What Lasts in Us

CHAPTER THIRTY

It takes about a week for my ankle to heal. For all the injuries I've sustained through my own carelessness, I'm surprised I haven't done more than just sprain it. As Nate inspected then strapped it, it turned out it was badly bruised; blue and black, and all colours in between. It was swollen to the point that I didn't have an ankle anymore.

We took off the morning following our disagreement, despite me not being able to walk long distances.

Nate bundled up the corpses of the MeVs, put them in one huge pile, and set them alight before we went on our way. He alternated between giving me a piggyback, carrying me in his arms, and me walking beside him for short distances.

When I was on his back, it freed up his arms to hold his rifle; I otherwise carried everything else. When I walked beside him, I held all my stuff; when I was in his arms, well, he only did that to give his back a rest.

We camped out under the stars most nights. I preferred it this way, because I felt closer to my family whenever I had the opportunity to look up. I loved watching the stars with my dad. I'd point out all the constellations I knew, and he'd show me the ones I didn't. Obviously I grew out of it, because as a teenager there's never enough time in between school, homework, boys, and friends. But now, I feel as though it's a missed opportunity if I don't catch a glimpse of the stars before I go to sleep.

"So where are you from originally?" I ask Nate. I climb onto his back. He catches my legs and hooks his arms behind my knees. I wrap my arms loosely around his neck; Dog is perched between us, huddled inside my jacket. "Or are you from L.A.?"

Nate holds his rifle and slings Max's over his right shoulder, propped against me. "Wyoming," he replies. We stick to the trees by the highway so we're not out in the open. There's not much of a pileup of cars here, so there's next to no protection should we be caught in the open. "I was living in L.A. at the time."

"Did you ever go home afterward?"

Nate shakes his head. "Immediately after the first quarantine zone was destroyed by the government, whoever was in charge set up another zone. You know, to contain any infected that weren't killed in the bombings. Except the virus wasn't contained everywhere, as we all now know."

The government kept secret how dire the situation was regarding the spread of the virus. The original quarantine zone in Oregon was meant to house all of the infected, that it was caught before it could spread elsewhere. But symptoms didn't become visible until two weeks later. And even then, people thought they had the usual measles virus, not the newly discovered mutated one.

"I was in the new quarantine zone for about three weeks," Nate says. "Which turned out really well when quarantine protected those outside, not inside."

I shiver involuntarily. "Holy shit," I say. Can you imagine? All those people trapped in the one place, and slowly, one by one, or maybe even groups at a time – attacking one another. Eating one another.

"The stuff of nightmares," Nate replies.

We walk on in silence. It's overcast today, with the sun peeking through the clouds whenever it can be bothered. It makes everything look grey, but when the sun breaks through, colour returns.

Everything is still; the only things moving are us. It's like the forest is holding its breath, waiting for something. And the air is muggy. I feel like I'm inhaling water. I'm covered in sweat. My hair falls limply in front of my eyes. I feel sticky, dirty. I swear if I climbed off Nate's back, there'd be nothing but a sweat patch.

"It's so quiet," I whisper. I lean back slightly, to get a glimpse of the treetops. No birds. No squirrels. Nothing.

As if he knows I'm looking skyward, Nate does, too. He turns his head slightly, so he doesn't headbutt me. "Nothing," he echoes.