It’s an odd thing to take one last look, and to know it is the last. It’s an odd thought to have, an odd realization to come to. He allows this to flood his mind, to fill his body, to spark to life the heart he’s tried so hard to bury. He allows the walls he’s built to crumble. He allows the dam he blocks his emotions with to crack and shatter. He allows himself to feel.
He takes this all in until it overwhelms him. His face runs hot, his eyes wet, his heart pounds, and he weeps. Quietly at first, until he feels himself falling to the place he wont be able to return from. He hastily reaches for the zipper on the tent door and pulls it down, opening it just enough for him to slip out. He closes the door back up, and stumbles to the dried out fire pit a few paces away.
His defenses are fully worn down. His emotions have reached their highest peak. He collapses to his knees, his hands press into the dirt, and his head rests on the ground. He feels the final break coming, and he doesn’t try to stop it. He sobs like a man full of regret, a man that failed at being a protector, at being a husband, at being a father, at being a person. A man that failed his family, that failed himself.
The pain in his gut shifts from a stabbing to a squeezing, a pain that is rapidly engulfing his whole body. His vision is beginning to blur, his thoughts are beginning to fade. He can’t feel the dirt even though he knows he’s gripping it. It’s almost time. He has to run.
With all the might he can muster he pushes against the ground until his knees are under him. He forces himself up to his feet. He staggers forward not knowing where he’s going, and not caring, as long as he gets far away from here.
He moves as quickly as his body will let him. He stumbles and sways knocking into trees. He pushes away from them and continues on down a trail to nowhere. His eyes feel heavy, but he knows if he closes them that when they open again it’s not going to be him that’s seeing out of them.
His mouth hangs open as he treks along the woods under the pale foreboding glimmer of the moonlit sky. Saliva, or maybe blood, drips from his mouth and onto his shirt. He doesn’t know which, and it’s far past time to be concerned with that.
The trees thin out, the land flattens becoming less uneven. The moonlight shines bright like a flashlight being held high above, illuminating his final journey. His eyes twitch, their lids only providing a narrow slant of vision.
He slams into a boulder, and lays against it. He swoons, and rocks back and forth. His entire body feels like it’s on fire, a devious flame of smothering certainty. He hears a rushing of noise crashing about. It sounds like water, like a river flowing.
He fights against his own body, and pulls his head back. He tilts up as much as he can, until his small gap of vision is pointing ahead of him. He sees the river. This is the best place he could be. If he can fall in the water it’ll take him far away from here. Far away from his family.
He rolls off the boulder and falls to the ground. He digs his hands into the grass and pulls himself toward the river. He reaches the edge, then throws himself into the water. With his last breathes he was finally able to do something right, something worthwhile.
“Markus?” he hears his wife say.
It’s muddled and shaky, but he’s sure it’s her. He knows her voice better than he knows anything else. How is he hearing her? He’s in a river, floating far away from them. He’s doing the only thing he can do to help them.
“Markus?” she calls to him again.
Her voice is further away now and distorted. He’s confused. His mind tumbles and spins, his own brain doesn’t make sense anymore. It’s playing tricks on him. It has to be. He feels a pressure on his shoulder. He smells rubbing alcohol, like the kind they use to keep their hands clean.
“Markus?” she says once more.
It sounds like a whisper now. He’s swooning and pulsing in and out of consciousness. His slight scope of vision reduces for the final time, fully closing the darkness around him. He feels as though he’s falling in an endless abyss. Down, down, down, then nothing.
Her hand rests upon her husband’s shoulder. Even through his shirt she can feel he’s burning up. The cuts must be infected, brining on a fever, she thinks. Maybe that’s why he’s out here in the cold knelt down by the fire pit.
“Markus, are you feeling alright?” she asks.
He doesn’t respond with words, but he gurgles and moans. He slowly rises from his knees to his feet, in the most cumbersome and unruly manner. She places her other hand on his side, he feels even hotter now than he did just a few moments ago.
