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“And watching our favorite rom-coms on repeat,” I add, earning an enthusiastic head nod from Mia.
Mason and Beck look at each other. “That is one weird post-apocalyptic fantasy. Mine takes much more of a Mad Max turn. I’m a warrior fighting my way through a blasted landscape, dealing out justice and slaying hordes of zombies,” Mason says.
“Because of course you are.” I roll my eyes.
“I’d start a perfect society of people who all support each other and contribute equally. We’d take care of the sick and old, and we’d have a farm, behind high walls of course,” Ruby muses. “Maybe on an island because zombies can’t swim. Do not argue with me on this one. Because science.”
“Boring.” Beck hoots and I poke him in the face with a zombie finger, in sisterly solidarity.
“Ow,” he complains, then grabs the finger from me and eats it.
“Congratulations, you are now infected,” I inform him.
“And we’d shoot everyone who annoys us.” Ruby gives Beck a narrow-eyed look.
“Less boring,” he concedes. “What will you shoot them with?”
She looks him dead in the eye. “Crossbows.”
“Very Amazon warrior woman. Am I allowed to say that’s sexy as hell?” Beck jiggles his eyebrows.
“No.” Paxton glares at him.
“Fine,” Beck whines. “How much time do I have before I turn zombie?”
“Usually a few hours, depending on the movie and what the storyline needs,” Noah speaks up. “Wow. We’re going to miss him, aren’t we?”
“Are we?” Logan wonders. “I barely even remember old Beck. He just didn’t have what it takes to survive in this brutal post-civilization landscape, I guess.”
“I’m not dead yet,” Beck protests.
Logan and Paxton exchange glances. “Sometimes I can almost hear his voice,” Logan says somberly, playing the role of grieving friend perfectly.
“Annoying, isn’t it?” Noah says. “Still. Out of our plucky ragtag group of survivors, who would have thought that Beck would go first?”
“Me,” Mason declares. “He’s always stirring up trouble. In the zombie movie, he’d go poke a zombie he thought was dead, we’d all be yelling at him not to, he’d do it anyway, and it would bite him on the ankle.”
“Is this zombie a chihuahua?” Beck snort-laughs. He looks down at a package that he insisted on wrapping himself.
“Arrgh,” I cry out. “Okay, just sign it, and while you are doing so, picture the disappointed tears of the child who is unlucky enough to open it.”
“When this whole publicist thing doesn’t work out for you, have you thought of being a motivational speaker?” Mason grins roguishly. I flip him off and turn away, smiling.
Stop it, I tell myself sternly.
“Speaking of which, where’s Puck?” Ruby wonders. “And why did this just occur to me? I am a very bad puppy auntie.”
“Oh, I had him spend the night at his dog walker’s,” Mason says. “He’d have turned all the presents to shreds. I love him, but he’s a furry little shithead.”
Ruby gasps in mock outrage. “How dare you.”
“He chewed up my favorite running shoes and shit them out on the kitchen floor. He grinned at me while he was doing it.” Mason starts ticking off Puck’s puppy sins, holding up his hand and raising finger after finger. “Chewed up the TV remote, which he should not have been able to reach. Apparently he can levitate. Ate something that disagreed with him and kept me up on the night before a game by repeatedly barfing all night long. Pooped on one of my jerseys.”
I let out a yelp of laughter, then cover my mouth with my hand.
“Not funny.” Mason looks at me with mock hurt.
“Remind me to give him an entire bag of treats next time I see him.” Ruby giggles.
