Don't Whistle Past the Graveyard

Ch. Sixty-Seven

I used to think the woods were peaceful. Back when I was a kid, my best friend in grade school and her family would invite me to go camping with them and I loved it.

I don't really think that anymore.

To be fair, it's not solely the woods I've grown rather disenchanted with. I hate cities. I don't care overmuch for towns. There don't seem to be any good places in the world anymore.

I know, I know. That's dramatic. I'm sure there are places that are plenty peaceful and beautiful. But, you know, the waterfall or the meadow or whatever just doesn't stay spectacular when you're taking the time to look at it, then find yourself neck deep in dead people.

Tell you what... I'll tell you what I do like.

I like walls. And fences. I like places with lots of nearby water, just as long as it's semi-protected. No one wants to drink dead-body water, even when you boil it, and dead people don't avoid water even though they can't swim.

I don't like the south in the summertime. Partly because it's so blasted hot, but the next half of that equation is that everything grows down there. You can't see for the trees and the kudzu and the moss and the... every green thing that lives there.

I like being able to see from a damn long way off.

But my biggest dislike? The one that blows past everything. My Olympic gold medal level disliked thing?

Freaking people.

People sucked then and it turns out people suck now.

Except, then, there were rules. Laws. Not everyone followed them. Not everyone got punished. But for the most part it was a decent system.

Now, the rules are arbitrary. They vary from person to person, group to group. Some are simple and easy to understand. Others are complex. They take time and knowledge to hone. There is no such thing as 'law of the land'. Nothing common or binding between all people like there used to be. There is one ultimate understand. One final decree.

Death comes to us all.

It's an old understanding. One that's felt with varying levels of acuity throughout one's life. Our understanding and acceptance of it ebbs and flows with the passing of centuries.

Memento mori. Remember you are human. Remember you will die.

It's what was whispered to Roman generals while they basked in the city's praises after a triumphant return or successful campaign. Mostly so they didn't suffer a terminally inflated ego.

We didn't need anyone to tell us this. We knew it. 

Except, sometimes, Death comes to lend a hand, rather than take one.

It's not so much that they snuck up on us. It's that they outnumbered us in the important ways. In bodies and bullets.

Sacha had just put a fire together. Vik was still sleeping, curled up under a blanket that had once been bright red. Kyle and Cas had cleverly found some berries to supplement the meager meal Danielle was working on.

Shane and I stood near the truck, whispering to each other what we would have done for a cup of coffee. I'd had him chuckling over a dirty joke and we heard a shuffle in the leaves. It was conspicuous and immediately suspicious not because it was in the middle of nowhere, but because it was obvious that it had been a purposefully stifled noise.

We hadn't been caught flat-footed. Shane had come to attention immediately, which caught Kyle's attention, then Cassidy's and Danielle's.

Guns were out and ready, but we were all horribly aware that we only had two to three rounds apiece.