Stories were told, time flowed, and everyone had fun. Even Henry, initially reserved, found himself drawn into the infectious energy.
Now, it was his turn.
"Alright, Maarg, you've been on a winning streak," Henry said, a rare, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. "Let's see if your luck holds against me." He held out his hand.
"Truth, paper, scissors!" Maarg declared with a flourish, throwing "rock."
Henry countered with "paper," covering Maarg's rock. A small gasp of surprise went through the truck. The undefeated Maarg had finally lost!
A triumphant smirk spread across Henry's face, quickly replaced by a thoughtful expression. He looked at Maarg, then around at the expectant faces of the others. "Alright, Maarg," Henry began, his voice taking on a slightly more serious tone than the previous lighthearted exchanges. "Tell us... did you have a girlfriend before the apocalypse?"
The seemingly innocuous question, delivered with Henry's typical quiet directness, hit Maarg like a physical blow. The playful glint in his eyes vanished instantly. His usually jovial face flinched, a flicker of pain and profound sadness passing over it. The easy camaraderie in the truck seemed to evaporate, replaced by a sudden, heavy silence. In his mind's eye, clear and agonizing, he saw the helpless image of Remmy, her vibrant smile, her quick wit, and then, the devastating sight of her crushed under the debris of a collapsed building, a victim of the very chaos he had always tried to bring order to. He swallowed hard, the laughter caught in his throat. The question was simple, but the answer was a wound that hadn't healed.
Even Gabby's ears seemed to perk up, her gaze fixed on Maarg, a rare flicker of intense curiosity in her usually aloof demeanor. Jack, however, saw the sudden shadow that crossed Maarg's face. He knew his friend well enough to recognize the pain behind the forced cheer, knew that this was a raw spot. It might be hard for Maarg to answer, even with the game's rules.
Maarg took a moment, his eyes distant for just a beat too long. The heavy silence stretched, the only sound the rumble of the truck's engine. Then, with a subtle shift, the familiar, easygoing smirk slowly returned to his face, a practiced mask falling back into place, masking the sudden moment of discomfort he felt.
"Kind of," Maarg simply replied, his voice a little lower than before, but the playful cadence was back. He offered no further details, leaving the implied tragedy hanging in the air, a story hinted at but not yet told. The simplicity of his answer, coupled with his quick return to his usual self, was a clear signal that the topic was closed, for now. The others, sensing the boundary, didn't press. The game, after all, was about sharing, but also about respect.
"Sorry Maarg, i didn't knew" Henry's voice was now sympathetic and low, his eyes met Jack's, as though telling him to shut up and not say anything because whatever he might say just escalate things even further
The atmosphere in the truck, though still lighthearted, held a new, deeper resonance after Maarg's guarded answer. Everyone felt the unspoken weight of the reality of this little game. The game continued, Maarg had been disqualified from his own game and now he was meary a spectator watching from sidelines
Now it was Gabby's turn. She sat across from Maarg, her usually stoic face betraying little emotion. On one side was the mostly cheerful Henry, still a little surprised by his victory over Maarg. On the other side was the enigmatic Gabby, whose past was as shrouded as the ruined city they approached.
"Truth, paper, scissors!" Henry called out, extending his hand and revealing "paper."
Gabby, her face still holding a hint of that wistful expression, met his move with "scissors."
A small, triumphant grin touched Henry's lips. "Looks like you're asking the questions now, Gabby," he said, indicating his loss. The quiet leader of their rescue group was now at Gabby's mercy for a truth.
Gabby paused, her dark eyes studying Henry for a moment, as if mapping out his character. Her voice, though still soft, had a newfound clarity. "Henry," she began, "you seem very organized, always planning. What's the riskiest, most impulsive thing you've ever done in your life?"
The question hung in the air, a direct challenge to Henry's controlled nature, inviting him to reveal a hidden facet of himself. The truck, with the distant silhouette of the CN Tower growing larger, held its breath.
Henry rubbed his nose, a faint, almost embarrassed smile playing on his lips. His usually stoic demeanor softened, revealing a glimpse of a different man from before the collapse. "To tell you the truth, I didn't start out like this," he admitted, a quiet chuckle escaping him. "When I was a young gun, I was short-tempered. Hot-headed, you could say." He paused, looking out at the ruined cityscape in the distance, a flicker of memory in his eyes. "Once, I broke into a crack den by myself. No backup, no plan, just walked right in." His gaze returned to Gabby, a spark of the old impulsiveness momentarily visible. "And I arrested the baldie who was cooking."
He left the story hanging there, a stark contrast to his current methodical nature. The image of the meticulous Scout, alone, busting into a drug den, was jarring and intriguing.
Maarg and Jack were the most surprised since the first time they had met Henry he was hugging and electric pole for his dear life while the undead down below waited for him to drop into their maws
A rare, genuine smile touched Gabby's lips as she heard Henry's confession. It was a fleeting expression, but warm and disarming. "I guess it's as they say," she murmured, her gaze holding a hint of admiration, "looks can be deceiving."
Her statement was a subtle acknowledgment of the complexity beneath Henry's calm exterior, a recognition that he, like her, carried a different past than his present demeanor suggested. It also subtly invited him to elaborate. The truck continued its rumble towards Toronto, the shared secrets weaving a stronger, more intricate bond between them.
Another round began, the rhythm of the game now familiar. "Rock, paper, scissors!" both Henry and Gabby said in unison, their voices perfectly synchronized.
Henry played rock. Gabby played scissors.
Henry's eyes lit up. He had won this round, and now the question was his to ask of the mysterious Gabby. He chuckled, a low sound that held a new edge of purpose. "So, Gabby," Henry began, his voice dropping slightly, becoming more deliberate. "Tell me... where did you find such a high-caliber gun, like a Desert Eagle, in Canada?"
His question was clear, sharp, and direct. He wasn't just curious; he was probing. He knew such a weapon was rare and tightly controlled, even before the apocalypse. The unspoken question hanging in the air was: he wanted to see if Gabby was a thief, or if her past held even darker secrets about how she came to possess such a formidable and unusual sidearm. The atmosphere in the truck, which had been lightened by shared stories, suddenly became tense once more, as the true nature of their new companion was put to the test.