Not one to argue with gun-wielding blondes, Marcus had been about to depart from the cab of the truck. It stung to lose the food, but it wasn't his truck, so what the fuck did he care? Then all of a sudden she was pushing her way in through the open driver's door, blocking his exit and forcing him to scramble backwards into the passenger's side unless he wanted to let her climb right over and past him (and while she wasn't unattractive, the gun made that so far from sexy that the option didn't even occur).
“The fuck?!” Since his view out had been primarily blocked by her, he could only assume what she'd seen when she turned her head. It was confirmed after she'd climbed in and slammed the door on rotten, twisting fingers.
Damn. Assuming she wasn't just a crazy bitch (possible, all things were possible in this fucked up new world), there could very well be an entire herd coming up on them. It might have been unfair to blame her for that. Last he knew, angry white women had no more control over the movement of zombies than he did. But fair didn't really factor into it. In his bones, Marcus was sure that if this woman had only shown up an twenty minutes later, he would have been on his way and out of that sweltering truck.
Given that she'd come in on the driver's side, when she ordered him to go, Marcus raised an eyebrow at her.
Sure, he could easily reach the gear shift and turn the key in the ignition, but – assuming the damn thing even started, which he hadn't exactly been planning on testing -- he'd have to lean across her to steer the wheel, and that was a level of intimacy he didn't feel entirely comfortable with, just yet. Never mind the fact that they'd be driving blind; the windows were all fucked up with dust and zombies. Or that a sharp turn or bump in the road could cause her to squeeze that trigger, shuffling him right off the mortal fucking coil once and for all. The crawlers climbing all over the truck were concerning, but the dead weren't clever, and the truck had seemed pretty whole when he'd found it. More concerning was the fact that he was now trapped somewhere he didn't want to be with a strange bitch holding a gun on him.
Opening the passenger door he was now sitting by was an option, but one that threatened to spill him right out onto a cooking corpse, however. Even if he managed to prat fall his way past the waiting arms of eager zombies, he didn't have the promise of a nearby shower to console him if he landed in a pool of bloated viscera and maggots. Fuck that.
“Not my truck, chica,” he said, almost sighed, he shifted the gear from park to neutral before cautiously reaching up to turn the ignition key. Part of him hoped it wouldn't start. Then they'd have to make a run for it and he could just lose the bitch in the chaos. Maybe get eaten in the process, but who was planning to live forever? It was just as likely that they'd catch her first, buying him enough time to split. Coin toss, really. He could end up lucky. “Might not fucking start.”
Alas, his luck really had turned to shit. The engine turned over. There was even gas in the tank. Fuck. Fine. Marcus actually growled in annoyance, and hoped he didn't end up too far from his own ride when all of this was said and done. His arm was long enough that he could have one hand on the wheel from the passenger side without getting entirely in front of her, at least. So if there was a God, He was still handing out piss poor favors.
“Better hit the fucking gas,” he informed her, since he couldn't get his feet on the pedals without sitting on her lap. That mental image had him flashing his teeth again, but the expression only barely resembled a grin this time. Rotting predators clawing at the windshield made it difficult to stay jovial. He'd have to have a proper laugh later, if his skull was still intact.