Outbreak CH4
The atmosphere was heavy that evening. It settled on their shoulders and rode them mercilessly. Their weariness displayed itself in their slack postures and dull eyes.
Vicky had made her stance on the matter very clear. She said it had to be done, and that the cub had died long ago. Roy remained silent. Mike, not having his own room to sulk in, hovered near the door to Roy's until Roy nodded his consent. Mike slammed the door behind him. The frame shook with the force of his hurt pride.
Roy buried his face in his hands and sighed. His shoulders began to shake. Vicky placed her hand on his upper arm.
"He'll get over it, okay? It's just harder for some people to adjust to changes, and there have been some massive ones in that past year."
Roy snorted. "You don't know Mike. Trust me. His opinions don't change."
"Do you honestly know that? I mean, has he had to adjust to anything big before?"
The bison hesitated. "Not really."
"To me, that sounds like I got you on a technicality. Right?"
"Yeah. Let's let it go," he said. He glanced around the cabin nervously. His eyes flickered to the bedroom door and he cleared his throat.
"No, I think this is important!"
"Really, it's not, don't worry about it."
"I'll guess then!" Vicky said, clasping her knees excitedly. "Okay, how about--"
"Vicky," Roy hissed, "Stop it."
"Alright, fine, you act like you're in love with Mike or something," Vicky said with exaggerated exasperation. She grinned at him. He stared at her, slack-jawed. Her grin faded.
"Serio--" she began, cut off by Roy's broad hand on her muzzle. Her brows furrowed and she slapped him, sparing him none of her fury. He reached for his cheek and rubbed it as they glared at each other for a moment.
"Look," Roy began, "He doesn't know. Okay? I'd like to keep it that way."
"He hasn't ever guessed?"
"Why would he? He never had any reason to wonder. I mean, sure, it's not like I went out with many women, but it's not like he did either."
Vicky snorted. Roy shot her a pleading look. She sighed.
"Well, why not tell him? It might at least calm him down, I'm pretty sure he thinks you and me are hooking up."
"As much as I'd love to correct that idea, I can't. He just wouldn't appreciate the idea. He's never been the most laid-back guy. We get along because I know when I should talk and when I should stay on the downlow, and this is a downlow situation."
"I get it. You should at least go talk to him though. About today. At least he won't be worrying about us, and trust me, he is right now. I can read men like you wouldn't believe."
"At least now I've got backup. Alright, I'm out," Roy said, rising from the couch. He disappeared into the bedroom and Vicky sat perfectly still, her long ears perked towards the door. When she heard the rise and fall of muffled voices she relaxed. Her eyes scanned the cabin.
She stood up and walked over to the kitchen. Disregarding the fridge, she stepped over to the pantry and flung open the doors. She scanned the shelves and nodded, closing them. The cupboards were inspected to the same standards, and then under the sink, the closet, the livingroom shelves. One ear never lost its focus on the bedroom door.
Vicky delicately picked up and inspected Roy's shotgun, which he had left leaning against the door. She had discovered shells in the kitchen drawers. She scanned the room and then huffed in exasperation. Mike had taken his pistol with him.
The jackrabbit had started to get up and continue searching when she picked up on soft padding approaching the bedroom door. She scrambled to get back on the couch. She leaned back and examined her nails.
Mike walked over and collapsed beside her on the couch.
"So," he said.
"So?"
"So, I'm sorry. I was being a little bitch today and I need to man up and move the fuck on. I acted like a dick and I hope you forgive me, or whatever," Mike responded. He dragged out the words in a flippant way, but there was real feeling in the sound of them.
"It's alright, don't worry about it. Times are tough."
"Yeah. Did Roy talk about me?"
Vicky's eyes shot towards him and looked him up and down. She examined him coldly and then her eyes softened, glancing towards her hands. She rubbed her fingers softly and sighed.
"Well...why do you want to know?"
"He doesn't do that. Like, talk to me about shit. I wondered if it was you."
"Yeah, it was."
"Well, what did he say about me?"
"Why do you want to know?" she asked again, a little more tentatively. Mike scowled.
"Look, I know you and him are all...buddy-buddy and shit, but I've known him for a damn long time and I know there's shit he doesn't tell me, and I want to know it. I don't like people hiding shit from me!"
"Alright, alright! Just calm down, okay? Keep your voice down, and promise not to tell him I said anything to you. Okay?"
"Fine," Mike said. He leaned back and waved his hand towards her. "Go on?"
"Roy, he...oh, crap. I don't know how to say this?"
"Whatever it is I've probably figured it out by now. I got my ideas. Just spit it out, alright?"
"Roy has, well, he has kind of a thing for you," she said, the words coming out in a rush. Mike stared blankly.
"Like, he has it in for me or something? He's never acted like he does."
"No, no--not a bad thing. A good thing. Really, really good."
Comprehension dawned on Mike's face. His eyebrows shot up and then down again, his eyes widened and then narrowed, and his slightly open muzzle closed into a sneer.
"No fuckin' wonder I need to sleep out here, huh? Bet he couldn't keep his fucking hands off me if I was sleeping in the same room. I gotta say, that at least is cool, that he knows to stay the fuck away from me. But maybe I didn't set those boundaries clear enough."
"Calm down! He hasn't done anything about it for all this time because he respects you, right? Because he cares!" Vicky hastily added. Mike spat on the floor.
"He does, yeah, that's the fucking problem. It's fucked up and since shit's gone downhill I can't very well kick his ass out or leave, but I can give him a piece of my mind, and I will do it right now," Mike snarled. He placed his palms on the couch and shoved off into his best tough-guy swagger. Vicky's eyes fixated on the kitchen. As soon as Mike was down the hall she leaped up and jogged to the kitchen. She pulled a trash bag out of the cabinets and began stuffing it with food from the pantry.
Angry voices bellowed from the bedroom. There was a crash and some muffled swearing. Steps thundered towards the bedroom door. Vicky grabbed the bag and ran to the livingroom. She met Roy at the shotgun. He grabbed it and cocked the barrel.
"I should have fucking known. I don't know what made me think I could trust you for even a second. Get out."
"Can I at least--"
"Get," Roy growled, flipping the gun around so the stock jabbed her in the chest, "Out."
She had her hand on the doorknob when the howling started. It seemed to surround the cabin, a gasping and jagged mimicry of a hunting cry. Roy and Vicky's eyes met. Mike stumbled out from the bedroom nursing a split lip and rapidly swelling black eye. They turned to look at him. He pulled his pistol out of his pocket and managed a ghastly grin.
"We'll deal with this shit later, bitch," Roy spat, "There are more guns in the bedroom closet. I will search your pockets when we've killed these guys. Get going."
She was in no position to hesitate.