“Fine. What are you, da immigration police or something? I’m Cherman.”
“German?”
“Yes. Dat’s what I said.”
“What’s your name and why are you messing with our stuff?”
He smiled. “You talk about your dok like he’ss a person.”
“She’s not talking about the dog,” said Peter from behind me. “She’s talking about me.”
“And the dog,” I corrected.
“And Buster,” said Peter, standing next to me, holding his gun down at his side. I was glad he decided to do that. It looked a lot more intimidating when his hands weren’t shaking.
“Okay, fine. You are a party of three. My name iss Bodo. I am from Chermany. I came here for an exchange program last year and den the family I was staying with, dey all died. Now de Internet iss down and I cannot reach my family. I do not even know if dey are alife.”
I leaned over to Peter and said in a loud whisper, “He means ‘alive’.”
“Dat’s what I said,” clarified Bodo. “Alife.”
Peter shook his head. “Stop harassing the poor guy, Bryn. He’s German. But he speaks pretty good English, actually.” Peter turned his attention back to Bodo, addressing him directly. “Hello, Bodo. Welcome to the United States. I’m sorry you got stuck here, but you should probably know that anyone in your country over the age of twenty and under the age of ten is dead now. You’re probably stuck here for life unless you know how to sail.”
“Wow. Way to break it to him easy,” I said, chuckling. Mr. Sensitive was getting tougher by the minute.
“I know dis. Efreyone is dead now. I haf been on dis highway for days, looking for someone. Anyone. It wass crazy in my town, so I left it.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t advise heading north. There are cannibals up there.”
“I call dem zombies,” said Bodo. “Dey haff dem in my old town, too. I was living in West Palm Beach.”
Peter and I exchanged a look, smiling.
“You like zombies?” said Bodo. Then he took a step back. “If you are thinking about killing me and eating me, I will tell you dat it would be a mistake. I am a lethal weapon.” He held up his hands in a poor approximation of a karate stance.
I couldn’t help but snigger at him. He was absolutely adorable, but so full of crap it wasn’t even funny. I could have been wrong, but I felt like to be a canner, you had to totally lose your sense of humor. And this guy still had his, whether he realized it or not.
“We don’t eat people,” said Peter. “But we don’t have enough food to share right now.”
“Oh, dat’s not a problem,” said Bodo, sliding his backpack off his shoulder.
I held up my gun. “Not too fast, there, Bodo. We’ve already killed some guys who messed with us before.”
He held up his hands, palms out. “I’m chust going to show you my food. So you can see I did not come here to take your thingks.”
He pulled can after can of raviolis and tuna out. The last thing he took out was a tall container of Pringles.
“Holy crap. You have Pringles,” I said, in a daze. I hadn’t had a Pringle in over a year. Normally, that wouldn’t be a big deal for me. But right now, it seemed like a crying shame.
“I eat one per day. I haff enough Pringkles for a few more months. Unless I share. Den a little bit less.” He smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. They were so not like the canner’s teeth I had seen.
“Bodo, I have to warn you,” said Peter, his voice sounding very serious and mature. “Bryn here, really is a lethal weapon, so if you try anything funny, she will snap your neck. She was trained by the Israeli Special Forces. Do you agree not to steal any of our food or things if we let you stay with us tonight?”
Bodo nodded his head quickly. “Oh yes, definitely. Wow, dat’s impressif. The Issraeli Special Forcess. I will not touch anything. And if you vant, oops, I mean want, I can play you my harmonica. My family used to tell me dat I am very good.” He smiled and said, “I’m trying to improof my accent so I can blend in better. For me, it’s da double youss dat get me efreytime.”
“Dude, trust me when I say, it’s not just the double yous that are getting you, but it doesn’t matter to us if you have an accent. And no, thanks, we don’t need to hear your harmonica. We don’t want to attract any attention with music. Maybe some other time.”
“Yeah, sure. No problem. Chust tell me when you want to hear it and I will play it for you.” He put all the cans back in his bag.
“You stay over there,” I said, directing Bodo to a spot about ten feet below us.
“Okay, dat’s not a problem.”
I leaned in and whispered to Peter. “Did you hear that? It’s not a problem.”
Peter rolled his eyes and whispered back. “You are so mean. He’s foreign. He can’t help it if he repeats the phrases he knows.”
“I’m just goofing around. His accent is cute.”
“I know. It totally is,” said Peter, his voice taking on a dreamy quality.
I nudged him. “I’m pretty sure he’s not your type.”
“A boy can fantasize,” he said nudging me back.
Bodo went down the ramp and sat down, reaching into his sack. “Do you guyss want some Pringkles? I am happy to share.” He held the can up behind his head.
Peter looked at me nervously. “Do you trust him?”
I shook my head. “No. The only ones I trust are you and Buster. How do we know he doesn’t have a gun or something else in that bag?”
Peter walked down to where Bodo was sitting. “We want to search your bag.”Bodo shrugged, handing it over. “Go ahead. It’s not a problem at all.”
Peter brought it back and went through it, while I kept my gun trained on Bodo’s back.
