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Poison slammed the brakes. He spun the Trans Am off the road in a cloud of dust and gravel, running over a tumbleweed in the process to the sound of Ghoul’s favourite swear-words. He cut the engine, silencing the fuzzy radio transmission, and pulled a handkerchief over his mouth and nose. Kobra raised his eyebrow, ever-stoic, but did the same. It was a simple rule that all new places were just begging to be explored, no matter how dangerous.
None of them had seen it up ahead through the dust and the perpetual haze, but now it was there, it seemed stupid to have missed it. The fence went on for as far as the eye could see, seemingly unguarded and untouched. It reeked of before, one of the few places in the desert that hadn’t been vetted and destroyed by the corporation. It was pleasantly surreal and sun-faded, stuck between the monochrome city and the harsh-coloured zonerunner nests. Poison struggled to believe that it wasn’t a mirage.
The four of them scrambled out of the car and into the heavy September heat. It was warm enough that Poison wanted to shuck off his jacket but he wasn’t an idiot, so he fanned himself instead, using a folded plan of the Zones. He hadn’t even known this place existed, never heard anyone talk of it and it wasn’t on any map he’d ever seen, BLI or zonerunner-made. The others all shook their heads in bemused agreement.
Past the chain-link was a graveyard, full of rusted skeletons of large cargo jets all laid out in lines. There was a gate across the track, covered in old, acid-worn signs and only one was still legible. A ‘keep out, restricted area’ notice where the California Republic bear had been covered over with a vinyl BL/ind sticker.
It was only place they’d found that didn’t smell of laser-burn. Poison didn’t want to think that it might be the only one left.
Poison ran a hand through his hair as he read the sign, questioning, “How in Hell have we not found this before?”
Jet Star had wandered toward towards the fence, as the closest thing they had to an electronics expert, tugging Kid’s magazine from his hands. To test if the fence was electric, he chucked it at the metal in a flap of crumpled pages -it wasn’t electric. Ghoul picked up the issue (Shiny again, he might have nicked it for himself had it been the latest Murder) and waited for Kid to snatch it back from him.
Kobra wasn’t watching Ghoul, instead preferring to answer his brother, “I don’t know. Party, don’t you always say you know the Zones like the back of your hand?”
“Clearly that was a miscalculation.” Ghoul barked, like he might be amused beneath the frustration.
Both Poison and Kid were ignoring him, it seemed. In spite, and out of some sort of non-conformist obligation, he took his lighter out of his pocket and torched Kid’s magazine. Poison noticed then, turning his head at the smell of smoke, and raised one dark eyebrow as Ghoul dropped the burning pages so the dust could mix with the ashes.
“Can we get in?” Party Poison asked, or demanded. Depended on who you were speaking to, what people thought of Poison’s attitude.
“Dunno.” Star called back and mimed pulling a trigger, “Zap it?”
Ghoul butted in once again, reaching for his zapper, “I’ll get it.”
(from a metre’s distance, maybe; he couldn’t shoot straight to save his goddamned life)
“No you won’t.” Kid snapped, and when Ghoul gave him a look he said, “What? You can’t aim.”
There was a loud crack like lightning. Poison had shot the lock.
He chuckled, arrogant and dust-raspy like everything Poison did, “We’re in.”
*****
Star and Kobra had taken off in the Trans Am once they’d opened the gates, leaving Ghoul and Poison on the ground to explore about the closer planes. It was a relatively long walk between each jet, and resting beneath the shadows of wings every ten minutes meant that they weren’t going anywhere fast. It was nice just the two of them, they didn’t split up all that often and when they did it was usually Poison and Kobra off in the car while Jet tinkered with some mechanics an Ghoul did his best to annoy anyone he could.
As much as Party Poison maybe wanted to spend time with Ghoul, it was difficult to hide a crush on someone when you live with four people and couldn’t escape from it.
“It’s fuckin’ huge!” Ghoul yelled, his voice echoing off the smooth metal, “And no Dracs. Like Heaven.”
“Hotter than Heaven.” Poison grunted, tugging at his collar because now that he’d mentioned it, it was hot.
Ghoul reached out to adjust Poison’s jacket back into place, “Yeah, I get it. Damn inferno.”
They wandered past decapitated flight-decks and torn-up tails three times their own height (or four times Ghoul’s height, but Poison wasn’t about to say that out loud), kicking at the sandy grass with the toes of their boots. They were on the look-out for anything more than half intact, anything with stuff to salvage. Poison thought that their best bet would be some more metals and electronics for Star to mess about with in his free time.
They didn’t want a repeat of the last time Star had got bored. Ghoul had affectionately nicknamed it ‘the warehouse incident’ and tried to recruit him to work with explosives.
There wasn’t much further they could go without needing a break. The sun was lowering fast over the horizon, giving the shadows a slant that made Poison itch under his skin. There was nothing to cast shadows out in the Zones, especially not all the way out in Zone 6, and seeing the sharp spike of a broken wing laid out dark across Ghoul’s shoulders was making him uneasy.
