“What the hell?”
He points with a shaking finger, his breath coming in heavy bellows. “What creature was that?”
“A rabbit.”
His voice drops to a cautious whisper. “It must be a demon. Those ears…those bulging side eyes!” His huge frame shudders in revulsion.
I double over laughing. “You’re afraid of a bunny?”
He straightens up, puffs out his chest, and deepens his voice, but only after a quick glance to make sure the rabbit is gone. “I do not fear. I respect its menace.”
I’m still chuckling when we break through the tree line and find a metal-sided building marked with a company logo. Pipeline Maintenance Station. Yes! Finally, some fucking civilization.
We approach the chain-link fence that surrounds it cautiously, but it doesn’t look like anyone is around. There’s a lock on the gate, so I start to climb the fence but Brannick just shakes his head, grips the lock, and twists it off.
"Well, aren't you handy to have around," I say as I drop back to the ground and head into the yard.
There’s a metal man door next to a double garage door on the front of the building but they are both locked when I try them. Brannick elbows me aside and slams his huge shoulder into the man-sized door, popping it open, metal screeching with little effort. Inside is tidy with a couple of desks and a small kitchenette with a well-used table for eating at. There are gear lockers along one wall and a first-aid station. I get excited when I see a water cooler with an almost full bottle on it beside another door that looks to lead into a shop area. If nothing else, I’ll be able to fill up my water bottles.
“Bingo,” I whisper as I pull open the door to the shop and spy a row of neatly parked ATVs.
Brannick steps beside me and looks over the machines with a grunt and wrinkles his nose. “Smells like metal death.”
I find a rack of keys and grab one. “You’re gonna love this.”
“No.”
“Come on, man. It’s a 4-wheeler. Way faster than your paws.”
“I’d rather shift and run.”
“You’ll keep up with a 60-mile-per-hour machine?”
He scowls. “Does that mean it is faster than your trudging pace? Then I will ride the carriage with you. But only becauseI am hungry and wish to get to the village for bread and ale sooner.”
I take a moment to refill my empty water bottles before we roll one of the ATVs outside and Brannick reluctantly mounts up behind me like he’s going to his death. I fire it up and laugh at the squawk that comes from the huge man. I want to roar off as fast as possible but I don’t want the big shifter freaking out so I ease slowly out of the yard through the open gate and speed up on the gravel road that will hopefully take us to a town where I can get some answers about what’s going on with the world.
At first, Brannick mutters behind me what sounds like ancient curses, but the longer we drive without his death happening, he settles down and seems to start enjoying it. At least that's how I interpret his yelling at me to go faster. We roll up to a town just before dusk, and I pull us over before we pass the first house, shut the machine down and hop off.
“You need to cover up, man.”
He raises a brow and looks me up and down with a frown. “I have no leathers with me. Do you have extras? I should not like to frighten the locals with my godly anatomy.”
“Jesus. Fine.” I pull spare clothes from my bag, a pair of sweats and an oversized flannel shirt. “Don’t rip these.”
Brannick dresses reluctantly in my sweatpants, and it’s almost worse than when he was naked. The soft, stretchy grey material molds to his large frame and the outline of his 'godly anatomy' is more than obvious. He attempts to put on the flannel shirt but only one arm goes through before I hear the fabric tear with a loud rip. He scowls at it as he pulls his arm back out and tosses it back to me.
“This child-sized covering has ripped, but these trousers will do.”
I huff out my annoyance at the ruined shirt and stuff it back in my bag. He has no shoes on and his wide, gleaming chest andarms are on full display, but it’s the best we can do right now. I wave him back onto the 4-wheeler and slowly drive through the small town.
There’s no one on the streets that we can see but I do catch the quick movement of curtains on a few of the houses as people look out at us. This place is not much more than a hamlet in size so I'm relieved when I spot the only business in sight ahead. It’s a one-stop shop for this little community with a single gas pump out front and a hand-painted sign over the door. Martin’s Gas and Grocery.
“Stay close,” I tell Brannick as we get off the machine and walk up to the door. “Try not to freak anyone out.”
“I am the picture of grace,” he laughs and reaches for the door handle, pulling it too hard and causing the door to fly open and crash into the wall behind it. He winces an apology and then strides through while flicking his long golden hair back.
Inside, the store is dim and quiet. A radio behind the counter crackles with static and snatches of a newscaster’s voice that comes in and out of reception.