Bodo took the plastic lid off the Pringles can and took out a chip, turning sideways so we could watch him put it in his mouth.
I felt myself start to salivate, watching that chip go in; and I didn’t know whether it was the food or his cute face that was causing it to happen. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and blue-eyed. The stereotypical aryan European man. Wowza.
“He’s clean,” said Peter. “He doesn’t even have a gun or a knife. Just a can opener.”
Peter took a few steps towards Bodo and tossed the backpack to him.
Bodo held up the can of chips and shook it a little. “I’ll chrade you … one chip each for something you have.”
I took four long steps down the slope and snatched the can out of his hand.
“Hey,” he said, half standing, “dat’s not fair.”
“You want to join this crew? You sacrifice everything. Pringles and all.”
Bodo thought for a second and then looked up, his crystal blue eyes boring into mine. “You are offering me a place with you? In your family?”
I looked back at Peter who shrugged in return.
I turned my gaze back to Bodo and said, “It’s more like a tribe than a family, but yeah. There’s a place for you here if you agree to share with us, protect us, and not give us away to any canners … zombies.”
“I will like dat. To be with your … tribe you call it. And I will share my food with you. I am sorry it is not much. And I will protect you. I think I can do dat pretty good, anyway.”
I stared at him intently, wishing I could read his mind. “I swear to God, Bodo, if you’re lying to me, and you try to hurt any of us, I’ll kill you with my bare hands. Do you understand? I promise you I will do that. That’s not a problem.” And I meant it with all my heart and soul. I hadn’t been able to protect my last family from the death and destruction that had raged over the Earth, but I could protect my new family from the dangers that lurked out there in the night for us. And I’d do whatever it took, even if it meant taking someone’s life - even a cute guy’s life.
He nodded his head. “I gif you my promise. It is true. We are family now, see? You have the Pringkles. Eat dem all if you want, even dough dey are my favorite American snack. I will not hurt anyone.” He sat back down on the slope and drew his knees up to his chest, resting his forearms on them as he stared down the incline.
I walked slowly backwards to join Peter and Buster, motioning for Peter to walk up higher with me. Once we were near the top, so much that we had to bend down to avoid hitting our heads, I said, “So. What do you think?”
“Well, he doesn’t seem crazy. Just funny.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”
“Okay, then, I guess we let him stay. But at the first sign of something being off, we cut him loose,” said Peter.
I smiled. “Well that’s not a good criteria.”
“Criterium.”
“Whatever. I mean, you’re off all the time, but I don’t cut you out.”
Peter shoved me. “Get away from me, you rude beast.”
“Come on. Let’s go eat dinner and then we’ll go to bed. We’ll make him sleep away from us the first night.” I pointed my finger at Peter. “And no cuddling, you hear me?”
Peter ignored me, instead going to the trailer to find some of the dried military meals. He quickly whipped up a meal and invited Bodo to join us for dinner.
Bodo ate his own stuff, but was generous enough to give us each two of his precious ‘Pringkles’. It felt like a picnic, and I decided after Bodo’s third ridiculous story of his horrible mishaps he’d endured trying to find travel partners, that he was going to fit in just fine. As long as he didn’t try to kill us or steal from us while we slept.
CHAPTER FIVE
I WOKE UP TO THE beeping of the alarm on my watch. It was three thirty in the morning and time to get on the road. The first thing that came to mind was the fact that Bodo was really going to slow us down until we found him a bike.
I sat up and nudged Peter awake. “Time to get up, sleepy head.” I looked down to where Bodo had gone to sleep and saw nothing. He was gone. I shoved Peter harder and then got on my feet. “Get up, Peter. Bodo’s gone.”
“What’d you say?” mumbled Peter, rolling over onto his back. “Oh, God, this ground is so friggin hard.” He paused for a couple seconds and then sat up all of a sudden. “Did you say Bodo’s gone?” Peter looked down to where Bodo had been sleeping. “Crap. That’s weird.”
I had a small panic attack when I thought about our supplies. I rushed over to the trailer and lifted up the tarp. My eyes scanned the contents, taking in our backpacks that still looked full, the tools, the square of plastic, the bucket. All of our food seemed to be there, too. I pulled the last item I noticed out of the trailer and held it up.
“What do you suppose this means?”
Peter squinted his eyes and then they opened wider. “He left us his Pringles?”
“Yes, he left us his ‘Pringkles’. And he didn’t take anything else that I can see.”
“You still have your gun?”
“Yeah. Do you?”
“Yeah. What about the bullets?” asked Peter.
I grabbed the bottom of the backpack where we kept the bullets and shook the boxes that I felt there. They sounded full. “Still here.”
“What should we do? Wait for him? Maybe he’s … doing his business or something.”
“Yeah, but why would he take his backpack if he was doodling?”
“God, I wish you’d stop saying that,” said Peter, standing up and scrubbing his face a few times. “I’m going to go pee. I’ll be back with better answers.”
Buster and I went to go pee behind a bush, and we got back after Peter, who was drinking some water and eating a chip. We sat around for a few minutes, but then decided to just leave.