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“Scout? D’you know what time it is?” Sniper leaned against the doorframe of his camper, shielding his arm from the frigid air with his hand. The night was still, the sky clear and dotted with stars. A coyote howled somewhere in the distance.
Scout hunched his shoulders, cradling both elbows with his hands, and huffed. The dim orange light from inside the camper illuminated the frozen moisture. “Yeah, yeah, let me in, will ya?” He rubbed at his pink nose.”It’s my g-goddamn hour a’ need.”
Sniper didn’t move. He stared at Scout for a moment. He looked at his goosebumps, his trembling fingers, his clumsy shuffle, his pitifully thin t-shirt. “What is it? What d’you want?”
“I’ll tell ya, Snipes. Let me in, and I’ll t-tell ya all about it.” Sniper didn’t move. “Aw, c-c’mon, man, what’s the holdup?”
Sniper was rigid at his post, unmoving and unrelenting. “Tell me why you’re here. I want to know what I’m gettin’ into.”
Scout shifted. “Aw, j-jeez. Really?” Sniper didn’t budge. “Kay, so– damn. Really? You’re m-makin’ me do this?” Scout rubbed his arms weakly. “Fine. I c-c-couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d go f-for a run. No sweat. It’s a n-n-nice n-night for a run. I, ah,” Scout rubbed at his nose and sniffed. “I kinda lost track a’ time n’ all, n’ I got all t-turned around in those woods out b-b-back. So ‘m in the woods runnin’ around tryna find where I c-came from. Must’a been t-two, three hours, ‘til I finally g-got b-b-back. An’ b-by that time, I’m f-freezin’ an’ all, so I s-s-says to myself, ‘y’know who cranks the heat like a m-m-motherfucker? My g-g-good Australian pal, S-Sniper.’ So, help a g-guy out?”
Sniper stood for a beat. “Fine. Come in.”
The door shut with a click. Scout took a seat, pulling his legs up to his chest and grabbing the back of his neck with his hand. His teeth were clenched. “Damn.” Sniper pulled a heavy comforter out from a drawer and draped it over Scout. He wrapped it around himself with desperate, clawing hands. “Shit, man.”
“D’you want a tea, mate?”
Scout put a hand to his cheek and ran his fingers through his hair. “Y-Yeah. Yeah.”
The faucet squeaked as it filled the mug with water. The stove flickered to life. The cabinet groaned as it opened. Scout hummed.
“Scout, mate, d’you want your tea to get cold?”
Scout’s eyes were heavy. “Huh?”
“I said, fuckwit, d’you want your tea to get cold? It’s barely steaming anymore, that tea.”
“Oh, thanks, S-Snipes.” Scout’s fingers locked onto the mug. It was filled to the top. Scout tried not to spill any. He took a sip. “T-T-Tastes like, like g-grass extract. Like, straight p-p-p-plant.”
“It’s chamomille, you bloody wuss.”
Scout shook his head. “No, it’s fine. It’s g-good.” He took another long sip. It warmed his throat as it made its steady descent. “S’really good.”
Wind howled from outside the camper. The heater buzzed. A drawer opened and closed. Metal scraped against ceramic. Scout peeled his eyes open. There stood Sniper, a bowl of ice cream on the counter.
“Ice cream?” Scout looked closer. “With jimmies?”
“Jimmies?”
“Yeah, j-jimmies.” Scout rubbed his arms. “Ice cream with frickin’ jimmies, what the hell?”
Sniper stabbed his spoon into the scoop of vanilla ice cream. “Yeah, ice cream. You woke me up in the middle of the night. I’m hungry.” Sniper took a seat.
Scout shifted. “Yeah, fine, b-but jimmies?”
“Y’keep sayin’ that. Jimmies? D’you mean hundreds and thousands?”
“Are we b-both talkin’ about the little rainbow fuckers on the top?”
Sniper swallowed a mouthful of ice cream. “Yeah. Hundreds and thousands.”
“There’s only, like, fifty of thems on there. The hell are you talkin’ about, hundreds and thousands?”
“Yeah?” Sniper pointed his spoon at Scout. “Well, mate, I’d like for you to point out those immigrants you’re complainin’ about. I’m havin’ trouble findin’ them.”
“Immigrants? Aw, m-man. Australians. Unb-believeable” Scout shook his head and thumbed his nose. “Hundreds and thousands.”
Scout sat for a moment. His mug was empty. Sniper was almost finished his ice cream. He rubbed at his nose. It was still cold. He felt a sinking in his stomach.
“Hey, I should g-get goin’, huh?” Scout pushed himself out of his seat and shrugged off the comforter. His arms prickled. “Sorry for wakin’ ya, Snipes.” The door swung open. A breeze had picked up that made his nose run.
“Mate, hold on, will ya?” Scout turned back into the camper. Sniper held open the closet door with one hand and held up a large jacket in his other. He tossed it to Scout, who slipped it on as quick as he could.
He pulled the sleeves over his arms. “Gee, thanks, Snipes.” It was a bit too long, but he definitely didn’t mind. “Thanks a bunch.”
“Yeah, yeah. Get outta here. Let me sleep.”
“Right, right. See ya.”