"Whoever fucking thought it was a good idea to give you explosives deserves to be shot," Brandon smirked wryly and then glanced at the duffel bag on the floor. He'd hand them over in a minute. Right now, he was having too much fun fucking with his friend to stop. "And fuck the cane. You have to get too close to club a zombie with a cane. Me? I can kill a smasher through a fucking door." Thinking back to the day he'd saved Maddie made him chuckle in spite of himself and glance down at his partially-healed hand.
Brandon turned his head and watched Silas light a cigarette, and rolled his eyes. "Those fucking things are gonna kill you faster than any zombie, bro." He'd never been a fan of smoking himself. Half the people he knew did it; Leah, Charlie had... half the fucking compound were smokers, but Brandon wasn't into it. His vice was booze. And considering how much he drank, that was more than enough of a vice for him. He did it enough, anyway.
Making a face and narrowing his eyes at Silas when he blew the smoke in his face, he turned his head back to the window. "Ass," he seethed. "And there's no feeling more gratifying than making a fucking runner's head pop when he's coming at you full tilt." A wry grin. "Stops 'em right in their fucking tracks, I'll tell you that."
Nodding his chin once in acknowledgment, Brandon chuckled. "Good. Sucks not having someone to fuck around with out there. Someone who can keep up with me, I mean."
Brandon nodded his head when Silas talked about his explosives and took that as an opening to present his gifts. He tilted his head in the direction of the duffel sitting on the floor a few feet away and then turned his attention back to Silas with a little smirk. The explosive parts were in there, as were three high-grade booze bottles and a little creative gift of Brandon's own.
"Everything in there's yours, bro. You can keep the bag too, by the way. Got it from one of the camping places in town."