“Mom?” she hears her son say.
She looks back to the tent to see Patrick hanging halfway out the door, inquisitively watching his parents.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“It’s alright, go back to bed, your father just isn't feeling well.”
She watches as her son’s face flushes white, transforming from a look of confusion to one of terror. She feels Markus’ arm wrap around her chest, his hot breath thrust upon her neck, then his teeth latching onto her flesh.
“MOM!” Patrick screams, the most morbid sound carrying her name forth.
She peers up over her shoulder to see her husband’s bloodshot eyes lifelessly starring back at her. His head comes down again, and tears another chunk out of her.
“STOP! STOP!” Patrick shouts, his voice screeching and quaking with despair.
Kylie turns to her husband and tries to shove him away from her, but as he falls back he grabs her arm, and she tumbles to ground with him.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! PLEASE STOP! PLEASE! DAD! DAD! PLEASE!” Patrick frantically shouts, not understanding what his father is doing or why.
She tries to scramble to her feet, but he’s stronger than she is and he pulls her back down into him. Her head smacks against the rocks of the fire pit. Her mind rattles and everything turns to a blur. She feels a cold rush spilling down her face as she fades into bleak nothingness. His fingers rip away at her exposed stomach, pulling skin and flesh from her.
Patrick falls back inside the tent, his chest a torrid mess of convulsions. His body shakes rigorously. He screams up at the rip in the tent, at the moon, at the stars in the sky, and at the wind that washes past it, the wind which creates a slight hum that is no longer soothing. He grabs the handgun that his father has been teaching him how to use.
Kylie’s struggles dwindle down rapidly until her body goes limp, laid across her husband, blood spilling from her, a crimson stream of confused anguish. Markus swings his arms and legs wildly, scooting from side to side, getting out from under the heavy mass of flesh that no longer has a beating heart calling to him.
Patrick's hands tremble violently as he raises the gun up and aims it at his father.
"D-Dad, s-stop, please, please." the distraught boy begs.
His father groans as blood spouts from his mouth. He ploddingly staggers in the direction of his son. His arms raise up and stretch out. His fingers curl in then extend back out, over and over, as his onward trudge continues to the newly discovered pumping murmur beckoning him.
"STOP!" Patrick screams, shrilly and painfully.
His father does not stop. He stomps forward, slowly bounding down upon him. He clicks the safety on the gun, unlocking it.
"DAD! WHY?!" he asks, his desperation reaching it's peak.
His father's hand comes down on his head hard, grabbing his hair and pulling him up to his feet. The gun fires without Patrick even realizing he's pulled the trigger. His father stumbles back, a hole blasted through his chest. He stops for a moment and wheezes, then puts his arms back up, and reaches for the frightened boy again.
He pulls the trigger once more. His father's head jolts back, and he falls. His moaning ceases, his arms lay flat on the ground, and his chest deflates.
Patrick's tears erupt from him, and he falls to the ground. His body erratically thrashes. He pulls his knees to his chest, clutching them so tightly it hurts. He rocks back and forth continually asking, "Why?" to himsel
f, to no one.
There were no goodbyes.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"How often have you been to this area?" Rosaline asks, brushing hair off her sweaty forehead.
"This exact area, only twice before.” Hawaii replies, “We've been slowly expanding out as we rotate hunting grounds, seems to keep animals around longer.
"Up ahead looks pretty open. You sure we're safe?"
Sweetie causally bumps into Rosaline's arm, gaining her attention. She slows down allowing Hawaii to resume leading their three person hunting pack.
"¡Ay bendito! Why you stressin', nena!" she exclaims, flashing a smile.
"I just, I don't like to be exposed."
"Oh yeah," -Sweetie's brow raises in a manner that could only be interpreted as alluring- "never?"
The small warrior breaks eye contact with the teasing Latina, her shy temperament rearing it's head. Sweetie brushes against her again.
"Be comfortable with me."
