Day 109: July 26th, Tuesday
(My Birthday)

BREN

Today, I am turning eighteen, but I couldn't spot any drastic changes in my body. No warm, fuzzy feelings or the occasional growth spurt I'd like to imagine every time the clock struck July, yet I stayed the same as last year, except for the number on top of my head. None of that fairy godmother shit where the transition between being a child and adult was obvious in cartoons. Perhaps it was too late for me to grow another inch, staying at an average five-foot-eight forever.

Yes. No warm, fuzzy feelings at all. And I couldn't believe that little thing kept me awake at night, staring at the window, watched the curtains fluttering against the soft breeze through the crack, sometimes listened to the goats' bleating until the sun rose.

Logan snored softly against my ear, his warm breath and stubbly beard tickling the nape of my neck, his arms draped over my body, also warm and inviting. I pressed my back against his broad chest, fitting like a glove under his arms, and he seemed to like that when he pulled me close. Lying down on my side again was heaven and it didn't hurt someone was there to act like my blanket. My spine must be so relieved after lying on my back for days.

"Don't do that, you slutty M&M," Logan mumbled softly.

I turned to face him, his sharp features a silhouette in the darkness. His eyes were closed, still in deep sleep. He must be dreaming. "Logan. Are you okay?"

Logan scrunched up his brows as if he found something offensive. "No, officer. I'm a battery." He took a big annoyed huff.

"Okay, battery."

"Don't arrest the baby."

I rolled my groggy eyes. Fine. I'll play. "Uh, who's baby?"

"From Amazon."

"You ordered a baby from Amazon?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"For the married goats, dingus." Outside, a goat bleated. "I want cake." He dozed off, saying nothing but incoherent mumblings for a good minute or two before he slipped soundlessly asleep.

Must be some dream. I tried not to burst into a fit and wake him up, and instead, I turned around to face the window again and closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, the room was brightly lit by sunlight. I must have dozed off. Logan was still asleep beside me, but I made the mistake of readjusting my leg, hitting his ankle, and that woke him up. He stirred, pulling his arm off my chest and rubbed his eyes, letting out a full yawn.

"So... how're the goats?" I asked, stifling my laughter.

He looked at me, confused before his eyes widened and blood rushed up to his cheeks. "I talked in my sleep again, didn't I?"

"Yep. It was...entertaining."

Logan groaned. "I always do that when I eat too much gluten and sugar. Must be all that bread and sweets I ate for the past few days."

"It was funny."

"Not for me. Did I say anything else?"

"You called an M&M candy a slut."

Logan brought his hands up to cover his reddening face. "Oh, lord. Oh, no."

"You don't remember any of it?"

"Nope."

Chuckling, I pulled his hands away from his face and said, "I didn't know you have the hots for M&Ms."

"Please, stop."

"Ha! I'm just playing with you. I didn't know you talk in your sleep."

"Rarely. I'm not used to sleeping with someone on the same bed as me."

"Hm. I'm honored—"

Logan leaned over, his lips touched my half-parted mouth, lingering there for a few seconds or so before he broke it. "Change of topic. Good morning and Happy Birthday."

"Morning. And thank you."

"Is it alright if I kiss you in the morning?"

"Seems like an appropriate thing to do on my birthday. You're more than welcome to do it."

"Cool." He kissed me again. "Doing it at our own pace, right?"

"Right."

"I like it. Is it cool with you that we're just fuck buddies?"

"And why do you ask?"

"I don't know. Doc's been telling Vivian that I'm your boyfriend, and Vivian now assumes I am and treats me as such. I don't want to weird you out when she starts acting like that to you about me."

"I'm fine with us being fuck buddies."

"Cool, cool. If Vivian asks, I'll just say we're...really good friends?"

I shook my head and laughed. "There's no way she'll believe that. We're a complicated bunch."

"You can say that again."

"Gen Z, am I right?"

"The tides of time."

"And I only have a few experiences with men, so this is nice," I said. "Let's not put labels on things if we're not comfortable yet."

