Tank stops in front of a weathered RV that's as big as some of the trailers and just as beat up. Voices drift from the inside, boys arguing about something that sounds important to them. They're using words I'mdefinitelynot allowed to use.
"Dude, you're cheating!"
"I'm not cheating, you just suck at this game."
"Bullshit! There's no way you got that combo fair and square."
"Maybe you should learn the controls before you start accusing people of?—"
Tank pushes open the RV door and steps inside, still carrying me. The arguing stops immediately as three boys turn to stare at us.
Atme.
The first one I notice has glasses and green eyes and serious brown hair. He looks up from his handheld video game and raises an eyebrow. "Looks like Tank brought home another baby bird," he mutters.
So Tank really is his name. It fits him even better now that I've seen how he moves, like he could knock down walls if he wanted to.
The second boy is pretty in a way that reminds me of fairy tale princes. His blond hair touches his shoulders and catches the dusty light streaming through the RV's metal windows, and when he grins at me and his blue eyes light up, it's like sunshine breaking through clouds.
"Hey," he says.
But it's the third boy who makes me pause. He's clearly their leader. I can tell by the way the others look at him, waiting for his reaction. He has dark brown hair, a few shades lighter than Tank's, and his gray eyes are wild and sharp, studying me like I'm a puzzle. Then, they get narrow.
"There are no girls allowed in the fortress," he says in a voice that sounds like that barking dog earlier, angry and sharp.
Tank just stares at him, silent as always. But something weird happens. It's like they're having a whole conversation inside their heads.
Maybe they're brothers.
They do look kind of alike, even if Tank is so much bigger, and I can't see much of his face. Maybe they're telepathic twins, like on that cartoon that used to come on before breakfast where one of them took all the nutrients in the womb.
The gray-eyed boy's scowl deepens and his voice gets frustrated. "Tank, we talked about this. The rules exist for a reason. You let one girl in, then they all come swarming, like ants."
"We let Jinx in and he's practically a girl," the boy with the glasses says, gesturing to the blond boy.
Jinx sticks up his middle finger but doesn't really look that upset about it.
Tank doesn't move, doesn't blink. Just keeps staring with those dark, serious eyes.
"Fine," the leader grumbles, throwing his hands up. "But she'syourresponsibility. She'd better not break anything or tell on us." He disappears toward the back of the RV, muttering under his breath.
"I'm not a tattletale," I say firmly, even though I don't know what it is I'd have to tell on them about anyway.
Tank gently sets me down on a leather couch that's stained and wrinkled, but surprisingly comfortable. The three boys crowd around, and I feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.
"So what happened to you, little bird?" the boy with glasses asks. His voice is dry and matter-of-fact, like he's used to seeing injured people. He glances at my bloody knee.
"I got pushed," I mumble, suddenly embarrassed. "On the playground."
"Let me guess," he continues, not looking up from cleaning his glasses. "Curly red hair, thinks she runs this place, travels with three zombies who do whatever she says?"
I freeze. "Zombies?"
"Brain-dead posers who wander around, following the dread witch and doing her bidding," the gray-eyed boy says dramatically as he comes back with a first aid kit that looks way too professional for kids to have. It's even red plastic with a white cross on the front.
"AKA, Sheri Woods," the pretty blond boy—Jinx—adds with a roll of his eyes. I doubt that's his real name any more than Tank is my hero's real name, but it somehow fits him just as well.
"I'm not allowed to watch zombie movies," I admit, which makes the gray-eyed boy snort.
