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I think back and try to remember, jumping again when Zig growls.
“Good God, man, stop with the growling,” Oz warns him.
“If you have to think about when you ate, then it was too long ago,” Zig tells me, ignoring him.
I hunch in on myself a little, which makes him sigh as he unclips his belt and pulls off his headset, tossing it at Oz.
“I’m not angry at you, little one. I’m angry at the bastards holding you. I’m going to get you something to eat and drink, but I don’t want you to overdo it, or you’ll make yourself sick. Do you have any allergies to anything?”
I shake my head. “Not that I know of.”
“I have some antibiotics here. I think you should take some as a precautionary measure.”
“I’m fine.”
“I know you think that, but—” I hold up my hand to stop him.
“I promise that if I start to feel unwell, I’ll tell you. But I really am fine.”
He grumbles something about me being stubborn before he moves closer to me. I back up, a little unsure if I’ve made him mad. He pauses at my reaction, then slowly reaches for me, giving me the chance to move. I give him the benefit of the doubt. When all he does is tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, I relax.
“I just need to move past you,” he tells me gently.
“Oh. Shit. Sorry.” My face flames with embarrassment.
“Nothing to be sorry about. I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t mind him. He’s a fixer. He sees a problem and he wants to—”
“Fix it, yeah, I get it. I just don’t want to be a problem that needs fixing.”
“Fuck, I didn’t mean it like that.”
I wave him off. “It’s fine. I’m being overly sensitive. I swear my emotions swing from one extreme to another.”
“Trauma can do that to a person.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. A cough from behind me makes me jump and step aside so that Zig can get by again. In his hand, he has a little bag, which he passes to me.
“Here. We brought a few packed lunches with us. I figured you’d prefer those over MREs.”
“MREs?”
I look in the bag and find a sandwich, some fruit, what looks like a protein shake, and a bar of chocolate.
“MREs are freeze-dried food rations soldiers eat in the field. Some of them aren’t too bad. Some of them taste like ass.”
“Eaten much ass, bro?” Oz asks before an apple slams into the side of his head.
“I can fly this plane without you,” Zig warns him.
Oz just laughs.
I pull the sandwich from the bag and look for somewhere to put it while I eat. I look at Zig for some help and find him looking at me with a frown.
“What?”
“Be right back.” He stands up, edges past me when I move, and disappears down the aisle into the bedroom before emerging a moment later with something in his hand. When he gets closer, I see it’s a comb and around his wrist are two hair ties.
