Page 46 of Immune

The park smells wet and old as we walk through, all mud, dead leaves, stale water, and the faintest metallic notes of the shit show we left behind in the tunnels. I can still smell everything from those tunnels, like the scent has carved a memory into my senses. The tunnel, the Runner, the gunshot.

The fucking gunshot.

It’s then I remember the last bullet I no longer have. My gun actually feels lighter in its holster now, not because it weighs less, but because empty weapons are rich with their own humiliation.

At least I still have my knife, which is still useful at least. I have my hands. And I have my teeth, too, if things get personal. That thought alone is enough to keep me walking.

Before I can continue down the road my sad little thoughts are taking me, I hear a shuffle of dragged feet and peer over to what used to be a duck pond. A Zed drags itself through murky green water, ankle-deep and struggling, its reflection warbling on the surface. The ducks are long gone, eaten, starved, or migrated to someplace better. There’s no bread to throw at the ghosts of ducks. There’s merely a dead man trudging through pond sludge like he’s waiting for a bus that won’t ever come. Something about the sight of it is so stupidly bleak that I almost laugh.

Kaito pauses next to me when I stop behind a tree, voice low as he leans in close to ask, “What’s up?”

I jerk my head toward the pond, pointing out the lone Zed, and mutter, “Dude looks like he’s in the depths of a midlife crisis.”

The Alpha follows my gaze, spotting the Zed just as it groans at the water like he’s spotted his next meal but he’s too drunk to catch it.

For a brief moment, Kaito goes quiet, right before he says, “Kind of looks like he just worked out he’s been dead for six years and doesn't know how to feel about it. Not too amused, is my guess.”

I turn my head before I can think better of it, catching Kaito looking at the Zed with a straight face. Too straight, in fact. Hell, his face is pale with pain he’s trying to hide, blood is drying on his side, his hair is still damp from the rain, and the bastard still manages to look deeply invested in the emotional drama of a pond corpse.

For one absolutely ridiculous second, laughter bubbles up behind my ribs. It’s not a proper laugh, not really, but it’s close enough that my mouth betrays me with a twitch.

Kaito’s eyes dart to me and his own smile appears slowly, like he didn’t expect that to earn whatever reaction I’ve given him, and now he doesn’t know what to do with it. The moment is small, kind of pathetic honestly, but it’s half a second of normalcy in a world that doesn’t know what normal is anymore.

Still, I look at him. Like, really look for the first time since I rescued him from Zeds in that alley. I don’t look at the Alpha, the threat, the man who followed me after I told him not to, or the dumbass who launched himself through a collapsed floor and nearly tore my stitches open.

I look at him.

Kaito.

The guy who makes stupid comments about dead men standing in mucky pond water. The guy making jokes even as he bleeds through his shirt again. And that realization knocks me a little weirdly.

I look away first, muttering, “Booger is dead, too.”

Kaito blinks and he’s rightfully confused when he asks, “Huh?”

“Booger. The cat on the missing poster attached to the notice board,” I tell him, jerking my thumb in the direction of said board.

Kaito turns his head slightly, gaze shifting to the board, then back to me. “I mean, do we really know that?”

“It’s been six years,” I remind him, gesturing to the world around us as though he needs me to point it out to him. Anything living is lucky to still be alive at this rate, and if Booger is still with us, then I’ll take my cap off to him.

“You never know,” Kaito says, shrugging a shoulder with the smallest wince I still catch. “Booger could be the best apocalypse survivor we’ve never even met.”

I pause for a beat before muttering, “Booger was a domestic cat called Booger.”

“Maybe the name was short for something cooler. More badass. Like, I dunno, Boogertron,” Kaito tries.

I stare blankly at him.

Kaito stares right back.

A laugh breaks him first, a quiet and rough sound that is cut short when it tugs at his wounded side. It’s real enough that it hits me somewhere stupid, though. Somewhere under my sternum, a place that has no business reacting to anything this man says or does.

My eyes narrow on him, and I point. “Don’t do that.”

I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know what I’m talking about, but he nods with a lingering smile and agrees anyway, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You’re literally doing it right now. Your face is actively doing what I told it not to,” I argue, pointing harder.