Page 19 of Between Two Thorns

The redheaded girl clung to Del’s arm as the rig’s tires bumped over things that Sam didn’t want to think about being crushed into the dirt—it was just sage brush and cacti, that was what the little pamphlet in the plane said on the way over here. Maybe a few rocks.

Or one massive mesquite tree that appeared in the middle of the headlight beams in the middle of nowhere.

Sam jerked the wheel to the right, feeling the tires on one side of the rig lifting from the already uneven desert floor. Everyone in the bench seat next to him slid into his side like a line of bowling pins.

He could feel Rose’s panicked breath right in his ear before the ambulance finally slid to a stop.

No one spoke for the longest time.

And then, Sam heard the only sound that he could describe as far worse than any metallic scratch or screech of tires he had heard tonight—or any of that God awful thumping music from the bar before.

The only other sound that could crush a soul.

the chugging, clunking noise of a diesel engine running out of fuel.

Sam’s grip re-tightened on the wheel, but it was no good. He could steer all he liked… but the tank was on empty and the whole thing came to a spluttering stop.

Empty.

The only noise left in the middle of the desert were heavy, panting breaths.

Reflexively, irrationally, Sam reached forward and attempted to crank the bus back up—but nothing would make more fuel appear in the dry tank.

Or ease the dryness in his throat.

“We’re out,” the medic said, his voice cracking and echoing in the heavy, cold air in the cabin.

Del opened his mouth, but as soon as Sam caught those grass green eyes, it was like his own words dried up on his chapped lips. The younger man swallowed and started again. “Ain’t there more? On the rig somewhere?”

“Yeah, yeah there is.” Sam murmured, finally loosening his grip on the wheel fully, his brain kicking into gear when it grasped something within his control. Supplies, manifest for the ambulance gear that he had glanced over before signing on for the night. What was typical in a private medical vehicle? The older man slumped in the bench seat next to Rose. “It’s in one of the compartments….on the outside.”

No one immediately volunteered for the suicide mission. And Sam couldn’t blame them. He was about to open his mouth when the young woman he had just met tonight spoke up.

“So, bigger question, sorta hanging in the air here.” The redhead said, with a very high voice, like she was trying to project a falsely casual tone. “Are we actually alone out here?” Rose asked, leaning forward over the dashboard, trying to peer beyond the beam of the headlights still running on battery.

There was nothing but cacti in the beams.

“Yeah, I believe we left those…things, behind.” Sam said, hesitating as he looked out the window to his left. His eyes narrowed as he tried to peer through the inky midnight.

“Zombies, they were totally zombies,” Rose said with a simple shrug of her shoulders, as if they were discussing one of those ridiculous movies that Sam’s son begged him to stay up late and watch. That only gave the kiddo nightmares.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Del’s voice barely came out from between his fingers, where he was chewing on his cuticles.

Sam had to resist the urge to reach over and gently pull his hand away. He might, if they were alone. If the redhead between them wasn’t constantly giving Del looks with her enormous hazel eyes.

Which made the medic feel a surge of pride…and protectiveness over the dirty blond. But he wasn’t the kid Sam was constantly saving from his asshole of an uncle anymore.

Then—it hit him. Smacked the older man right in the face.

What the hell were they actually talking about? He had been fretting over Del and not hearing the woman between them stating so matter-of-factly that there were B movie monsters crawling across the desert?

And Sam had just accepted that?

“There’s, no, it can’t be really happening,” Sam muttered, finally running a hand through his disheveled black curls. He rubbed his hand over his facial hair—already turning into more than just stubble. “There’s gotta be some sort of…rational reason—”

“Why green people are sinking their spikey black teeth into other people?” Rose asked, turning to him so fully that her orange curls were thrown over her shoulder. “Sorry, Doc, it’s not rabies or hysteria or whatever—the only answer is zombies.”

“Not a doctor, just a paramedic.” Sam said, on reflex to the common misconception, sighing as he leaned back against the bench seat.

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