Apocalypsis 01 - Kahayatle

on.”
    “But come on, Bryn.   This shirt?”   He looked at me, a pained expression on his face.
    I shrugged.   “It was the only one left.   And it’s your size.   Just put it on backwards if you can’t handle the words.”
    I turned so he could have a little privacy.   When I looked back a few seconds later he was pulling it over his head.   He had the skinniest chest I’d ever seen.   It prompted me to go over to the bags and try to find some food for him.   I pulled out one of the damaged meals and walked over, handing it to him.   “Eat this.   You’re so skinny it gives me a headache.”
    He took the food without saying anything, handing me the red shirt in exchange.   I quickly folded it up and shoved it into one of the bags.   It reminded me that we’d have to find a way to wash our clothes when we got to our destination.   If anyone got downwind of either of us they’d smell us coming from a mile away.
    I took out a can of beans and popped the top open, tipping the can to my mouth to let a few beans fall in.   After I’d had three mouths-full, I handed it over to Peter.   “You finish these.   I’ve had enough.”
    “You have to keep your strength up, Bryn.   You can’t give me all the food.”
    “I don’t plan to.   But that was good enough for me.   I think we’re going to go past some orange groves on our way.   Maybe we’ll be able to find some trees with fruit on them tonight.”   I seemed to remember smelling orange blossoms on our way down, when I went to the Everglades with my dad.  
    “I think orange season is over.”
    I shrugged.   “I don’t mind eating overripe fruit.”
    Peter didn’t argue.   He ate everything I gave him and then drank half his water.   “I’m going to take a nap,” he said.
    “Good.   Me too.”   I motioned for Buster to come sit next to me.   He climbed up in my lap instead.   “Hey, dog.   How am I supposed to sleep if you’re in my lap?”
    He jumped up a few inches to lick my chin.  
    “Come here, you goofy mess,” I said, resting on my side and putting him on the ground near my stomach.   I brought my knees up to shelter him a little.   “No more licking.   Just go to sleep.”
    Peter and I were back to back now, each of us facing out to one side of the overpass.   From my vantage point, all I could see was scrubland and some short trees off in the distance.
    “You got your gun?” I asked Peter.
    “Yep.”
    “Shoot anyone who looks dangerous.”
    “Okay,” he said, yawning.
    “Buster, you make sure no one gets near us, okay?” I said in a low tone.  
    Buster took that as in invitation to get up and dance, so I pushed my hand down on his back.   “No, sit, you dummy.   Stop dancing around.”
    “Would you two be quiet?   People are trying to sleep over here.”
    I bumped Peter’s butt with mine.   “Shush.   You’re going to blow our cover.”
    That was the last thing I remember saying before drifting off into an uncomfortable sleep, tiny pieces of gravel digging into the skin of my arm.    
    ***
    A loud clap of thunder woke me from the bad dream I was having of the canner who’d grabbed me, chasing us down on a motorcycle.   The thunder had taken on the ominous tones of war drums, beating as he got closer and closer.   I woke startled, sitting up so fast I almost slid down the ramp.  
    I looked at our bikes and noticed that the tarp had come up on one side.   Peter was still asleep and I decided to leave him that way as long as possible.   The kid was obviously exhausted.
    As the first drops of rain fell, inspiration struck.   I quickly got under the tarp and took out the square of plastic and small bucket my dad had bought for me before he left.   Buster followed me over to the edge of the overpass, where I proceeded to try and rig up a water catcher.
    I gave up after a few minutes and just sat there in the rain, holding the plastic up and slightly folded, on a diagonal, so the water hitting it would drain into the bucket I was holding steady with the insides of my feet.   The shower was over in less than an hour, but it had come down hard enough to give me enough water to fill all three bottles with some left over.   I poured the extra into the bowl with the straw on it for Buster, who eagerly drank it all up.  
    I sat there thinking about our next move as Peter slept on, waiting for the humid air to dry me off.   It wasn’t working so well.   By the time he got up