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It was quiet – almost too quiet for a run with Simon. With no zombies in sight, Five knew he must be cooking something up in his head.
“Hey Five, race ya to the gate?” Simon taunted, his lips half-curled into an amused smirk. Five, despite legs burning from built up lactic acid, never backed down from a challenge, especially one from Simon. Without even honoring the request with a response, Five put on a burst of speed. “Hey! Piece of shit!” Simon hissed under his breath before breaking into a full sprint after them.
Each step sent a bolt of electricity through Five’s body. This is what every runner lived for everyday: running for their life, feeling the wind against their face, and tasting the freedom of not being confined inside township fences. Each breath sent a puff of steam behind Five, swept away along with each and every stressor, worry, and concern that had been weighing them down.
Five’s lungs began to burn. The gate was farther than they had thought. Probably another 500 meters. Simon’s footsteps were getting closer, Five was sure of it. Runners were competitive by nature. Not a single training session ended without at least one race, challenge of strength, and full on brawl. Adrenaline junkies, all of them. They wouldn’t be in the runner business if they didn’t enjoy a little thrill from the stench of the undead and the low roar of their moans.
200 meters now – just 200 meters stood between Five and victory. Simon had to be getting tired. He was always good with sprints, brute strength, and contorting his body into seemingly impossible shapes. Five could run fast, sure, but they excelled at long distances, and Simon was never too keen on the idea of conserving his energy and delayed gratification.
100 meters, 75 meters, 50 meters. Victory was within reach.
Just when Five had a few strides left, a familiar and ever-irritating cackle announced Simon’s presence as he passed Five and blew past the gate with no sign of slowing down, just to rub it in.
Five’s feet scuffed in the dirt as they slowed to a stop, collapsing onto the ground with a loud groan. Their chest heaved with desperate breaths. Simon’s laughter pierced their ears – it was a horrible sound – one that Five heard far too often.
“Oh wow, Five, that was impressive,” Simon jeered, finding a perfect position at Five’s head where he could lean over and let drops of sweat fall on Five’s forehead, which – of course – he did. Five wiped an offending drop from their forehead with a curse of disgust before scrambling to their feet.
“You prick!” Five spat, pushing Simon squarely in the chest. He simply laughed and leisurely caught his footing. “God, I hate you.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me, Five,” Simon crossed his arms across his chest. Five couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh.
“I almost had you that time.”
“You keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better. You need to work on your stamina, Five. At the comfortable pace you set, I thought for a second you were going easy on me. Based on the way your legs are shaking, though, I guess you really were giving it your all.”
“Oh, give me a break. I heard you huffing and puffing, Lauchlan!”
[Uh, guys? I’m sorry to interrupt this… dispute? But there’s a group of zoms coming about a mile from the east.]
“Sammy boy! Sorry, mate, but I completely forgot about you for a minute there!” Simon laughed. Five heard a noise from Sam indicating disbelief.
“Shut up, Simon. Your obnoxiously loud voice is drawing in every zombie in a 10-mile radius," Five hissed, as if whispering would make them go away.
“Nonsense, they probably just smell you and think you’re one of their own.”
“At least I don’t look like one."
“That’s cute, Five. Have you ever seen a zombie that looked like this?” Simon shrugged off his backpack and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, slipping it over his head and tossing it to the ground beside him.
“Simon! Now’s not the time to take your shirt off! We gotta go.” Five grabbed the deserted shirt off the ground and tossed it at Simon's chest, but he just let it fall back to the ground.
“Five, I know you’re too afraid to ask with wholesome and impressionable Samuel listening in, but it’s okay. You can stare as much as y’like." Simon opened his arms as an invitation. "Look, I’ll even let you cop a feel. Ow!”
“I’ll gladly hit you again if you don’t cut this out and put your shirt back on, you cocky little piece of-“
[What on earth are you two doing? You are exactly 14 minutes and 27 seconds behind schedule.] Janine’s voice articulated in their ears. Judging by the tone in her voice, she must have been watching for a while and was not impressed by what she saw, not that Five could blame her.
“Jenny!” Simon chirped, waving enthusiastically so it could be seen on a nearby cam, wherever one was. “What brings us the honor of having you join us this fine afternoon? It’s a good thing you’re here. Sammy has really let things get out of control.”
[What?! Don’t blame this on me! While you’ve been messing around, another half dozen zoms are approaching from the west about a half mile away now.] Sam said, clearly frustrated and beginning to become a little frantic.
[Mr. Lauchlan, unless you have decided to abandon this mission and instead wish to waste valuable resources, which include but are not limited to time, labor, am-]
Janine continued, but Simon had clearly stopped listening. He had a playful glint in his eyes as he picked up his shirt and shrugged back into it. He slung his backpack over his shoulders before signaling for Five to continue running with him.
