I Could Just Eat You Up {A "The Crafting Dead" Fanfiction}

Chapter Eight; Three Questions

     The next morning, I rolled out of bed with a heavy sigh. I looked at Cory as he slept soundly on the floor, curling a distressed blanket under his head. I inched across the room and escaped downstairs into the room we dubbed the dining hall.

     I was greeted by smiles planted on the faces of my group members. They gestured towards an empty seat with a plate full of food before it. I took my seat and let out a sigh, receiving just a nod from Nick.

     Cory's words buzzed around in my head, tempting me to echo them to Nick. What would he say? I told you so. Let's kill him. What would he say?

     After breakfast, I cleaned up my space and rushed off to find Nick who disappeared before finishing his food. I wandered the halls until I found him by the front doors, gazing out the window.

"Nick," I called out.

     He flicked his head towards me, showing a weak expression in attempt to hide whatever was stirring about in his head.

"Hayden," He said. "You're up," He spoke with a soft voice.

"Yeah," I said awkwardly, unsure of what vibe he was trying to throw out.

"Did you need something?" He asked, clearing his throat to establish as stern tone.

"Uh, actually... I had something I uh... wanted to tell you about," I said, glancing around the hall. "Maybe somewhere more private,"

     Nick showed concern and brought me into a small room dedicated to extra clothing we had looted since the apocalypse started, basically. I sat on an overturned box, gesturing for him to sit as well.

"What's this about?" He asked me, eager to hear my answer.

"Cory," I mumbled. "He... told me something. I found it a bit... shocking," I said quietly.

"What was it?" Nick questioned, his ears perking with eagerness.

"He's said... well he's admitted to killing people. Not just walkers, people! Like us," I revealed in a harsh whisper.

     Nick was silent for a moment, and I stood on edge in waits of what he was going to say. But, he only walked off with rage. Oh no.

     I rushed after him, fearing what he'd do.

"Nick, no!" I shouted " Don't hurt him," My loud voice echoed through the halls, swinging open the doors of our group mates.

     Nick threw open my bedroom door and rushed across the room, throwing Cory to the wall by his collar. Despite his angered motions, his voice was calm, as if it belonged to someone else.

"I have a few questions for you," Nick said.

     He threw the blonde atop my bed and towered above him, his face relaxing with tranquility. Nick sat on my chair, staring off towards the window.

     By this point, everyone was hovering around my door. I pushed through the rough shoulders and shut the door, keeping myself hidden in the corner.

"Cory," Nick started. "How many people have you killed?" He asked, chewing on his bottom lip.

"What?" Cory almost stuttered, realizing I had passed the word onto Nick, his eyes meeting mine.

"How many walkers have you killed?" Nick repeated, staring directly into Cory's ice blue eyes.

"Hundreds," He said.

"How many people have you killed?" Nick proceeded.

"I've lost c-count," Cory spoke.

"Why?" Nick muttered.

     There was a long silence, emotions rushing in the take their place. They wrapped themselves around each of us, our bodies reacting with hesitance and eagerness all at once.

"There must be a why," I spoke up, stepping from the shadows.

"There is," Nick stated. "There always is. And, you better believe me when I say I'll get to the bottom of what that why is," He said through gritted teeth.

     Nick paced the room a couple of times, as if sign to the emotions to scurry away, back into hiding until someone else screwed up. With a swift turn, Nick was out of the room and down the hall within seconds. The eavesdroppers raced after him in hopes of hearing the details to what had happened behind that closed door.

     My eyes wandered to Cory and tried to read the expression he threw on. Nervous? Ashamed? Guilty? What it was, I couldn't decide.

     I didn't realize I was walking towards him until my leg bumped his as I sat at his hip.

"The why," Cory said. "The why is what got me," He admitted. "Half the time, I don't know why I do what I do. The other half, I'm so certain and clear on what I'm doing it for," He explained, but I wasn't sure where I stood.

"Should've said that," I whispered, before leaping up to escape the tension-filled room.

     I felt warm skin grab onto mine, pulling me back a step. Cory whimpered as I tried to leave, and my heart melted with his breath.

"I need someone," He said, insisting he couldn't be alone.

"You do need someone. But think about it like this," I said, snatching my hand from his. "That someone, who would've stayed right by your side, could be dead because of your hand. But you didn't have the patience to wait that out, so now you're here. Alone," I muttered, fleeing from the room.

     Tears turned my vision into a mosaic as I slipped down the hall towards an empty closet I often resorted to. I wanted to be rooting for Cory, but he made it the hardiest task I've had since this apocalypse started. Impressive.