Rosaline's nervous state continues as she hastily nods, "Okay, yeah."
"Okay?" Sweetie asks, grinning.
"I'm trying, I am, I just, um, I don't know."
Sweetie throws her head back, "¡Ay nena!" -she bumps Rosaline once more- "No, don't do that! Don't be shy, talk to me!" she says, giggling as she pokes at the timid woman.
"Sorry, I, um," -Rosaline's face flushes, reddening as if the sun were pounding upon only her- "I think you're cool and, you know, um, pretty."
Sweetie's smile extends from ear to ear. She giggles, "You just call me pretty nena?" she says.
"Ugh, yeah," -Rosaline's face scrunches, disgusted with herself- "that was lame."
"Yeah, a little."
Rosaline's skittishness eases allowing her to join Sweetie in laughing.
"Tell me something real, nena. Tell me about your mom."
Rosaline takes in a deep breath, wanting to allow herself to open up.
"She was amazing."
She can't help but to glow when thinking about her mother.
"She was really smart, and funny, and even though this world is so fucked up she never let us feel it. She made us feel safe."
"Us?" Sweetie asks, her head turning to look at Rosaline, slightly angling down, her hair sweeping over the side of her face.
"Yeah, me and my sister."
"What happened to them?"
"They...uh..."
Rosaline's voice cracks, her eyes swell, her hand nervously rustles with her hair.
"Hey" -Sweetie hunches down to her eye level- "it's okay, you don't have to."
"No, no," -Rosaline shakes her head regaining her composure- "I want to."
She inhales again, sharply, swallowing down the pain these memories bring her.
"We had set up camp, at the top of a hill, figured we could hear them coming if, if they did, but...I don't know what happened. Regan, my sister, was supposed to be keeping watch so mom could sleep some..."
She trails, swallowing down more anguish.
"It's okay." Sweetie says, comforting her.
"I woke up with my mom's hand covering my mouth, she was...that fucking thing was pulling her apart. We tried to run, but, one got Regan too."
"Can I?" Sweetie asks, with her arms out wide.
Rosaline nods then Sweetie pulls her in close, wrapping her arm around the distraught woman's shoulders.
"I'm so sorry nena."
"Yeah" -Rosaline wipes the tears from her face- "me too."
Sweetie hugs her tightly, resting her head upon Rosaline's.
"Hey, I have a odd question." says Rosaline.
"What?"
"What does 'nena' mean?"
Sweetie laughs, throwing her head back, genuinely surprised by the question.
"It means like girl or woman."
"And...ban...bandito?"
"¡Ay bendito!"
"Yeah" -a chuckle escapes her- "that one."
"It's an expression, it means, like, 'Oh you poor thing' like kinda surprised but understanding."
"So, it's kind of an insult?"
"I mean, I guess it can be, but that's not what I mean when I say it."
"What language is that?"
"You don't know what Spanish is?!"
"I mean, I don't really know anything, you know. I've never met anyone who speaks another language."
"Shit, really?"
Rosaline nods, feeling a bit embarrassed.
"I mean, yeah, I get that, I guess. There was lots of different people in the community. My abuela-”
Sweetie catches herself, noticing the scrunching of Rosaline's face.
“Abuela means grandma. My mama and my abuela spoke Spanish to us a lot, always talked to us about Puerto Rico, they said it was important to keep cultures alive, to pass them on, or they die, you know?"
"That makes sense. I'm Japanese, but I don't really know anything about it. My mom was born in America, so were her parents, but their parents were born in Japan. I never knew any of them."
"And your dad?"
"He was Japanese-American too, but I never knew him. He died when I was really young."
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine, can't miss what you didn't know."
Sweetie wraps her arm around Rosaline again, "I like you nena."
She blushes, her eyes wander up to meet Sweetie's, "I like you too."
Hawaii pops into view coming back up from the hill in front of them, lightly jogging to meet them.
"Just down in the valley, we got a deer there last time." he says.