“You’re right, Jenny, I’ve been a very naughty boy. Five and I were just havin’ a bit of fun. You can punish us however you like once we’re back. Five seems like someone who’s keen on whips and handcu- ow!”
“Simon,” Five growled.
“Man, so uptight, Five. When’s the last time you had a good lay?” Simon snickered, unrelenting as always, despite Five’s clear indication that they were no longer finding any of this amusing.
Five scoffed, finally concluding that a response would only continue to feed the flames.
The mission continued and finished more or less the same as it always did when Simon was along. They rummaged through a recently-cleared sporting goods store and left with packs filled to the brim with supplies. They were each carrying at least 10kg of extra weight, which made quite a bit of noise with each step.
Once Abel was in sight, Five and Simon glanced at each other. It was a silent agreement that they had established long ago: Race to Abel starting at the old, pitiful, broken-down mailbox.
The pair tore through Abel’s gate at a full-on sprint, nearly trampling a couple of guards who had stopped for a chat right inside the gate. Upon crossing the threshold, Five and Simon skidded to a stop, both silent except for deep gasps for air.
“How’d my ass look, Lauchlan?” Five taunted, wiping the sweat from their forehead. They knew by now that the best time to challenge Simon to a race was at the end of a mission after he had spent at least an hour showing off. He was never one to think ahead.
“That wasn’t a fair fight. My pack is way heavier than yours.”
“No way, I grabbed all those boxes of bullets. Density, Simon, ever heard of it? I never took you as somebody who makes excuses.”
“Ahem.”
Five and Simon turned simultaneously, but there was only one person in the entire country who could clear their throat with such a perfect mix of authority and dissatisfaction.
“Jenny!” Simon beamed, shrugging off his backpack. “You’ll be pleased to know we stopped by a hardware store on our way back. We’ve got everything you could ever want: wires, batteries, solder, and whatever this thing is – it looked useful enough.” Simon showed off the items at the top of his pack. “This is to make up for all the “valuable resources” we used up by allegedly running behind schedule.” The air quotes were a little superfluous, but Simon always got away with much more sass than anybody ever dared to give Janine.
Janine’s scowl did not falter despite Simon’s captivating smile – the one he only shared with her when he needed to pull out the extra charm. However, Five noticed a slight shift in her stance, so small they thought it may have been the wind. Janine’s shoulders lowered ever so slightly, and the ever-present disapproving crease between her eyebrows seemed to lose some of its definition.
She took the bag offered to her, swinging it over one shoulder. “Mr. Lauchlan, Five.” It was her way of saying thank you. Janine turned around and walked back towards her farmhouse. Simon’s gaze lingered for a few seconds, like it usually did when women walked away from him, but the way he watched Janine was different: admiration, respect, worship? It provoked a small pang of jealousy for Janine. Five was curious if somebody would ever look at them the way Simon looked at Janine.
“Well, looks like I’m off sorting duty. Sucks for you, Five. Jenny didn’t seem too interested in the crap you picked up. Don’t be late for dinner,” Simon sang, roughly tousling Five’s hair before sauntering towards the showers.
Five scoffed, shaking their head in disbelief before readjusting the straps of their backpack so its weight was better-distributed. Contrary to the hostile façade Five put on while with Simon, their world suddenly felt a little emptier with his presence gone, as if the silence he left behind was thicker than usual now that he was no longer filling it with his notorious charm and wit. Rushing into the storage tent, Five plopped their backpack on an empty table and emptied its contents haphazardly, finally feeling some relief from the extra weight on their feet. Each item had its specific place, and there were a few logbooks (courtesy of Janine) to record the date, item, gatherer, and location items were found. By the time Five finished sorting and logging their collection, their wrist ached, and the setting sun cast a yellow hew throughout the tent.
Just as Five exited the tent, they were met by somebody throwing an arm over their shoulder.
“Took you long enough,” Simon taunted, smelling fresh from a recent shower. “I couldn’t just show up to dinner without you. People might think I left you to do all the sorting yourself or something.”
“Oh yeah, because your fresh clothes and clean hair aren’t a clear giveaway. You owe me big time, Simon.”
“Just put it on my tab, Five.”
“Oh, you mean along with last week’s mission report, two candy bars, and an mp3 player? I’m starting to think you have no intention of ever paying me back.”
“Don’t worry, Five, I’ve got something extraordinary in mind, but it’s worth a lot more than that.”
“Let me guess, a night with you?”
Simon’s smug grin said it all, and Five scoffed, rolling their eyes at how predictable he was. Despite how exasperating Simon was all the time, Five hoped he never changed. His friendship was unique and exciting and genuine, and Five was strangely grateful to be one of the targets of his ever-irritating antics.