Don't Be Scared

S2 E3 : 🛑 ZR 🛑 (Ch. 151)

I wonder what else this old man is proud of.

"Diesel's easier to get these days anyway."

And he's absolutely correct. Gas is the liquid people try to get before they even thought about using diesel. Honestly, it should be considered the undervalued liquid gold of the decade.

"My son and I rebuilt the Charger from the ground up."

Mechanical skills, check. Driving big rigs, check.

"The Comet, I use to drive to high school my senior year."

Which must've been years ago by the dust collected onto the stationed vehicle and the skin tags marking the man's face.

"My son and I were gonna rebuild that '49 Willys Jeep. This is my retirement now."

The zombie apocalypse should be considered a retirement plan? This is the retirement from Hell. Where is his son now?

"The refugees have shelter and we carry what we need."

I looked behind us at the two cars on the trailer that could house about three-to-four people each, uncomfortably. The eagle nest that rested right behind the cab could probably hold two people inside.

Then, I directed my attention to behind the long trailer that was holding up a black, dirt-covered Charger. Finally, it wasn't another trailer attached to this trailer, like I assumed.

It was a big truck--not even close to a rig--, pulling a walled up trailer. That must be where most of the people stay, that and on the truck pulling the tiny group of people. Leader skills, check.

He doesn't seem too out of his mind. Before Warren could say anything about the community or about their destination, a new body appeared into the conversation.

I was bumped into when they first came, but the gun being cocked by Vasquez told me the stranger had one more time to touch one of us.

"I'm so sorry!" The guy's voice sounded like a male that use to game a lot by the pitch and lack of strength he held into the shove.

He put a hand on my back to attempt assistance, but I shook it off immediately. I took a side step towards Vasquez and away from the five-feet tall guy. Who willingly touches a stranger you just shoved into?

And doing so in the apocalypse?

"Oh! You're the bad-ass kid, dude!" The guy's dark pupils seemed to grow in width as he looked down at me with true amazement.

He's not a kid, nor any where near to a teenager. So, his voice definitely doesn't match his body.

"You went--," He went on to act as if he threw a knife into the air, "Then, he went--."

He proceeded to act like the guy I stabbed in the back with a literal knife.

"Then, the cool dude with the rifle--."

"10K." I informed him of the 'cool dude's' name.

10K deserves more credit for taking down the bad guy who had started the gun fight anyway. Without his scope, the enemy would've gotten away.

"You guys were so cool together!" He praised us like he was about to hand out gingerbread cookies for good behavior.

The look in his eyes told me he was just as proud of us like he was the one to mentor 10K and I. He really does act more like a child than an adult; is there something wrong with him?

Traumatized, or naturally this happy?

After he finished gloating about me and 10K's actions, his dark orbs searched until they met Warren's chocolate eyes.