushes Lowry back into his seat and reaches across him and grabs the wolf mask and retreats before Lowry has a chance to react. "We'll find a place to stay, clean your head up, and enjoy being able to have a conversation."

Lowry has half a mind to just start the jeep and drive away. But his gaze lingers on the wolf mask secure in the other man's hands, and he doesn't have any misconstrued ideas about whether or not he'll be able to snatch it back. Meaning not. Just attempting would likely cost him his dignity as any sharp movements are just as likely to make him puke as fall over.

How a person manages to look indisputably good and infuriatingly smug at the same time Lowry isn't sure, but the guy staring at him is distinctly both. "Your stuff in the trunk?" the man asks, like he isn't holding Lowry under duress.

"Back seat," Lowry concedes.

Nothing is in the trunk. The trunk is a death trap. Opening the trunk means turning your back on the rest of the world. Rooting around the trunk to grab something means blocking off your peripheral vision, part of your hearing, and a good portion of your mobility. Lowry's seen more than a few corpses hanging off the back of open trunks and he's never been inclined to become one of them.

With a knowing nod the man moves to the back door, pulls it open, and starts rooting around. The back seat, Lowry realizes, is just as bad when you're accessing it from outside the vehicle. "Just the bag and duffle?"

Grabbing his bat from the passenger's seat, Lowry pulls his keys out of the ignition and slowly slides out from the jeep. "Yeah."

"You have any food?" The back door shuts with a bang that's louder than it probably is and the man steps back in front of Lowry before he has both feet on the ground.

For a moment it looks like the stranger's going to help him out of the car, and Lowry distracts him by humming a thoughtful tone under his breath before murmuring, "A few canned things. Soups. Peaches." He slips to his feet, without assistance, while he speaks. With his right hand clutching the back of his head and his left grasping the base of his aluminum baseball bat, it's a wonder he doesn't trip. The man eyes him, brows knit, dubious. Assuming it's a reaction to the lack of his stores, Lowry says, "Leukemia. I don't have much of an appetite."

It's only been a couple weeks and he's already forgotten how much easier dying is to handle with other people around. With a witness he has to be strong for the sake of someone else's emotions, their comfort, and their ability to exist without feeling pity and sorrow and recognizing that sixth-sense sensation of impending death. It's the kind of strength that's impossible to muster when it's only him.

"Right." There's a pause, a hesitance that doesn't make sense unless the man's realizing he's an idiot for offering to take a sick person with him in this new, horrific world, and is attempting to figure out a way to renege that is not completely and horrifically awkward. Lowry is about to give him an out when he transfers Lowry's backpack and duffle all to his left hand and holds out his right. "I'm Trevor, by the way. Trevor Shannon."

Oh.

Well.

Lowry fumbles to free a hand without dropping anything, bleeding over himself, or falling over. For an awkward moment as he shuffles he wishes Trevor had just said he'd changed his mind and left. But finally he props the bat against the inside of the driver's door and shake's Trevor's right hand with his left. "Lowry Owens."

"Nice to meet you." Trevor nods, satisfied.

Lowry reclaims his bat and says, "You too."