“My call?” I asked.
Josephine nodded. “I trust you.”
The rolling waves of nausea in my stomach stopped. I hadn’t given her any reason to trust me, but she did. This was an US vs THEM situation, and even though we were dysfunctional, there was definitely an US. Somehow that made all the difference. “We go with them. On one condition.”
“What would that be?” Bentham asked.
“Josephine keeps the gun. If you’re telling the truth, she’s a great shot. She could take out as many of those survivors as you could. That way you can focus on getting us to this safe spot. If you’re lying...”
“Fine. Let’s go.”
***
The drive down to the oceanfront wasn’t exactly the most fun I’ve ever had in the backseat of a car. Even the time I nearly got a concussion trying to hook up with Jenna was loads more fun. Randall spent most of the drive attempting lame ass jokes, but no one was laughing. Bentham kept his hands curled tightly around the steering wheel, and his eyes staring straight ahead. Not that I blamed him. The scenery wasn’t very scenic per se. In fact, it was pretty much my worst nightmare playing on a loop.
Most of our drive was spent speeding over curbs and medians, moving between abandoned cars and dead bodies. Clean Up the Bay Day would be a lot more difficult this year. As we got closer to the strip, there were less cars but the chaos of the plague was still evident. In between the hotels and tacky surf shops were a hodgepodge of boats, ranging from small sail boats to crudely made fishing boats, strewn across the sand. Had people attempted to escape this place by sea? If so, why didn’t they make it? What were they running from if they knew they were already doomed? Why run at all?
I would have asked but the intensity of Bentham’s stare as he drove and the gun Josephine still held on him didn’t really create an atmosphere for sharing information. Josephine sat up front with Bentham, and I wished she were in the backseat with me. I still didn’t feel entirely comfortable with Randall and Bentham, and it would have been nice to grab her hand for support. Some wordless sign we were still in this together. If she would let me. I wasn’t exactly sure we were back to being friends or if it was merely a temporary cease-fire because we were better together in this situation than apart.
We finally parked the jeep behind a trashcan at a gas station. We were near 71st street, a less touristy part of Virginia Beach. Here were the homes of the beach’s power couples. Real Virginia Beach-ers tried to grab a parking space down here and use the private beach access to avoid the tourists during the summer. Now, it appeared, it served as a hideout from crazed flesh eaters.
We walked in silence towards the beach, only stopping when Randall and Bentham grabbed a couple duffel bags and a tent stashed inside an abandoned beach house. It would have made sense to set up camp in one of the many large homes that decorated the side streets, but I was pretty sure I knew what was rotting away inside of them. Apparently, pure preppy-ness didn’t stop one from catching and dying from the illness. And even I was clever enough to know it would be harder to attack us out in the open, where we could see anything coming a mile away.
Josephine lowered the gun, but still held it in her hand as Bentham and Randall went to work setting up the tent and a campfire. Never wasting my time in boy scouts, I sort of just stood around awkwardly. As much as I wanted answers, I was praying the whole time for a shift.
“Take a seat. Make yourself comfortable. We’re going to bunker down here a few days before moving on. The zombies don’t quite like it here. Harder to surprise us and all,” Randall said, plopping down on the sand in front of the fire.
Josephine didn’t sit. Instead, she shifted her weight from foot to foot. If she wasn’t sitting, neither was I. “They don’t trust us yet, Randall,” Bentham said dryly, unrolling a sleeping bag outside the tent.
“You think because you pitch us a tent we’re supposed to trust you?” Josephine asked.
“No. I think because we saved your butt, you’re supposed to trust us. But goes to show you...kids these days.”
“Really? What are you like, twenty?” I asked. I was starting to wish Josephine went back to shooting first and asking questions later.
“Good guess. What are you? Fifteen?”
“Seventeen and Josephine is...” I had no idea.
“Seventeen. Not like it matters. Kid or not. Especially considering I still have the gun, and you still have questions to answer,” she replied, looking directly at Bentham.
“Ask away,” he said with a lazy shrug of his shoulders.
“Please take a seat ya’ll. You’re making me nervous standing around like that. Better to rest now why’ll you can,” Randall spoke up.