Page 9 of Dealing With Drak

“Making fun of me,” I correct. “Teasing me, turning my problem into a joke.”

As frustrated as I get with Drak, I do try to explain things he doesn’t comprehend in English. It’s not fair to be mad at him when he can’t understand why. It’s not fair to be mad at him in general most of the time, but we can’t all be Saints, can we?

“I do not tease you,” he denies softly. “I wish to take you to your brothers. I am a superior hunter—” he pauses to smirk “—as you know. Why should we not go?”

My whole body tingles with a shiver, and I swallow back some sort of emotion.

“Maybe I don’t want you to come.”

He snorts like the thought is ridiculous. “An-nana, you will not leave without me. Who would keep you safe?”

My nostrils flare. “I will keep me safe.”

His chuckle has me rethinking my decision to allow him into my space.

“Mean One, you are stubborn but you are also smart. You would not go without me.” He’s so sure of himself, and goddammit, I wish he were wrong. “I will make it much easier for you simply by standing at your side. None of your zom-bays will seek us out.”

Resigned, I turn my head to the side, ignoring his glimmering eyes. “I don’t want to go anyway. It’s a dumb idea, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

In a rare turn of events, Drak catches my hint. He rolls onto his back at my side and changes the subject effortlessly. “Do you wish to speak of B’rook’s pet? It is very ugly, not soft or smart like Ch’ta.”

Rem’s space cat is not a good comparison to Brooke’s ‘pet’, if you can even call it that. Harold is the result of Brooke being tired of cooking canned meat. Mention to the Aprixians that you want a real chicken, and apparently, they’ll fucking find one.

Brooke should have taken into account the fact that she did not want to kill and butcher the thing before complaining about preserved chicken meat. To her credit, no one expected that livestock was even an option until the alien bros presented one to her a week ago.

So now we have what must be the last chicken on Earth, waddling around our fenced-in yard like some kind of pet. It takes a lot of learned patience and practiced social cues to not cut the little guy’s head off and fry him up for dinner. He would be delicious, but Drak is right—he is ugly.

Also, I’m not entirely convinced that the chicken isn’t carrying some kind of virus like the zombie one as it is. Apparently, I’m too paranoid to take the risk.

“Yes, Harold is very ugly,” I agree. “I prefer beef anyway, and no, I really don’t want you to fetch me a cow.”

“Cow is the Moo animal, yes?” he asks, grinning like he already knows he’s correct and he’s proud.

“Yes.”

He hums, pleased with himself. “Is the Moo animal your favorite creature?”

“To eat, sure,” I grumble. “I don’t have a favorite creature. They’re either useful, food, or I don’t think about them.”

Drak finds this amusing, letting out a hardy laugh. “R’win are my favorite creature. They are very small and soft to touch, but they are very unkind to strangers.” He pokes my arm playfully. “Much like you, An-nana.”

Ignoring his comparison, I let out a breath. “What do they look like?”

“Hmmm,” he rumbles, considering this. “Hu-nims have small puppies, yes? I have seen pictures of these. R’win are like tiny puppies, with floppy ears, large eyes, and curly tails. Oh, and they are orange.”

“I can’t see you petting something so tiny and soft,” I comment. I see Drak carrying more metal than anything else. Swords, knives, guns, and so on. He’s a weapons nerd.

I can hear him puff up his chest. “If Ch’ta were still here I could show you that I am very good with soft little creatures. They love me.”

My eyes roll, and I look at him. “You think everyone loves you.”

He stiffens ever so slightly. “No,” Drak says quietly. “I do not think that everyone loves me.”

Foot in mouth.

These guys come from a planet with a huge population of men and a small number of women. Most of the guys die without ever kissing a woman let alone loving one. Feeling guilty for the comment, I hope my face isn’t too red, but I don’t turn away.

“If you’re going to help me find my family, we’re going to need a plan.”