Joakim
I threw the rucksack on top of the rusted table and let the canned insides spill out in front of David. He slowly turned his head, then an eager smile spread across his face.
He lowered his bolt-action rifle before rubbing his palms together and grinning at the food. I grabbed the gun and examined it. David knew to keep my weapon in good shape.
"Hey, I still got a half hour left, man. I'll wait before eating." He turned away from the food and tugged my shoulder. "We oughta eat together."
"Nah, eat up. The boss said we could have some beer too. I can watch the road and have a drink with you," I replied before grabbing a can and cracking it open.
David cracked his own and examined the foam as it drifted up the opening. He took a sip, and so did I. There was something beautifully nostalgic about the flavor.
Moments like these are few and far between. We oughta cherish them in times like these.
"Beer smells like summer to me…" David gave a wry, subtly somber smile.
He is not wrong, it does smell warm, like a road trip with the boys. But he doesn't need to be so poetic about it. I mean, who even notices things like this?
"Ba… you're crazy, no one sits around and sniffs beer." I grabbed his hand and lifted the can, encouraging him to throw it down. "Down the hatch, that brain of yours is still working too well."
I knew that look. The way he stepped back and lowered the can confirmed it. Some alcohol wouldn't fix this. Nothing would go back to how it was, no matter how long we cling to nostalgia.
"Hey, man, what's wrong?" I lowered my own drink.
"Remember when we went to the countryside with Steven after we finished high school?" The hurried pace of each word caught me off guard.
"Yeah… of course I do. It was the last summer before, you know… you got real drunk and ended up wrecking my car. You drove us off a cliff, I broke an arm, and you needed to wear a neck brace." I feigned anger, tried to inject levity, but there was a serious look to him. I looked away, then nodded.
He tipped his hat, pulling it down to obscure his expression. "We dodged the draft because of those wounds." He looked downward, and the cold of the wind was swallowed up by the melancholy that now spilled out of its container. "Steven was a stand-up guy. He never had a sip of alcohol. He wasn't in that crash, and as a reward they sent him to fight those things."
"I know, David." The silence that followed was only broken by the howling winds of the city as our memories flattened us like a steamroller.
David chuckled. There was no warmth in the sound. "Remember when you started smoking and he kicked your ass to make you quit? Or when he beat up Big Jon for picking on me in middle school?"
I could hear David's teeth grinding together as I walked next to him and sat myself down. I reached an arm around his shoulders. "Yeah… I won't ever smoke again, and I'm grateful that he beat me bloody for it." I gave David a calm, certain smile. "He put up with plenty of our shenanigans. We did some stupid shit sometimes, but he had our backs."
He nodded. "Yeah, we were some good-for-nothing thugs back then, but he wouldn't let us stay that way. A man like him should have stayed away from filth like us. But no, he stuck with us and helped us. He made us better people."
"He was a real man. No, he was the realest man of all, and I want to be more like that." I patted his back.
"If we listened to him, then we would have been by his side. Maybe he would be here with us then."
My hand, quick and sharp, struck him across the face. He was correct for the most part, but I knew—yeah, I knew for a fact—that Steven wouldn't stand for this kind of talk.
His head snapped to the side, and he slowly raised his hand to his cheek, the blow stunning him long enough that I could get another statement through. "Did Steven ever tell us we weren't good enough? Are you saying he made a mistake sticking with us?" His eyes widened, and he looked to the floor. I had reached him.
I grit my teeth, then spoke again. "He looked past all our flaws and made us better people, and when we failed or had a setback, he would guide us back. He wouldn't want us bitching about what happened. He would tell us to move on and do better next time."
"Some people think they owe the world for their sins. People suffer and people forgive. The world doesn't want anything, David," I concluded. "If you want to honor our homeboy, then let's focus on doing the right thing, okay?"
"But Joe, we should have—"
I cut him off. "We weren't. All we can do is do better."
My words reached him once again. His darkened expression warmed up slightly, and he tipped his hat back up. He dropped onto the metal chair and let it creak in complaint. He fisted the beer can and gulped it down.
"This world is a crock of shit. It's horrible, dark, and unfair. It wasn't much better before all this stuff happened either." He tipped his hat, a smile spreading across his lips, his eyes focused and determined. "Still… I want to be like Steven. I want to make the world better."
I smirked. "Glad we're on the same wavelength."
He nodded, then grabbed a can of tuna and pried it open, scooping it up with the edge of his knife. "So, when are we killing the boss?"
I kicked a chair out and set my foot on top of it. I gave an exaggerated smile, then placed both hands on my hips. "In a week." I watched as David's eyes widened. "I talked with him this morning. The fleshcrackers have amassed a sizable hoard, and the boss and his men are going to barrel through this city in a week."
"But Joe, how does that help us?" He tilted his head. "If he is so confident in facing those machines, then surely he has a plan. If we kill him, then nothing is there to stop them from ripping everyone to shreds."
I frowned. I knew he wouldn't like this part. "Well, that's the point. We kill him during the battle, and while the rest of his men are getting butchered, we can slink back into the fortress and rob him. All we have to do after that is run away."
David's eyes shot open. I could see revulsion flicker within them. "No way in hell. We gotta kill Varren, not cause a massacre."
"That would be the worst option." I looked him in the eye. "Listen up, David. I haven't met a single person here who isn't a monster of some kind. If we let them live, any blood they spill in the future is on our hands too."
David shook his head. "Yeah… it's just… a hard pill to swallow. It feels wrong."
I sighed. "I don't want to have to do this either. But it's what Steven would have done. I think." I gave him another calm smile; it felt more forced this time. "Listen, I am a damn good shot. I will blow a hole right in that big-ass forehead. I will be the one pulling the trigger, aight?"
"Yeah." He set the empty can down. "Aight."