Apocalypsis 01 - Kahayatle

for a friend.”
    “Seriously?”
    “Seriously.   Did any of the guys act all nice to you all the time without ever acting sexually attracted to you?”
    “Yeah, there was this one … ”
    “Gay.   I guarantee it.”
    “Holy crap.   I can’t believe Bobby was gay.   Actually, no, I can believe it.   He was always staring at the guy I had a crush on too.   At the time I thought he was just taking a lot of interest in his techniques.”
    Peter snorted.   “Yeah.   I’ll bet he was.”
    “Oh, man.   That sucks.   I’m like … neuter gender or something.”
    Peter laughed.   “You’re not neuter.   You just need to hang out in environments that support women like you.”
    “Women like me,” I said flatly.   “That could get you on your back on the ground in less than two seconds, you know.”
    “Stop flirting with me.   I told you, I’m gay.   No, what I mean is, you’re strong and feminine at the same time.   But in the dojo or whatever it’s called, you’re just another one of the guys.   But see them at a dance or a place with make-up on and a skirt, maybe … then they’ll see you in another way - not as one of the guys.”
    “So that’s the key?   Makeup and a skirt?”
    “Well, in an over-simplified way of speaking, yes.”
    I shook my head.   “Guys are so stupid.”
    “You won’t get any arguments from me there.”
    “You’re a guy.”
    “Not really.   Not like you’re saying.   I’m more in touch with my feminine side than the guys you’re used to.”
    I nodded my head.   That was for damn sure.   “Well, this has all been very enlightening,” I said, yawning, “but now it’s time for us to go to sleep so we can get up at four or so and get our fifty miles in.”
    “Okay.   I have to go … um … do something first.”
    “A doodle?”
    Peter looked at me aghast.   “What did you just say?”
    “A doodle.   You have to go do a doodle, right?   Or did you mean something else?   Did you mean you have to go rub one out?   I hope that’s not what you meant, because seriously, I think that kind of thing can wait.”
    Peter’s expression was priceless - kind of a cross between incredulity and disgust.   He just shook his head, mumbling as he walked away.   “As if I’m going to share my bathroom habits with her …”  
    Buster went to follow him, so I yelled out, “Buster, stay!   Peter has to go do a doodle.   No poodles allowed during doodle time.”   I giggled at Peter throwing his hands up in defeat.  
    By the time we got to the Everglades, I was going to be an expert teaser.  
    I waited for Peter to be out of sight before I went and took care of my own doodle business.   Togetherness was one thing - but certain stuff was better kept private, and this was one thing I knew I never needed to share.   Not even with Buster.  
    “Buster, stay!” I commanded, pointing at the wagon.  
    He happily jumped in, wagging his behind like crazy.  
    “Watch our stuff.   Bite anyone who tries to touch anything.”
    I left, wondering if Buster would ever actually be any use to us as a guard dog that did anything but bark and lick people to death.
    ***
    I got my answer as I was zipping up my pants.   Buster began barking his fuzzy head off, and shortly thereafter, I heard the sounds of somebody yelling.   It was a male voice, but too deep to be Peter’s.  
    I ran back to the bikes, praying I wasn’t going to have to fight off a canner.   I had my gun in my hand, where it had been the entire time I’d been taking care of business.   I was leaving nothing to chance, and literally refused to be caught unarmed with my pants down.   All these weird expressions my dad used to use were totally taking on new meaning for me.
    I arrived at the ramp in time to see a big guy holding his hands up in surrender, while a ferocious-looking Buster held him at bay a few feet away from the trailer.
    “Who the hell are you?!” I yelled, striding over awkwardly on the steep slope.
    “I’m just a guy!” he yelled, but he had an accent.   It sounded like he said, “I’m chust a guy.”
    “You’re not just a guy, you’re a thief.   And a dirty cannibal too, probably!”
    I had arrived at the trailer, stopping next to Buster.   I bent down without taking my eyes off the guy in front of us to pet him and murmur, “Good boy, Killer, good doggy.”  
    “He bit my ankle.   I hope he hass hiss rabiess shots.”   The guy’s speech was very