Marionette (A 'The 5th Wave' Fanfiction) [COMPLETED] #wattys2017

16. Zombie; Chapter III.

    I freeze. What should I do? My hands are sweaty. It's just Zombie, I remind myself and open my eyes. "You were having a nightmare," I whisper back. Despite having just waken up he smiles sheepishly. He doesn't say anything. I decide I should probably pry further. "Who's is the necklace?" I ask.

    My first thought was of some girlfriend he has. He's good looking, I'll give you that, and I doubt that would go unnoticed by girls.

    Subconsciously he wraps his hand around the heart pendant. From his expression I decide I should have rephrased my question. Who's was the necklace?

    "I . . . I had a sister. Her name was Sissy," he explains in a glum voice. I feel bad for my curiosity. "She was killed by some murderers that were stealing from houses. They killed my whole family. And I just ran away. Like a coward." His eyebrows are furrowed again.

    There's a drop-dead silence. I bet you could hear a pin falling to the ground. Zombie looks like he's at the edge. I quickly say, "Mine too. My mum died when I was young. My dad always blamed me and abused me. He was taken to jail. I lived with my grandparents ever since. I loved ballet," I add.

    Zombie is looking at me in a way that's beyond my comprehension. A mix of emotions. Yet he says nothing.

    I decide to continue. I'm not even sure why—maybe I need someone to know. If I die, what will stay of me? By telling Zombie I am securing I will still exist. In his memory. When Zombie dies, the remains of Marionette go down with him. "After the Mothership my Grandma wanted to go to some family in Canada. The First Wave struck when we were in the plane. Ma and I survived. My Grandpa didn't.

    "Outside the airport we found a kid, Aaron, who's parents were killed by the impact of the fall. Ma fixed his broken arm.

    "If we knew what was coming we would have stayed further from the shore. The Second Wave, literally a wave, killed Ma. She was too old. She couldn't run fast enough and didn't manage to get onto the ledge and to safety. She drowned.

    "It was Aaron and I now. The Third Wave took him away from me. He got the plague. He was just a child. I stayed with him till the end. I held his hand and patted his head. I didn't mind the blood.

    "Then I was alone. I don't even know for how long. Then the yellow school bus came and it was then that I met Nugget. And the rest . . . you probably know," I conclude.

    Zombie nods. He was watching me and listening intently the whole time. He's much calmer now. Nearly sitting up. "I played football," he says. It takes me a moment to realize he means American football. Not 'soccer'. "I was the captain of our school time. Quite popular." He chuckles. "I built cars with my dad during our free time. We didn't have much of it so those moments were really special.

    "I tried to keep my life at normal during the Waves. Not make a big deal out of it. The Waves came and had their impacts but didn't affect me that much if that's possible. Then the burglars killed my family and I ran. I ended up at a camp—not military, more like refugee camp. I got the plague there and nearly died. I was found after the camp was attacked and brought here." He finishes.

    He's looking at the floor now. When his eyes meet mine their glossy. Like he's about to cry. I realize I can't cry anymore. Am I done pondering over my past? I don't know. Maybe telling Zombie made the pain more bearable. Maybe.

    We talk for a while longer and decide to go to sleep. I feel at peace for the first time in months.

    We become a bit closer then. Nothing grand, we just exchange a few looks now and then. Mostly when Reznik is yelling at us or when there's something difficult going on, sometimes at lunch.

    I do my best to help the squad with guns. Nugget is too young to have one and 'trains' with a stick. Poundcake is an easy case. I sometimes give him small pointers and he replies with a nod. Still didn't say a word. Flintstone seems to hate me as much as Zombie, so I try to keep my distance. In all honesty, the worst is Zombie. Even little seven-year-old Teacup has a better aim than him. So we split into groups of sorts, Flintstone helps Dumbo, Poundcake Teacup and Zombie and I.

    He rests the rifle's butt on his shoulder. He closes one eye and aims before firing. The bullet hardly brushes the edge of the target. I tell him to repeat that and try to see the problem. Now he doesn't even touch the circles on the target.

    He huffs and puts the rifle down. "This is hopeless," he complains.

    I kneel next to him. "What's the problem?"

    "I don't know! I can't aim. It just never hits the target."

    I think. "You're thinking too much. Imagine a string. A string connecting you to the target," I offer. "You only have to let the bullet slide across it." I touch the tip of his rifle. "From here," -I point at the target- "to there. Give it a try. Don't overthink. Just complete the circle."

    Zombie sighs and resumes his stance. It's flawless. He definitely mastered the theoretical side of it. Now for the practical one.

    He closes his right eye again and I gently put my hand on his shoulder. "Open your eyes," I whisper.

    He shudders slightly and I wonder if my touch is uncomfortable. I let my hand fall limp at my side. He opens his eyes and furrows his brows. There's a moment of anticipation and he fires. It's a clean shot, sending the bullet a circle or so from the bullseye. That's gotta be an improvement.

    His eyes are bright as he thanks me. "How did you do that?"

    I don't understand so I shrug. "Dunno. I just told you to complete the circle." That's what Pa always told me.