The Railroad

Chapter 17

The brunet stayed in the same spot, gazing hopelessly at the spot in the trees Dream had just gone through. He couldn't tell him about the cure, it would only put him in danger. He trusted him so much, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that he couldn't lose him.

But did he try to stop him? Did he keep him from walking away? No. No he didn't. Would Dream come back? Yes. Yes he would. Did George want him to? Of course he did. Was he gonna let him? He wasn't.

Putting out the fire, he gathered all of their stuff into a neat pile. He put Dream's bag on the ground, resting against a tree, and slung his own onto his back. Just as he was about to leave, he remembered that he was still wearing Dream's jacket. With a deep sigh, he undid the zipper and let it fall off his shoulders, then he folded it and set it atop the blond's other belongings.

Dream was going to be upset when he came back, but it was better this way. He would move on, go back to his smuggling until the world was back to normal. It would take time, but this was the only way George could be sure he'd be safe.

With that final thought, he walked away in the opposite direction of Dream.

~~~

It had been maybe half an hour since George left the campsite, as well as the place last place he'd seen Dream. The last place he'd ever see Dream. It stung, more than he thought it would, but he was doing what was right. At least that's what he kept telling himself.

He was having a hard time convincing himself, though. If this was the right thing to do, why was it this painful? He knew the lifelong quote "if you love them, let them go," but he still couldn't get behind it. He'd known Dream for a little longer than a week, yet he felt so connected to him that being without him now made him feel empty again.

The brunet tried to be strong, but he was close to turning around.

Normally he was good at this sort of thing: pushing his feelings away, ignoring them for the purpose of making the smarter decision. But Dream's personality was compelling, the feeling of their hands together was unexplainable, and the presence of the blond was calming. He was far from calm at this moment.

He was about to do it, he was about to turn around. And then a loud clang came from the car on the road in front of him. He froze, feeling a wave of déjà vu hit him. The rattling kept going; it sounded like something was continuously beating the side of the car with a rock. George's hands began to shake as he warily began to creep to the side of the car.

He was sure to stay a good distance away from it, having seen enough horror movies to know better. Soon, after moving a few feet, he could see the head of the thing through the window. It was clearly a zombie, the rotting flesh showing on the scalp that was missing clumps of hair gave it away, but the smell was, of course, the biggest indicator.

Plugging his nose with one hand, he backed away slowly, keeping his eyes on the zombie that was entirely absorbed with hitting the rock on the car. To go back the way he came from, he had to go more towards the right, where he would be in direct sight of the zombie if it looked his way. He was about to get away, close to the brick wall that would allow him to breathe again, when he got a good look at what the zombie was actually doing.

It wasn't a rock it was beating on the car: it was the head of a person. It was trying to get the brain out of the poor man's head, so it was attempting to crack it open. It was close to succeeding; there was a bloody mess all over the door, the zombie's hands, and the man's limp head.

George called out at the sight, gagging and tripping over his own feet as he backed away. The noise alerted the zombie of his presence, and it quickly turned its attention to the brunet who was now on the ground. It stood and began to slowly walk closer to him, completely forgetting about the meal it left behind. George scooted back as far he could until he hit something that he was too scared to look back and identify.