Fatuous

December 8, 2009

“Dave,” Sheena had said, “I can’t stay married to a child for the rest of my life. If you want to act fucking simple, do it by yourself.” And then she had left him.

He missed her, but he had Rhonda now. She appreciated him. Understood him.

“Bug, ten o’clock!” Rhonda shouted. Dave leveled his shotgun at the huge, spindly-legged creature and squeezed the trigger, grinning at the explosion of carapace chunks and fluids. The action was repeated as more of the monsters surrounded them, until there was only a soggy pile of leftovers.

“Gross,” Rhonda said, wiping goo off her shirt. “Any chance of a shower?”

“Nah,” Dave replied. “No running water anymore.” He grinned. “Nothing sexier than a sweet little lady covered in bug juice.”

Rhonda punched him in the arm. “Come on, lover boy. One more day of hard driving and we’ll be at Edwards. Maybe the Air Force still has showers.”

They finished siphoning gas into the Prius and drove off: a simple man, a simple woman, and a car full of weapons and ammunition and hope.

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