"And I have neither, so I think that makes us even?" Logan ran his fingers down my arm, ending up on my wrist, where he twirled his index finger around my palm, sending goosebumps rushing up my arm and spine.

"Hm. Not quite."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Hey. Don't brag. I've been with girls, too, and they count in my tally."

"Not on my side of the fence. Now, who's bragging?"

"Touche."

"To tell you the truth, you're like the third man I've been with," I said.

"And I'm sure there will be others?"

I narrowed my gaze. "Don't tell me you're jealous."

It took him a moment to answer, biting his lower lip, trying to find the right words. "I mean, I should...but I'm not. After all, I was the one who wants us to take a rain check on labels so that I could figure out what I like and what I don't like. This is all new to me."

"You're certainly becoming more comfortable kissing boys."

"To you, yes. It's you. And that's just kissing. I don't have to be Einstein to do that. The rest, well, I'm nervous about."

"Fucking, you mean."

Logan smiled and chuckled. "Yes, as you put that so eloquently."

"It's fine if you're not ready yet. I get it."

"And I don't think I could...take a dick down there. I don't think I'm into that."

"It sounds to me like you're a total top."

"Uh, what does that even mean?"

"Like the giver. I like to bottom so it doesn't bother me."

Logan paused for a second, trying to make sense of it. "Oh. So...you like to be fucked."

"Yes."

"It doesn't hurt?" He said, raising his eyebrow and stared at me like I was lying.

"At first, yeah. But not after as long as we're doing it slowly with lots of lube. I've only done it once and I liked it."

"Hm. Well, I think that makes it easier on my case."

It most certainly does, I thought, playfully punching him on the shoulder. "But I also I like the idea of topping, too."

"Yikes. Double trouble."

I chuckled. Double trouble. "Yeah. You can put it that way. Some people are versatile, that's the term and what I describe myself as. There's also aromantics, demiromantics, bisexuals, pansexuals, ace, gender fluid, non-binary, bears, twinks, chubby chasers, heteroflexible, doms, subs, power bottoms..."

"Yeesh. Gays are so confusing. It's like having to memorize a dictionary. How did you come up with words like that? I mean, chubby chaser? The power bottoms?"

"The internet."

"Ah. I don't think I'll have that luxury, Bren."

"Oh. Right. Sorry. I forgot. Well, I doubt it matters what labels are anymore. Just be who you are, Logan. I still like you the same."

"I don't think I'm gay." Logan scratched under his chin, scrunching his face as if trying to dissect the word. "No. I don't think I am. Not full gay."

"Then, you're not gay. Or full." Whatever that means.

"Sometimes, I found myself weirded out by all this, but somehow it fits, but I'm like lost, too...and also like it. You get me?"

I raised my eyebrow. "Are you chickening out?"

A smirk crossed his lips and shook his head. "Nah, too late now," he said, his hands softly running up my arm, sending goosebumps up my spine.

I shrugged, stifling my smirk and trying to shake the feeling off. "Sorry, not sorry."

"Yep. Totally your fault. You're guilty as charged."

"Gosh. I'll bury myself over there in the cornfield then."

"Good. Saves me the trouble." Our laughter filled the room, him poking me at the sides while I tried to swat his finger away. I didn't want to laugh too hard or else I'd open up my stitches; It was a constant battle.

We stayed for another hour or so, laughing and talking, sometimes he would tell me his corny dad jokes that he owed me since being in a coma.

"Why do you see Peter Pan always flying?" He asked me.

"Why?"

"Because he never lands."

Stupid. But adorably stupid. It was probably the best mornings I've ever had for a long time and it was because of this idiot with his sheepish smile, tousled chestnut hair that I loved to run my fingers through, his manly stubbles that were doing far more funny business down below that I could not even fathom, or that glint in his brown eyes every time he gazed down at me, full of carnal allure as if urging me to wrap my arms around him and squeeze, imagined him as some giant teddy bear I wouldn't dare let go.

