1 (of 2)
Temptations circled Marcus like buzzards during that drove. The urge to lash out did present itself after the gun was removed from the picture. He didn't know shit about her draw abilities, but he knew pretty well where to hit in order to dislocate a jaw from the side (one of the more effective, if desperate ways he'd found to avoid getting bit, so long as you wore heavy gloves or did it with a weapon). A crash could afford him the opportunity to get away. On foot. In the goddamn sun.
Every minute that passed -- each one just putting more distance and shambling corpses between him and his shit that he'd have to traverse alone -- made that fantasy less appealing. Besides, she'd started together full sentences at him, and the last couple hadn't even been threats, so it was possible she wasn't a cannibal. While Marcus wasn't exactly in the mood to have a conversation with the bitch, that did cause him to relax a bit in his seat. Even moreso than the gun being put to rest. It was fucking irritating that she'd clocked his bag, but it meant that she wasn't stupid. Not stupid could potentially be dealt with in a civil manner, without bloodshed. These days, civility was a fucking luxury, one Marcus craved even more than fresh water.
Wasn't that why he'd presented friendly when she'd thrown open the door of the truck? Wasn't that really what he was looking for, at the end of the day?
Still pissed off about the hard-ass-bitch routine, Marcus didn't break the silence as they drove. It was in essence a sulk, rare for him, but the urge to question her about who the fuck she was (and whether she had people -- she had to have people -- were they a city compound? Was she some kind of scout or enforcer from Austin? Was there a medical safehouse where a shit-stupid mother hadn't tried to hide her son's infection -- and subsequently her own -- from the rest of the staff, putting everyone at risk and ultimately destroying everything they'd fucking worked for?)... that urge was there, just at war with the one to see her on the wrong side of a gun, or feel that good ol' mandibular condyle snap out of position. Aim a fist right at the delicate notch and fuck up her food supply a bit.
But then... what? Beat her to death or leave her broken in the truck, easy prey? Not exactly his style, either way. The gun could also certainly come into play again, even if he landed the hit and got time to follow through. Her aim might be less true with a dangling mandible to contend with, but that just meant her shot might not kill him outright. Then they'd both be fucked up, with him more likely to die than she was. And of course, he'd never get the answers to any questions.