Eli was barely staying afloat before the apocalypse. Working long shifts, taking care of his younger brother, and just trying to figure out what to do with his life.
When he finds his mom trying to take a chunk out of her youngest son though, Eli...
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Explaining everything while whispering to Wolfe who insisted on saying 'what' every two sentences was extremely infuriating.
Eventually, Wolfe was silenced as the two of us finished explaining everything to the boy. By the end, he didn't have any words to interrupt with.
Putting the pieces together wasn't a hard feat; killing the people within their camp, the bodies piled within the could be closed off the tunnel. But that was our only option to free ourselves from this place.
They wouldn't let us leave willingly, and we couldn't all go on a run together without suspicions rising. We would have to run, and I don't know how we were going to accomplish that with Red about to have the baby.
I let my mind run wild as the three of us stealthily made our way back. While the other two went to bed soon after we returned, I laid awake next to Red who was shifting uneasily from her spot on the ground.
We would find another spot like our last place, we would be okay, be happy. We would have the baby, fortify our home as we tried to keep it quiet. God, I hoped that the baby would be quiet, but I knew just how noisy infants could be.
Mason had colic when he was born and would just scream his head off for no reason at all. If the baby was like that, then I didn't know what any of us would do. The dead would shamble in for miles, we would be putting everyone else into danger.
I would be putting everyone I was trying to keep safe, in danger.
Mason rolled closer to me, his tiny hand finding my cheek. His tiny hand warm against the clammy cold of my skin. He was so tiny and brave. We were thrust into the depths of a world in which was never supposed to be our fate.
He was supposed to grow up as a happy child, playing with toys, making noise. Being a child. But instead, he was cast into a life of solitude, of killing to stay alive to keep others safe.
But he had adapted so well for a child, while he was a noisy baby he was a silent child. He always had to be as a child must be quiet, with our mother on drugs or drunk. It was never a happy household.
Dreams were just dreams though.
I could dream of my child staying quiet as an infant, of keeping everyone safe, to keep the children within this camp children.
Dreams were just that, dreams. And not all dreams came true, unfortunately.
I was afraid that not all of my dreams would come true. And if they didn't then I'm afraid my nightmares would come true. Brushing a stray curl behind his tanned face, I let my calloused scarred fingers fun over his still soft face.
As he dreamed a faint smile was pulling at her face, something that the world saw very little of lately. I wish I could see that smile on his face all the time. Red on the other side of his groaned slightly, shifting once again.