I ran my fingers along his broad chest, along with the patches of thick, curly black hair, felt around the outline of his chiseled jaw and the way his hot breath and lips moved together in the sway of his words, whispering the days of our youth when the troubles beyond this farmhouse were eons away from our minds. It was a sweet way to start my day, ignoring the bitter aftertaste.

Logan groaned. "Yeah, that reminds me I need to scout for some razors. I need a good shave."

I snorted. "Eh, but I like you like this. Any other plans than manscaping?"

"Alfie and I are planning on scouting the RV once again, see if Peter or the others happen to come by. Maybe find Jun, too."

"You told me there's still a lot of vectors around that area."

"I know."

"Please be careful."

A smile crept on his face, his soft gaze lingered on mine. "I'm always careful, Bren. Plus, I'll be busy looking for a good razor, so I'm not going near Cora unless there's a plan. Your plan."

"I don't have one yet, sadly. " I chuckled, and I was telling the truth. "And I don't know about the razor. I'm quite jealous that you can grow this much hair in so little time. It'll take me weeks, maybe months to grow that stubble of yours. Mine are like patched weeds that need mowing after a dry summer instead of looking as attractive like that."

"Hm." A slight twitch at the edge of his lips. "Why do you like it?"

"I don't know. I guess it makes you look mature...older...sexy as fuck. It kind of defines your jawline, which I am jealous of, by the way, lucky bastard. I like to think of beards as makeup but for dudes."

"Huh. I never see beards that way." He paused, eyebrows wiggling. "So...it makes me look sexy as fuck?"

I rolled my eyes. "Don't. Please, don't. You're head's already too big for my comfort."

"Fine. I'll keep it then. Ready for breakfast?"

I could already smell meats and baked rolls wafting from the open window, coming from downstairs. "Ah, might as well."

I wished everyone was here, wished that we weren't scattered all over the place. Perhaps Peter, Miguel, Aria, and the others could enjoy breakfast with me. We had enough serving for them.

I hoped they're all doing okay.

——

PETER

"We don't have enough food for everyone," Charlene said, eyes darting to the floor, and Peter noticed she was nervous. He hated that. There was nothing to be nervous about, but it seemed everyone was a little tense around him lately.

And for good reason, Peter thought. He liked to keep it that way, kept the others in line from doing anything drastic to him or the others. It had worked so far. Except for today, apparently.

Peter groaned. "I counted our rations five days ago. We should have enough food to last us a week."

"Well, we don't. I counted our stuff this morning." Charlene pursed her lips, hesitating to say what Peter already knew she was thinking. "Maybe you miscounted?"

Peter stared at her and she looked away. "You calling me a liar?"

Charlene didn't say anything. She fidgeted on the spot, still trying to avoid Peter's narrowing gaze, and realized she was telling the truth.

Another one. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. Yesterday, it was Audrey complaining about her kids and the vectors, the day before that was Aria and Paloma at each other's throats whether they should call off the search for Bren and the others. It was becoming unbearable.

Problems stacked upon the other, mounting like giant waves over the shores, determined to wash over him and bring him into the churning sea. Peter wanted to be those imposing cliffs upon the coasts, pushing back against the crashing waves like nothing, and he would tackle these problems the same way. Someone had been stealing from under his nose.

The audacity to fucking steal from me? I am keeping them all alive, damn it! He wanted to round up everyone and get to the bottom of this quickly, but it would only push the thief away into hiding—buried under lies after lies—and Peter wouldn't be able to catch him or her that way.

Peter studied Charlene. He didn't think she did it. After all, telling him wouldn't benefit her if she's skimming from the top of the supplies. She's better off if he was blind to the dwindling rations. This troubled and worried her, too, Peter realized. If it continued this way, everyone would go hungry, and an empty stomach was just as dangerous as the monsters outside their walls.

"What should we do? We didn't get to eat much last night," Charlene said nervously. "My sister has been giving her share to my nieces, and I'm concerned that it's making her worse."

