Come Whatever Storms

Chapter 1-4

As Adam disappeared through the minivan’s windows, Court gave Ronnie a wide grin. “Excited?” he asked. “We’re having a baby!”

Ronnie rolled his eyes and climbed up into the minivan. He clapped a heavy hand on Court’s shoulder, partly in greeting, partly to help him navigate back to where Adam had been rooting for supplies. “It isn’t mine.”

“Didn’t you ever want kids?” Court had never come out and asked Ronnie about it—for as long as they’d known her, Melissa had had too many ‘female’ complications and children were never a question for the Densches. Then Melissa’s cramps had grown worse, and what her doctor had thought might be endometriosis turned out to be cancer. Court still remembered the hollow look in Ronnie’s eyes when he had found out. If anything good had come of her illness, anything at all, it was that she passed away two years before the virus struck, so she didn’t die with all the others.

In a way, she went first.

When Ronnie didn’t answer, Court thought he should’ve kept his big mouth shut. Leaning against the back of the seat in front of him, he rested his forehead on his sweaty forearm and stared out the open minivan door into the sunlight. Thinking of their wives, of Melissa and Jeanine, and all the others who were no longer alive. Thinking of Adam, a big, brawny man more at home operating on large dogs than delivering babies. Thinking of the woman giving birth in the woods, the woman whose name he hadn’t bothered to learn, just one more mouth to feed in their little growing community.

Thinking of the radio in the tent he shared with Ronnie. A solar-powered, hand-cranked, emergency radio with a crooked antenna and a cracked, plastic shell no longer quite as water-proofed as advertised. Thinking of the burst of almost inarticulate static they’d heard…the previous evening? Two nights ago? Court couldn’t quite remember. He’d thought he heard one word, Sumter, but no amount of fiddling with the dials would get in anything else.

From the back of the minivan, Ronnie’s voice drifted to him. “Don’t dwell on it. We won’t know s**t until the baby’s born.”

Court drew in a deep breath, shaking free of the troubling thoughts that circled his mind. “I was thinking of the radio.”

“Don’t,” Ronnie said again. “If there’s anyone out there, we’ll hear it again soon enough. Maybe we’ll pick up the signal better if we keep moving south. This guy was a perv.”

A magazine sailed out of the dark interior to land at Court’s feet. Another porno, this one a little more hardcore than Playboy. The pages sprawled before him like an invitation, and he saw the smooth, round ass of a pretty young woman spread wide as a man with an elephantine c**k plowed into her. Court couldn’t take his gaze away from the rigid member, thick with veins, the tip purple and engorged. Despite the heat, he felt his d**k stir in the confines of his jeans.

Quickly he looked away, one foot nudging the magazine shut, but his gaze settled on Ronnie’s narrow hips and his libido soared. The no-color, washed-out shirt Ronnie wore tucked into the waistband of his skinny, well-worn jeans pulled taut against his lower back, showing each knobbed bone in his spine. Ronnie was a long, tall drink of water, as Court liked to say. His slim frame enhanced his height, making him seem to tower over most people. Beside Ronnie’s lithe grace, Court always felt clumsy, oafish. Small, somehow, despite standing an inch or two over six foot himself.

He imagined running his hands over Ronnie’s lower back, pressing the shirt down flat against Ronnie’s skin, feeling the heat and the sweat trapped between the fabric and Ronnie’s body. His d**k began to throb, a steady, familiar ache he always associated with Ronnie. Melissa’s gone, he told himself as he stared at Ronnie’s backside. Jeanie, too. It’s only you and me now, cowboy.

As if that made it any easier to admit how he felt for his oldest, dearest friend.

Another magazine landed at Court’s feet—another porno. He looked up and found Ronnie standing above him. When had that happened? Had Ronnie seen the way Court was staring at him?

If he had, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he touched Court’s shoulder again, half in friendship but also half to help support him as he moved through the minivan. “There’s nothing here but trash,” he said, leaving his hand on Court’s shoulder as if he’d forgotten where he put it. “What’d you find in the other one? Anything good?”

Court sat up and pressed his cheek to the top of Ronnie’s hand. Hot, rough flesh warmed his face a moment, then one thick finger brushed his jaw. “We got a little food. Nothing for a baby, though.”

Ronnie caressed Court’s chin with his little finger and Court glanced up at him. The rueful look in his eyes mirrored Court’s own. What’s stopping you? Court thought, but he wasn’t sure if he was talking to Ronnie or himself. If we want to, why don’t we? Why can’t we?

Then Ronnie’s mouth took on a sad twist, and the tender moment passed. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about the baby for very long.”