said, closing his eyes again.
She sat there for a moment, staring at his clean-shaven, square chin, and his rising and falling chest, wondering what was going on underneath that scalp full of short, blond hair.
At the door, she paused. "Can I have the pistol?"
He sighed then reached down and unbuckled the holster, handing it over to her without a word.
"See ya, she said.
He grunted in response.
Once she exited the room, she stood outside and changed her mind. She really didn't want to sit in a dark room and watch some silly comedy. A visit to The Tavern sounded like a better idea. Even if they served little more than water and small dishes of stale peanuts these days, she'd feel less claustrophobic if she could get out and socialize a little.
Arriving at the bar, she was surprised that there wasn't a single tan uniform from the Patrol units. She wondered if they'd all gone to a meeting like the one Mark mentioned about reinforcing the fort. If that's where they were, she thought it was interesting that he hadn't been invited. He ranked high enough that he should have been included.
Oh well , she thought. She might as well hang out anyway. The Tavern buzzed with good spirits around her. She soon found out that thanks to an abandoned semi-truck carrying a load from a domestic brewery that had been found abandoned on Highway 10, there was no shortage of beverages at the bar. She ordered an amber-colored porter, paid with her ration card and accepted an offer to play chess with a silver-haired man who had been a school bus driver before the apocalypse began. Like Mark, he had scars on his hands and face, but according to his unabashed confession that followed his introduction, it wasn't from contracting the infection.
Marlin moved his rook forward. "I was trapped in the bus barn. There were seven or eight of them fellas coming after me with their googly eyes and monster groans. I figured I could distract them with a fire, so I filled my Coke can with some gasoline and stuffed a rag in it, but before I could throw the damn thing, this little kindergartener—a girl named Jamie who sometimes rode my bus—snuck up behind me and grabbed my shirt. She was messed up, all snarling with bloody teeth and curled fingers. I batted her away and threw that bomb just a second too late."
He said there were scars up and down his arms too. Cheryl declined his offer to see them.
She could have called checkmate early in the game when her queen and rook had his king in peril, but she made a less aggressive move instead and several moves later, let him win the game.
"Two out of three?" he asked, setting up the board again.
"Okay. Winner gets bragging rights then."
Marlin rubbed the stubble on his chin. "How about winner gets a trade instead?"
She leaned back in her chair and put her hands on the table, ready to rise up. "What kind of trade?"
He looked down at the diamond ring on her hand then back up towards her face. "Those earrings you got on—those little silver studs. I'm bunking with a guy whose daughter turns twelve in a couple of days. They'd be a nice gift for her."
Cheryl put one hand up to her ear, feeling the little round ball. Since her hair had grown back down over her ears, she rarely noticed them anymore. "Deal," she said.
"Now, you're probably wondering what I've got that's worth anything to you?" Marlin asked with a smile that made the scars on his cheeks crinkle into deep, hook-shaped grooves. He stood up and fished in the pocket of his jeans. He brought out a pair of bronze-plated dice. "Before I gave up gambling, I used to spend my days at the Craps table in a casino in Scottsdale with a Seven & Seven in one hand and a cigar in the other. These beauties brought me a lot of luck…and a lot of misery. It's time I retired them, so they stop rubbing a hole in the pockets of pants that I can't afford to replace. Maybe they'd be luckier for you."
She eyed the shiny dice, thinking they'd be an interesting
She sat there for a moment, staring at his clean-shaven, square chin, and his rising and falling chest, wondering what was going on underneath that scalp full of short, blond hair.
At the door, she paused. "Can I have the pistol?"
He sighed then reached down and unbuckled the holster, handing it over to her without a word.
"See ya, she said.
He grunted in response.
Once she exited the room, she stood outside and changed her mind. She really didn't want to sit in a dark room and watch some silly comedy. A visit to The Tavern sounded like a better idea. Even if they served little more than water and small dishes of stale peanuts these days, she'd feel less claustrophobic if she could get out and socialize a little.
Arriving at the bar, she was surprised that there wasn't a single tan uniform from the Patrol units. She wondered if they'd all gone to a meeting like the one Mark mentioned about reinforcing the fort. If that's where they were, she thought it was interesting that he hadn't been invited. He ranked high enough that he should have been included.
Oh well , she thought. She might as well hang out anyway. The Tavern buzzed with good spirits around her. She soon found out that thanks to an abandoned semi-truck carrying a load from a domestic brewery that had been found abandoned on Highway 10, there was no shortage of beverages at the bar. She ordered an amber-colored porter, paid with her ration card and accepted an offer to play chess with a silver-haired man who had been a school bus driver before the apocalypse began. Like Mark, he had scars on his hands and face, but according to his unabashed confession that followed his introduction, it wasn't from contracting the infection.
Marlin moved his rook forward. "I was trapped in the bus barn. There were seven or eight of them fellas coming after me with their googly eyes and monster groans. I figured I could distract them with a fire, so I filled my Coke can with some gasoline and stuffed a rag in it, but before I could throw the damn thing, this little kindergartener—a girl named Jamie who sometimes rode my bus—snuck up behind me and grabbed my shirt. She was messed up, all snarling with bloody teeth and curled fingers. I batted her away and threw that bomb just a second too late."
He said there were scars up and down his arms too. Cheryl declined his offer to see them.
She could have called checkmate early in the game when her queen and rook had his king in peril, but she made a less aggressive move instead and several moves later, let him win the game.
"Two out of three?" he asked, setting up the board again.
"Okay. Winner gets bragging rights then."
Marlin rubbed the stubble on his chin. "How about winner gets a trade instead?"
She leaned back in her chair and put her hands on the table, ready to rise up. "What kind of trade?"
He looked down at the diamond ring on her hand then back up towards her face. "Those earrings you got on—those little silver studs. I'm bunking with a guy whose daughter turns twelve in a couple of days. They'd be a nice gift for her."
Cheryl put one hand up to her ear, feeling the little round ball. Since her hair had grown back down over her ears, she rarely noticed them anymore. "Deal," she said.
"Now, you're probably wondering what I've got that's worth anything to you?" Marlin asked with a smile that made the scars on his cheeks crinkle into deep, hook-shaped grooves. He stood up and fished in the pocket of his jeans. He brought out a pair of bronze-plated dice. "Before I gave up gambling, I used to spend my days at the Craps table in a casino in Scottsdale with a Seven & Seven in one hand and a cigar in the other. These beauties brought me a lot of luck…and a lot of misery. It's time I retired them, so they stop rubbing a hole in the pockets of pants that I can't afford to replace. Maybe they'd be luckier for you."
She eyed the shiny dice, thinking they'd be an interesting
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