It's game time. The three unpack the supplies they brought with them, and make a camp site to store their provisions. They push a log down into the valley. Rosaline and Sweetie set up on the log with their rifles, covering themselves with the green blanket they brought.
Hawaii climbs a tree near them, hunkering down against it on a solid branch. He scans the area with his binoculars, keeping his crossbow at the ready.
Nearly three hours pass with the three keeping total silence, waiting for their meal to come into view. Rosaline is surprised that the usually talkative Sweetie is able to keep calm for this long. She figures Hawaii wouldn't have brought her if she couldn't handle it.
Rosaline's thoughts go the Mikey. She wonders how he's doing without her today. This is the longest they've ever been apart, and she misses him dearly. Sweetie's shoulder nudges against hers. Her eyes dart from Rosaline's to somewhere in the field to the left of them.
Rosaline studies the landscape. It takes only a short moment before she sees the point of interest, a deer. Not very large, but enough for them. She hears Sweetie gulp down a breath and watches as her face presses up against the scope on the rifle.
CRACK! The bullet whizzes from the barrel ferociously screaming across the field, and impacting with a loud 'THUD' into the side of the deer. The animal stalls, for just a second, then collapses to the ground.
Sweetie jumps up, tossing the blanket off them, and throwing her arms high into the air.
"!Mamey!" she exclaims.
Rosaline stands to her feet, laying her rifle against the log.
"Mamey?" she asks, with an inquisitive look.
Sweetie, feeling quite proud of herself, looks to Rosaline.
"It's like, 'this is easy' or 'easy peasy.'"
Rosaline chuckles, "Okay..."
"What?" -Sweetie's eyebrows raise- "I'm cute!"
Before Rosaline can respond, "DAMNIT!" is yelled from behind them. Hawaii slides down from his perched nest.
"I had it in my sights!"
"Too slow chacho!"
"As much as I hate to admit it, Sweetie is our best shot." he says.
She looks to Rosaline, a smirk spanning across her face, "Damn right!"
"Calm down now. Best shot for sure, but a poor hunter overall."
"Hey, I do the part that matters most!"
He laughs at her braggadocios manner.
"Loser walks, chacho!"
"Yeah, yeah." he says, shaking his head as he s
ets off to claim their dinner.
Sweetie pats Hawaii on the back as he passes them, still boasting about her victory. Her attention turns back to Rosaline. The two stand silently, gazing into each other's eyes, a big smile painted across Rosaline's face.
"What?!" Sweetie asks.
"That was impressive."
"I know!"
Rosaline rolls her eyes, "Shut up!"
Sweetie giggles as she picks her rifle back up.
"Let's go pack everything up."
Rosaline grabs her rifle, and the blanket, and follows Sweetie up the hill. Hawaii is clever with the way he lays their supplies out, making the repacking process a short one. A trait he no doubt picked up from the ever-organized Zee.
Hawaii rejoins them as they're finishing up. The three trek back across the woods on their way to the farm. As is The Family's usual practice they do not return down the exact same route they traveled previously. Hawaii has taken to believing it's better if they don't always keep the same paths. To him, it's better to have multiple options in the event an escape is necessary.
Their return path leads across a patch of land where a house once resided. The building now rests in ruins, probably destroyed by weather over time. There is a small dilapidated barn on the land that is, for the most part, somehow still standing, as well as a spring house near a small creek.
The three decide to break for a moment, laying their packs down near the spring house, then setting off for the creek. They wash their faces, drink some water, and take a breather on the creek bank.
"It seems like you've scouted around the farm pretty well." Rosaline says.
"Mostly. There are still some areas we don't know very well, like this one." Hawaii replies.
"How often do you see diseased or Adapted out here?"
"Adapted? Like Talkers?"
"The smart ones." says Rosaline.
"Not very often. We haven't had a serious encounter in over a year."
"That's lucky. We saw them a lot on the road. It did thin out as we got closer to this area though."
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