A shout from his friend dragged him back to reality (new, surreal reality), “Hey, look at this one, it’s a survivor like us. Sweet.”
He was standing looking up at one of the jets, still with its engines and windows in place. It was painted bright with old logos, he didn’t know if Ghoul recognised them or not, faded but distinct. The wheels had been removed, leaving a gaping hole in the fuselage but setting it flush to the ground, they wouldn’t even have to jump to reach it.
“We should adopt it, the thing suits us. Spray it a new jacket like the car.” Ghoul suggested jokingly.
“Can you get in?” Poison shouted, jogging over with all the energy he could muster.
Ghoul laughed, less harsh than before. Poison liked it. “Just like I can get into anything without doors.”
“Funny.” He deadpanned.
*****
“What are they even trying to find out there, Kid?” Star questioned, weaving the car between the rows of totalled aircraft.
“Each other.” Kobra Kid replied, “Turn up the radio?”
*****
Ghoul was pleased. Not only did the plane he’d found have all of the seat fittings still inside, it wasn’t as much of an aluminium oven as he’d anticipated. He was reclined across a row of seats, flipping his zapper into the air before catching it again. Poison was investigating the back, the galley, because was hell-bent on being proactive, even lounging about in an old plane’s skeleton. He’d never seen Poison actually relax, he didn’t count ripping up dirt tracks in the car.
“There’s actual water in here, help me dye my hair.” Poison enthused, his cheeks flushed the colour of his hair.
Ghoul was not nearly as excited about the prospect of stored water as he should have been, given the circumstances. He was more focused on talking with Poison, as it was. He looked even prettier smiling than he did shooting Dracs, if that was possible.
“I’d love to,” Ghoul said, grinning right back at him, “But isn’t the dye-”
“Back in the car. Shit.”
Poison deflated beside him, pushing Ghoul over to make space for him in the row of seats. Both of them had hung their jackets over the wing in case Star and Kid drove past, and it had been so long since a calm place that they both felt odd without them. Poison looked small, tired and underdressed. Ghoul would have bet his well-earned carbons that he looked the same. They’d been riding as a crew so long it didn’t matter. He’d rescued a drugged-up Poison from some Dracs before, he didn’t care what he looked like.
Poison was just as scared as the rest of them.
Ghoul resisted the urge to drape himself all over Poison, the way he usually did with his friends except it felt different just the two of them. He wrapped his arm around Poison’s bare shoulder, instead, aiming for ‘comforting’ rather than ‘what Ghoul always does’. He wasn’t sure the message got across, but Poison relaxed nonetheless.
Ghoul told him, “We’ll do it later. Do Kobra’s too. Does mine need it?”
Poison looked up through dark roots and matted red, smiling as he reassured, “Nah, looks great. Shiny.”
Poison stood up suddenly, gawky in the small aisle between the rows. He walked towards the front, the flight-deck, to watch the sunset out of the windows. There was nothing to salvage in there, it had long been stripped of valuable avionics, leaving it the largest clear space on the plane. Ghoul didn’t want to waste worrying about Party Poison. when he wasn’t kidnapped or dying. Not when it wasn’t serious.
“Hey Party,” He interrupted, having given enough time to talk himself down from whatever, “What time are Star and Kid planning on gettin’ back? Is it really best for them to be cruising out there when the headlights are busted?”
Poison was smiling like he was earlier, not his death-grin looking down the barrel at unlucky Dracs, but a soft smile he kept for Ghoul and Star and his brother. He looked from the windows back to Ghoul, he loved it when people called him ‘Party’,
He spoke slowly, almost serene (almost), “There’s not a cloud in the sky, Ghoul, and no Dracs about for miles. Good omens, desert rat, they’re as safe as can be.”
Ghoul didn’t kiss him. Not then, even though he could’ve, under the weighty evening heat in the barren flight-deck of the Trans Am mark-two. Poison didn’t move, but they were close. It meant more that way, Ghoul thought. They both knew what was left unsaid and maybe they’d leave it until the next time they weren’t dead. Just a little bit closer. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Poison who seemed surprising but not unwelcoming, returning the gesture with as much affection as he could without actually saying anything. Nothing happened, nothing significant enough to assign words to and even Poison knew that, as bad with words as he sometimes was when he got nervous. He was nervous a lot of time, recently.
They’d let Kobra and Jet assume whatever they wanted to believe.
*****
“How’s it lookin’?” Poison asked, ruffling his newly-scarlet hair, “Fun?”
“You look shiny.” Ghoul answered, pushing it back off Party’s forehead, brushing away all the short edges he’d shaved from the sides.
Party looked up, that soft smile present again, “You think?”
“The shiniest.”
And they moved on, roaring through the dust in the Trans Am. And maybe if Poison was sometimes kissing dudes instead of killing dudes, nobody noticed.