One Last Whisper [c.g]

[1]

My breath is coarse and hard, scratchy and sour.
I spit out the bile slowly creeping up my throat. Ron softly cries to himself as I drag out the last body.

The four of us...only fourteen years old. We should have been partying and having fun...yet here we stood, burning the flesh of a man who use to make us breakfast every morning. Gruesome.

I neglect Sissy's lighter, which she holds out to me with weak and shaky fists. Instead of taking the lighter, I waste my time fumbling to light a match from the sand paper box. Trying once: failing, twice, a third time - until the small flame finally ignites.

"I'm sorry" I whisper, dropping the match down onto the pile of bodies.
Sissy chokes on her tears, doubling down and letting out a series of sad and pained filled sobs. Her long blonde hair grazes against the dirt as she heaves, bouncing along the surface.

Disaster strikes camp and all that is left, is a couple of fourteen year old drop kicks, who couldn't light a match, let alone look after themselves.

Everyone felt sad. Hell, we felt like a chunk of our hearts had been ripped out.
I mean, you kinda get that feeling when everyone you know and ever loved is gone. Right in front of your eyes. Somehow you're forced to accept that everyone you've ever known is gone. The mailman is gone, your second grade teacher is gone, even your primary school bully. It's funny. You never realise the true extent of death until you see it with your own eyes. Until then, it's carried by the wind, by sound.
Until you see it with your own two eyes, death is just a myth.

"Stop it" I hiss at Sissy. My voice is angry and disheartened. I can't help it. I just feel so cheated. Cheated from a chance at real living. Cheated from happiness.
"We don't get to cry!" I tell her, watching Sissy stare back at me with hurt eyes. "As soon as we cry, the simplest of one tear, we let them win"
Sissy raises her eyebrow.
"So what?! This is it?! We let this go, we move on, we find another group to die on us?" Her shoulders sag as exhales loudly. I sigh.
"Maybe. But I sure as hell know this: we could have died. Lord knows we SHOULD have died and we can thank our lucky stars we didn't. I've got at least a few more days until I do die. I know that Karen wouldn't want us spending our last days crying huh? I know I don't want to."
For a minute I feel selfish, selfish for yelling at her.

I look at the growing flame in front of my eyes and then tuck the matches back into my pocket.
This is it. This is where it all ends. Our camp. Our hope. Our start to life. Disaster strikes and we're back to square one.

I turn and walk back to camp with Ron. He's taller, wearing a blood soaked flannel and torn black jeans. I am small in comparison to his lean frame. His shadow guides me back to our camp, or at least, what's left of it.

Sissy follows from far behind, gathering her feelings and thoughts. All is silent...except the jiggle of my gun against my thighs and the crunch of dead leaves beneath my thick black boots.

"Y/n?" I hear Ron say, his shoulders brushing against mine as we walk. "I'll pack up whats left of the food we have, round up Hockey and Butch so we can get going before sun down, maybe find some shelter?" He brings his weak fists to his face and rubs his eyes. Poor boy. He must have been tired. Ron always did have this sleeping problem. He'd either get too much of it or not enough of it. His red and puffy eyes show he'd gotten none- despite Hockey stating he should go get some.

"That would be good. After the gunshots, we aren't safe here. Sissy isn't coping well...she needs a distraction." I grip Ron's free hand tightly as we enter the ruined camp. Blood stains and muck all around. This place has been hit with a hurricane of grief.
I gulp, approaching Hockey, who is sitting on the ground with two hunting knives and grinding them together to sharpen the blade. It's his nervous twitch. I've grown to accept it as trauma. Something bad went wrong in his past, and so he grinds his knives to sharpen the blade. So that he can be ready for anything. I just wish he was ready for last night.

Hockey's back is slumped and his muscles are flexed. His short brown hair tousled weirdly after the bad haircut Sissy had given him. His white singlet is stained with dry blood. Hockey looks unfazed by the events that had just taken place. He never really connected with our camp. That was just Hockey, and I'd stopped questioning him ages ago.
"Hockey" I shout, grabbing the attention of the teen. He was the eldest of us all, a year or so older than me. Sixteen and he looked eighteen. Hockey was use to being the leader and calling the shots. That was, until he met me.

Hockey stands up and wraps his arms around me. Something that I would not have been okay with a few years ago. Now, his hug was the closest thing I had to comfort. To a reminder that I still had family.

My hair is pinched beneath his thick muscled arms but I return the embrace.
"Where's Butch?" I ask him quietly, my hands patting his back gently.

Butch was a big dog, who belonged to my neighbour. I was never allowed near Butch. He was a cross breed between a Great Dane and a Pitbull and had no intentions of being a friendly dog. That was, until the amazing and almighty Hockey tamed Butch into a walker killing machine.
Butch was as good as any gun and more valuable to the group at this point than any.

When Hockey releases me from his arms, I step back. With the leaves tinted red with blood, I trudge along and head towards my tent. When I am inside, I begin peeling off what little cloth I have on until I'm just in my bra. I look down at my stomach, churning from hunger and the infected wound stretched across it. It looked nasty. Puss beading around the edges, some parts scabby and other parts glowing with raw flesh.

My eyes prickled with tears as I began dribbling the bourbon alcohol across it. I grunted as a pathetic attempt to not scream but ended up screaming anyway. In a matter or seconds, Hockey comes rushing inside my tent.

He wasn't the least bit alarmed that I was half naked. All he did was gently push me onto the matress and take the alcohol out of my hand.

He took a wad of tissues out of his pocket and dabbed it with the alcohol.
"I think you should...take some." He requested, holding out the bourbon. I slyly smile, taking it from him and gulping it down. It stings as it passes down my throat- but it feels good. Then, I pass the alcohol back to him. He re-wets the tissues in his hands.
"I think it's infected" I say, watching him.
"Just take a deep breath." He whispers, extending his hand out. I take a deep breath, exhaling in and out.
Then my stomach sets on fire and my flesh feels like its ripping off. I try my best not to scream my lungs out as he wipes the blood and torn tissue with the alcohol wipe.

I had gotten cut while running from walkers last night. I hadn't had anytime to attend to it and now I was paying the ultimate price.

I had met Hockey about a week into the apocalypse. He was with Butch, my neighbours dog, when I met him.
Hockey was tough as nails. He was the kind of survivor that people looked at in envy. Had enough muscle to do just about anything. He didn't come from a good household either, but that never stopped him from always choosing to do the right thing.
His older brother had murdered his father back before the apocalypse...and his mother had suffered from depression because of it. He didn't take it to heart though. He just kept on living. Something I admired thoroughly.

Hockey wipes away the blood and passes me a clean shirt from my duffel bag.
"Thanks, Hockey" I smile. He nods, looking me up and down before leaving the tent. This gives me time to pack some stuff.

By the middle of the day we're ready to go, all packed into one truck, squeezed against each other. Butch is in the front, Ron is driving and Sissy is on my left, so me and Hockey are squeezed up together.
The truck engine starts and we begin our journey to nowhere in particular.

The road isn't bumpy, it's just Ron's driving. Nobody cares though, we are all here together and that is what matters.