"Worse in what way?"

"Irritable. Well, on most days. Sometimes she's there, and sometimes not, and my mom's worried that she's not taking it too well ever since Colin..."

Peter nodded and thought for a moment, laying his hand on Charlene's shoulder. "Feed the others the same amount as we've talked about, and make sure Audrey's...well, her. As far as her grief goes, I think we should leave her alone to process all that. She just lost her husband."

However, Charlene was not having it. "Pete, I can understand that my sister is having a tough time, but it's been more than two weeks and I don't think I can handle another silent treatment from her, let alone do it to her damn kids. She won't speak to me, she won't even speak to the girls. What am I supposed to do with that? Most times, it's me who is taking care of Wanda and Diana, and right now, she needs to be a mother."

"What exactly do you want me to do?"

"Well..." Charlene placed both her hands on her hips. "You can speak to her. One-on-one."

Peter took a step back. "Me?"

"I mean, you're the leader, right? With Bren gone?"

"He's not gone," Peter said lowly.

"You know what I mean."

Peter wanted to say he didn't have time for this—because that's the truth—but he could also see that Audrey's gloom and doom brought the morale of the group. Her kids cry for her attention, and he already heard some complaints from Barry when the children would act out at night. At some point in the future, he had to address that.

But there are more important things to do like finding Bren and the others, and fucking feeding everyone than some dumb bitch's annoying depression. Peter thought. Hell, I'm depressed--who else when the world's gone to the gutter--but I couldn't let that bring the whole group with me.

He desperately wanted to tell Charlene without any bullshit, but he needed her to be an ally. There are already some in the group who wanted to leave this crusade of finding the missing others, and alienating Charlene much more Bernadette, who was well-liked by everyone, would play against him. So far, he didn't know how the group felt about staying a little longer here rather than leave for Pittsburgh.

Peter sighed. "Alright. I'll talk to her. But make sure to give her something extra, perhaps feed her yourself? Right now, I'm going to focus on getting more food for the group. How many days do we have left?"

"Our rations wouldn't last for another three days," Charlene answered.

"Who else knows?"

"Just you, Miguel, and me."

"Good. Keep it that way. Tell Miguel that as well. I'd like to keep the others calm until I catch the thief. Preferably tonight."

"How sure are you that you'll catch him? Or her?"

"Five days ago we had plenty of food. I'm sure they've been stealing our stuff since then? Shouldn't be hard if they're that predictable. And they can't eat all of it, meaning they're stashing it somewhere else."

"But what are you going to do if you catch them?"

Oh, I have some ideas. Peter wasn't exactly going to let her hear that. "Thank you for telling me, Charlene. You can go now," Peter said. This surprised her, but she hid it well, quickly smoothing the creases of her shirt before she walked out of the room and left him alone.

Someone's fucking stealing from me, Peter thought again, over and over, letting the bubbling anger filling every vein and muscle as he stared at the blank wall, imagining all the ways he would do to the thief. Though he never had a problem with blood, the others did. High time they grow up for once, he thought, I'm saving their asses. Again.

Bad enough that they didn't even thank him when he rescued them from the bridge, even when Bren and the others were lost into the dark waters below, mowed through vector after vector without losing anyone, and all the thanks he got were cold shoulders and useless sobs. He had never seen such a pathetic display of humanity on a platter. He preferred to have Bren by his side than these ungrateful morons. Perhaps they would be at Pittsburgh by now if they had just fallen into the waters instead of him.

But Bren wouldn't like that, he realized. I doubt he'd be happy if I didn't try to save everyone. They were dead weight but Bren hated to see them that way when deep down, it was true. Peter and Bren had been carrying this group since the beginning, and now Haskell was dead, another good man, a good fighter, gone instead of the idiots he's surrounded with. If given the chance, he'd trade them for a hundred Haskells without blinking an eye. No matter how much he willed for that to happen, it was wishful thinking. Sometimes, he'd find himself wanting to scream, to lash out, perhaps march down below the street and hunt for those big vectors, and just keep slashing and dicing until there's nothing left but sinew, bones, and guts. Maybe he could hunt some of the Alphas too, and watch the light fade away in their terrified eyes as he buried his knife deep into their ribcage.

