3 | We Who Survive the Apocalypse | ✅

Chapter 1 - Flames

I watch the horizon as often as I can. Izzy says it's pointless, and Seth says we'll probably have to move on soon, but I refuse to give up hope.

I did that once before, and it nearly broke me apart. No, hope is all I have left of them. Of him. I have to just believe he'll come back to me, and maybe, maybe he will.

I lost my calendar back in Finley, so I have no idea how long it's been since we were separated. But it feels like an eternity.

Seth says it's probably been close to a month, and Izzy agrees. They seem to have become numb to the loss of the others. But Mara cries herself to sleep at night.

I've grown tired of crying, but there's still this horrible aching in my chest that keeps me watching the horizon every chance I get.

Seth's dark hair reaches his shoulders now, so I know he's probably right about how much time has passed. Izzy keeps chopping her raven curls off as best she can with a knife, but Seth won't let her near him with it.

Mara braids my hair. She told me it's therapeutic, and it is relaxing, because I'm able to focus on the way her fingers run through my hair, lightly touching my skull sometimes, instead of the way I feel so...empty.

It's snowing again today. I watch the flakes drifting lazily down to earth as I sit on the front steps of the small house we're taking shelter in. Mara is braiding my hair for the third time since this morning.

Seth and Hudson are off hunting. Seth decided we could use another ally, despite Izzy's protests. She doesn't trust Hudson. Neither do I, really, despite the fact that he hasn't done anything suspicious. We both made a silent agreement to keep an eye on him.

Mara gently parts my brown hair down the middle, laying one half over my shoulder before beginning to run her fingers through the other half.

Izzy is somewhere in the house, probably sleeping. She's still as moody as ever, and as eager to argue with Seth as she ever was. I've had to break up several disagreements between the two of them that have come so close to blows. Hudson still watches these insane exchanges with alarm; Mara usually leaves before they really get going.

The quiet here is refreshing, after the seemingly constant noise of Finley. But, unfortunately, it yields little distraction from the absence of them. Of him.

I watch the distant tree line, just willing for him and the others to come walking out into the meadow, across the dusting of snow, and never leave again.

I can't bring myself to say their names, his name, anymore. I can't even think his name or it feels like a knife is being driven through my heart. It seems, since he's been gone, my feelings for him have deepened. After all, absence makes the heart grow fonder, I suppose. And it's such a cruel thing.

There's a part of me that tries to resign itself to the fact that they could never come back. But I just can't bring myself to do it. So I just have to keep hoping, even if it means that I'll be hoping forever.

I'm afraid to confide in Mara about it. I know she misses them, even more than me, and I don't want to upset her. It's harder on her, because of...things.

We ate our last rabbit today. Seth said that it shouldn't be too hard to find some more, but it's so cold, I'm not so sure.

Mara's hands shake as she begins to braid my hair. Her fingers are freezing as they brush my neck, slowly, meticulously folding the strands together.

"Why don't we go inside and finish by the fire?" I ask. I'm bundled up warmly, but she always takes her gloves off to braid my hair.

"Okay," she replies, and I hear her boots scrape the wooden porch as she stands.