Wake of the Dead | One

Chapter sixteen

Killian didn't sleep much that night. He could hear the raking of nails and snapping of jaws outside. They were eventually ebbing, but he felt like if he moved in the slightest they would break down the door and make a meal of him. At least they had relatively comfortable beds to sleep in that night. Killian had taken the one farthest from the door, feeling much more secure to have extra space put between him and the biters. He wondered how Tom and the others were doing. He hadn't heard any screaming so far so he could assume they were doing relatively okay. 

Jasper was constantly tossing and turning in his own bed. At first it had gotten on Killian's nerves, but it was a somewhat odd reminder that somebody else was there with him and he wasn't alone. With a sinking heart Killian realized that without the group, he would most definitely be dead. Even if he somehow managed to survive the stab to the gut on his own, he would have never made it out of the city. He was more thankful towards Jasper than he was willing to admit. 

Rain pounded against the window incessantly, an endless torrent that refused to let up. After a few hours of trying to sleep, Jasper finally broke the silence with a muffled sigh. "Hey Boy Scout, you still awake?" 

Killian murmured a quiet, "Mhm." 

Jasper turned over to face him, and Killian could see the exhausted bags under his eyes. He wondered if the group would stay at the motel, even when the hoard had moved on. If only for another day, they could rest up before setting out to find a new camp. Killian knew that Tom, Cohen, Jasper and Darren would never allow the group to stay at the motel for more than three days. They were at too much of a risk staying. Not only would it be easy for them to be cornered, but another group might just decide they liked the motel too. The group couldn't afford any injuries, with dwindling supplies. 

"We're going to have to find warmer clothing for the cold seasons." Jasper mumbled softly in a passing thought. Killian nodded in agreement. They would all need warmer clothes, or else sickness would run rampant between them all. If not just a common cold, then the flu. The worst possible outcome would be some sort of mutated virus from the biters. Hypothermia was their biggest threat by far. The group needed to stay focused on warmth, food, medical supplies and keeping their feet on dry land. 

"Once we get out of here, you can talk to the...council about raiding a store, maybe." Killian suggested. He was too tired to really think out a foolproof plan, but the concept still stood. 

Jasper raised a single brow. "The council?" He chuckled. 

Killian barely held back a smile. He hated how dopey and sleep-deprived he was feeling, because oftentimes when that happened he got a bit too loopy for his liking. "You, Tom, Darren and Cohen are all the ones who call the shots, right? I'd say that's like a council." He muttered. In all honesty, Killian was a bit too tired to be his usual abrasive self, but that wouldn't stop him from being back to normal in the morning.  

The other man nodded, "I suppose so," Jasper said. "Democracy isn't really an effective form of governing things anyways." 

Killian knit his brows together. Democracy and government definitely hadn't been the forefront of his thoughts, or whatever education he'd managed to learn before dropping out of school. It was never an interest of his. He hadn't really cared who had been running the country as long as they didn't let everything fall apart. He supposed the same thinking applied to the group he was in now. 

"Why do the others think so highly of you?" Killian's question wasn't meant to be rude. He was sure Jasper wondered the same thing. With people as old as Tom and Cohen--mid thirties at most--compared to Jasper, why did the others look up to him still? The other men had so much more life experience than Jasper. Yet, even Killian himself seemed to look towards Jasper at times. So what made the other man so special?