That would be a glorious day.

Peter looked out of the window toward the streets three stories below. Two vectors ambled lazily and looking for prey, but without any stimulus, they were like giant sloths baking under the sweltering sun, waiting for a human to come by and push a button in that ugly sack of a face. Peter almost wished he had the sniper rifle so he could pop them off right here and there. But then everyone would scold him for being reckless and bringing a horde down on them because of the noise.

They're no fun sometimes.

Peter got out of the room and walked down into the second-floor apartments where everyone mostly was staying. He sent off Gus, Noodle, and Deon were busy scouting for supplies, and they wouldn't be back until the sun's almost down. They'd be the last he'll talk to about the dwindling supplies, but with them three always out on scouting duties, Peter doubted they skimmed over the supplies. No, he had to pay attention to the people who were always there, who spent a lot of time over the supplies.

He had to talk to Miguel first.

As he reached the bottom stairs, he could already hear Aria and Paloma arguing from the dining room. Not again. Peter groaned and rubbed his face. Those two women had been on each other's throats since they got here. Peter thought about moving on toward the kitchen where Charlene and Miguel were, but perhaps it was time to put a stop to this nonsense. Maybe everyone would sleep better tonight without their constant yapping.

Pivoting his heels, Peter walked into the dining room. "Enough!" He shouted. "It's fucking early in the morning for this!"

Aria and Paloma halted, both sat on opposite sides of the table, who quickly swiveled around to face him. Aria folded her arms and shot him a dirty look, but he ignored it. He was surprised to see Gus, Noodle, and Deon were still there since they should have been out before sunrise. Yousef, Barry, and Marie stood at the corner, listening.

Paloma spoke up first. "Look at what they found!" She pushed something across the table toward him.

An arrow, painted in black fiberglass with an orange and white-feathered spine.

"So?" Peter asked, inspecting it.

"That's Jun's arrow. I recognized the fake feathers at the end."

Peter glared at them. "Did someone snuck out to the RV again? We talked about this! It's too dangerous to go alone with that big of a horde surrounding it!"

"No! It's not that," Paloma said, shooting daggers at Aria when she heard the girl groaning. "Gus and Barry found this from a vector wandering too close outside. They took it out and found this stuck on its back."

"And I told Paloma that the arrow might have been on him from days ago," Aria said. "We don't know if they're close by."

"They're close by," Paloma insisted with venom. "I can feel it here." Then, she put her hand on her chest.

"Oh, not this voodoo bullshit again."

"You shut your mouth, little girl!"

"Who are you calling little, bitch?"

"I said enough!" Peter shouted. "We've been over this for a fucking long time. We are not going to risk anyone's life by going on a wild hunt without proper planning. As long as we stay close to the RV, they'll find us, and if we're lucky, we'll be the ones who find them."

Paloma shook her head. "It's been a week since you told me that. What's the plan, Pete, because I sure hell isn't seeing one! We need to find them now! They could be hurt or...fuck! I don't even want to think about the worst-case scenario."

Aria flipped her hands up, knew she didn't like what he just said. "Maybe we should do that Paloma! That's what I've been saying the whole time but it's not getting through you!"

"Something's wrong with you if you're just going to abandon them like that. They're your friends!" Marie said.

"Oh, please! Don't give me that sappy bullshit. I know they're my friends but I at least have the guts to admit what happened to them, just like the millions of people stuck on the other side of the river. Why can't anyone in this fucking room accept that they're dead?"

Scowling, she quickly got up from her seat, almost tipping the chair over before Yousef caught it, and she stormed off toward the living room. Yousef mumbled an apology to everyone before he, too, went after her.

That ended well.

