"I heard that you were a cop before the apocalypse started," she stated, her voice quiet but confident. "Is that right?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, her eyes now dropping to the rifle Henry held between his knees. "You have good sharpshooting skills and you had the authority to use it. My question is... have you ever killed a man before the apocalypse?"
The question was a cold bucket of water on the camaraderie they had just built. The air in the truck became absolutely still. Johan, his hands tight on the steering wheel, glanced at the rearview mirror. Jack's easy smile evaporated, and even Maarg, the master of the game, was silent.
The silence was a thick, heavy blanket, the only sound the distant rumble of the truck's engine. The question was a challenge, not just to Henry, but to the fragile bond of trust they were trying to forge. It was a truth they all needed to know, a line that had to be drawn.
Henry blinked, the simple act seeming to take an age as he processed the directness of Gabby's question. The easy-going, map-making leader they knew vanished, replaced by the hardened veteran he truly was. A slow, mirthless smirk crept onto his face, a stark contrast to his usual warm expressions. He reached up and slowly adjusted the baseball hat on his head, the movement deliberate and controlled.
"I see you think I'm just some goody-two-shoes who was just some guard dog?" he said, his voice low, a gravelly edge to it they hadn't heard before. The sarcasm was thick, a dismissal of her simplistic view of his past.
He paused, his gaze meeting hers, unflinching. "Yes, I've shot criminals if that's what you're asking." The words were delivered as a matter of fact, a simple confirmation of his profession's reality.
The truck fell silent again, the tension from Gabby's question only intensifying. Henry's confession was not the end of the story, but a prelude. After a long, deliberate beat, he added a final, chilling statement, his voice dropping even lower. "...And neutralized a few." The euphemism was a cold, professional term that spoke volumes, confirming her fears and answering the unasked part of her question. Henry hadn't just shot at people; he had killed them, a fact he seemed to carry with a grim, practiced detachment.
Henry's gaze remained fixed on Gabby, the grim truth of his words hanging in the air. He held the position, his arm still outstretched, ready to play. The cheerful energy that had once filled the truck was now gone, replaced by a tense, focused silence.
"Well," Henry said, the smirk on his face fading into a more neutral, professional expression. "I wish I could just tell the whole story, but game's game."
He gestured to his hand, still in the idle "rock" position from their previous round, a silent challenge. The unspoken words were clear: This is my story now. You want to hear the rest of it? You'll have to win it from me.
The game continued. The silence that had fallen after Henry's confession was broken by the chant of "Truth, paper, scissors!" again and again, the rhythm of the game becoming a soundtrack to their journey. The fragile bond that had formed between them, tested and strained by Henry's and Gabby's truths, grew exponentially stronger with each passing round. It was no longer just about secrets, but about the very lives they had lived before the world ended.
With the unwritten rule of the game now established—that a story could only be finished by defeating the storyteller—the revelations came in a slow, compelling trickle. They learned of Jack's animation adventures, the passion and joy he once poured into bringing characters to life. Maarg's high school shenanigans were a source of much-needed laughter, painting a picture of a troublemaking but good-hearted kid. The full, complex truth of Henry's cop life was laid bare, a story of heroism and compromise. Gabby, in turn, revealed the demanding world of her youth, sharing snippets of her military school adventures, a world of discipline and rigor that explained her stoic nature. Even Andy, in his own way, contributed, his shocking stories a hotpot of comedic interactions, pinch of drama and the dreams that had to be left behind.
Not just the happy moments, but the sad moments too, were shared in the quiet confines of the truck. The game, once a simple distraction, had become a powerful tool for catharsis, allowing them to process their trauma through shared stories. From their vantage point in the front of the truck, Carla and Johan had the first-class seats to the unusual game, a front-row view to the formation of a team that was now bound by something far deeper than shared peril.
***
Time fled and the game was cut by the sudden intermission. The quiet confessions and bursts of laughter were abruptly silenced by the mundane reality of their mission.
"We're close to the place that you mentioned," Johan announced from the driver's seat, his voice a practical, low rumble that cut through the storytelling haze. They had entered Toronto a while ago, the city's ruined skyline a haunting silhouette against the twilight sky. Luckily, their route had been relatively clear of the shambling hordes; any zombies they did encounter were either outran by the sheer speed of the truck or crushed unceremoniously under its heavy wheels.
Maarg nodded, his playful demeanor instantly replaced by a focused, tactical readiness. "Great," he said, his voice now crisp and low. "Once we're sure the area is clear, we will stop there." He pointed ahead, a weathered finger indicating a small, pristine condition building on the edge of the road, its indigo blue colour friendly and inviting. By the "place mentioned," he meant "Le Café de l'Ange Bleu," the very spot where they were to meet their contact, Gustavo cappuccino, the kind and humble cafe owner
The cafe was in pristine condition. It resembled a vintage cafe straight out of the 1900s, an impossibly serene piece of art in all the modern mess. The building was looking out of place, not an eyesore but an eye-catching beacon of life in a city of death. Its indigo blue color was a vibrant shock against the urban decay, a testament to a world of sidewalk cafes and quiet afternoons. The walls had dark red stains, but then again, what didn't have those in this apocalyptic time? The stains were ominous splashes, a stark reminder of the ever-present violence, but they did little to detract from the cafe's strange, enduring beauty.
Johan brought the heavy truck to a slow, controlled stop a dozen meters from the cafe's entrance. The engine's groan died, and a heavy silence filled the air, broken only by the distant, chilling moan of an infected.
"This is it," Maarg said softly, his playful demeanor from the game completely gone. He pointed to the elegant cursive on the sign above the door: "Le Café de l'Ange Bleu."
Henry, ever the cautious planner, kept his eyes glued to the cafe, scanning the windows and rooftop for any sign of movement. "No movement," he murmured. "The area looks clear."
Maarg took a deep breath, the scent of dust and decay thick in the air. "Alright. Everyone stay alert," he said, his voice low and serious. "I'll go inside to make sure everything is okay, it'll only take a minute."
He began to move towards the cafe door, but a sharp, clear word cut through the tense quiet. "Wait," Gabby said. She had already emerged from the truck's rear, her movements as fluid as always. Her dark eyes, which had been scanning the surrounding buildings, were now fixed on him.
"I'll tag along," she said simply, her voice devoid of any room for argument.
Maarg paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He had intended this to be a quick, solo reconnaissance run. But he knew better than to argue with Gabby. Her instincts were sharp, and her caution was a valuable asset, especially in a place that seemed too good to be true. With a quick nod of his head, he conceded.
Together, they moved towards the cafe door, two silent figures against the backdrop of the desolate city. The rest of the group, Henry, Jack, Johan, and Carla remained near the truck, weapons at the ready, watching the two of them disappear into the perfect, blue building.