Quincy slept the entire way. He let Biggs take him wherever he was going. After the biters ripped apart his entire office staff, he was done. His lunch buddies, the fantasy football pool, Gina... There were many ways he'd dreamed of seeing Gina Hernandez from Accounting's sweater come off, and they'd found the one that would give him nightmares. So he was done. Not dead, not suicidal, but ready to close his eyes and let someone else drive a while.
Biggs poked him in-between the ribs, making Quincy contort in the passenger’s seat.
“Eh? Eh?" Biggs said. "Am I genius?”
Quincy exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. The light was harsh beyond his window. It took his vision a moment to create contours. A sea of still waves, minus the water. Dunes.
“It sure looks like sand.”
“I think you’re expecting me to like sand more than I do. I’d rather, like, an aircraft carrier.”
“Vampires aren’t going to be afraid of stealth bombers, dumbass. They can turn into fog. You can't bomb fog.”
Quincy rubbed his eyes. “And fog is afraid of sand, why?”
“Look.” Biggs pointed to the back of the SUV. Just like when Quincy had gone to sleep, it was stuffed with cardboard boxes. “Three hundred litres of water. We each get one a day. Doctors say you need more, but doctors say you need riboflavin and we’ve both done fine never paying attention to how much of it we got.”
“Plus a couple hundred army MRE’s, plus enough butane to cook all the baked beans you ever wanted, plus these.”
He leaned his jowls into the steering wheel and fished around under his seat. He produced two foil packs, each stamped with three lines: one pink, one brown, one white.
“Astronaut ice cream. Fucking ten cases.”
“You know they don’t really eat that.”
“Probably why I got them so cheap.” He tore the top of the package and bit into the chalky vanilla part. He winced, as it didn’t taste as much like space or candy as he’d wanted. Still, he maintained a chipper expression. “This will rule.”
“Eating baked beans in a car with you will definitely not rule after a few hours.”
Biggs slapped the rest of his astronaut ice cream into Quincy’s chest. It crumbled colorfully across his grey t-shirt. Biggs pointed out the passenger’s side window.
“We are two hundred miles into the dessert, dude. Off road.”
“Dude. Why is that good? It’s the end of the world and your idea is just fucking sand.”
“Because even if they knew exactly where we were, they’d have to flap their little bat wings two hundred miles without two leaves to hide under come morning. There’s no shade. It’s fucking vampire-proof.”
Quincy took this in. He rested his elbows on the dashboard, staring at the yellowed sand dunes.
Biggs percolated in his seat. “Yeah?”
“When this is over, the Arabs are totally taking over the world.”
“And that’s why I brought you. Interesting conversation. Have an ice cream.”