"They're not dead," Paloma hissed, eyes focused on Peter. "They're not. I refuse to accept that Nico and Edgar are just...I lost Monica. I lost a friend. I can't bear to lose them, too." She choked up a sobbed, held it there for a second before she also got out of her seat and stormed off with Marie.

Problems over more problems. Peter felt a headache coming, wishing he could pop in and ibuprofen just so he could tolerate everyone's bullshit today, but even their medical supplies were close to running low.

He turned to Gus, Noodle, and Deon still standing there across the table. "Are you guys waiting for something?" He asked.

"We've cleaned it out," Deon said.

"Cleaned out what?"

"Uh, pretty much the entire three blocks? We need to scout further if we want more supplies, Pete."

"Going further will risk us getting spotted by the horde from the highway and leading them to us. I also don't want the army or the Alphas from spotting us, either. If you can't tell, we're outgunned."

"Maybe the army isn't so bad," Barry said.

"They're rounding up survivors who made it across the river, Barry. We've seen that many times along the highway. I don't want to find out what happens to them, thank you very much," Peter said.

"Then we're gonna have to move," Noodle interjected. "Perhaps the countryside? There are a lot of farmlands out there, maybe find some grain or storehouses. It wouldn't hurt to look."

"You'll burn daylight just to get there. No way. And even if we camped out there, we are going to be far away from the supplies given the distance."

"That a risk we have to take," Noodle insisted. "We don't have anywhere else to go. There's nothing for us here, and if you can't already tell, there are more vectors out on the streets than last week. As far as I'm concerned, the countryside is looking like a much better option between being eaten and breathing."

"No."

"Listen, man," Deon started. "I get why we're staying close to the RV, but maybe it's time to listen to what Aria's saying instead of Paloma's? It's been two weeks and we haven't found them."

"We haven't seen their bodies yet either."

"We can go back to the river and give it another look," Gus suggested, but both Deon and Noodle gave him a dirty look. Gus shut his mouth.

"Look, that riverbank is full of dead bodies. Thousands of bodies, Pete. You can't expect us to check every single one? And besides, more vectors are washing up the shores! It's too dangerous. You're not seriously considering wading through all that mud just to look for them? That'd be crazy."

"I don't have time for this. I got enough problems on my own to deal with this morning," Peter said, turning his heels toward the door.

"Hey, Pete! Wait!" Deon shouted and Peter stopped, his hand leaning against the door frame. "I just want to let you know that Aria's gonna call for a vote tomorrow."

Peter turned around. What the hell are they saying? "Of. What."

He noticed the others shifting on the spot, but Deon stood his ground. "About Pittsburgh. Some folks think it's time for us to head there."

"Some folks or you?"

Deon thinned his lips. "Listen. If Bren was here, it's what Bren would have wanted for us."

"You don't know a thing about what he wants. If you've made it this far, you should know that by now."

"Maybe, but I know him enough that he was a good man—"

Was? "You talk like he's already dead."

"But, Pete...Come on, man..."

"Well, he's not, so you shut your fucking mouth, Deon. Aria can go ahead and call for that damn vote, but I'm not leaving here until I find him, alive or not. The less dead weight we have, the better."

That shut them up, and though Peter thought he shouldn't have said it, he couldn't help but feel his body tingling from the adrenaline, and it felt damn good. He walked out of the door and headed for the kitchen, ignoring the glowering faces of the others from his periphery.

But he stopped midway, and said without looking back, "And by the way, today's he's fucking birthday. So, cheers to that for voting to abandon him." And Peter left the room, not caring about what they have to say any longer.

If they leave, they'll take half the supplies with them, Peter thought.

Well, he might have to fight more than he could chew later tonight, but everyone was going to be pissed once they found out that there wouldn't be enough rations to cover a hundred miles, much less the next hundred. What's more, he carried one of the only guns in the group, and if they wanted it for themselves, they'd have to rip it out of his dead hands first. Maybe I'll get that blood if people are willing to fight me for it.

For a sliver at the back of his mind, Peter couldn't contain his growing excitement.