Wake of the Dead | One

Chapter thirty-three

The older man's eyes grew softer, more comforting. He set a large hand on Jasper's shoulder and said, "Maybe go chop some firewood up for tonight. Get a bit of all that pent up stress out on something other than the people around you." He tilted his head to the side, "Jasper, everybody knows you're having a tough time. They don't blame you. But they don't understand your pain, you can't take your resentment out on them no matter how much they deserve it." 

Clenching the railing on the edges of the veranda, Jasper blurted out, "It happened again. I snapped." His voice shook, "I almost killed Darren. I didn't even think about it." Shutting his eyes tight, Jasper shook his head. "I'm...not a great as they think. I'm really, really messed up." 

A wry chuckle came from Tom, and Jasper raised his brows with surprise. Was Tom making fun of him? His surprise quickly turned to anger, but faded once again when the other man continued, "Yea, I get it. Military is a bitch when you're trying not to step on land mines and avoid getting shot in the head, beat up, burned, or blown up." His fingers tapped on the rail idly, "I never served, but my father did. Would tell me stories about it when I was a youngster, and why I should never sign up to do it willingly." The man shrugged, "So I never did." Tom set a hand on Jasper's shoulder again, "Take advice from my dead old man. Some days are better and some days are worse. Might never go away, but if you survived all of that, you'll survive all of this." 

With that, Tom sauntered away back into the house, and Jasper was left speechless, his lips parted as he blinked once. Clearing his throat, he looked back towards the field. Maybe what Tom said was meant to comfort him, but the other man still didn't understand what it was truly like to wake up and think your life was in danger. But...some kind of bad advice was better than none at all. 

Making his way down the porch steps, Jasper made his way across the farmhouse yard, narrowly avoiding overgrown rose-bush thorns. In the biting, cold air, a shudder ran down his spine. Shrugging on his new jacket, Jasper appreciated the fur lining on the inside and the hood. He'd never changed his uniform pants or boots whenever they raided the shopping center, but he had found himself a new t-shirt. Plain white, just like he had before...except this one wasn't stained with dirt and blood. 

Ever since he'd left Killian, Jasper hadn't eaten much. It wasn't so much that he didn't want to or it made him feel sick, it was more so the fact that he forgot about it. It was easy to ignore the rumbling in his stomach when there was so much to do to turn his old abandoned farmhouse into the group's new home. 

It was already homey; the decorations were pleasant and the couch was comfortable after a bit of dusting was done. There was a strange feeling of normalcy in that house, besides the fact that the whole group was crammed in it. Some had opted to camp in the living room, so Aubrey, Keagan and Samantha had made a small blanket fort with their tents. Harley, Wilson, Chris and Casimir shared the guest room right outside of the living room. Darren and Tom took the master's bedroom, while Cohen had turned the very small din into a medic room, as well as his own sleeping quarters. Jasper was left alone in his own room. Nobody wanted to share a room with him the day they found the farmhouse, which was fine. Naturally, they'd given him space as he grieved for the loss of his friend. 

When Jasper reached the edge of the wooded area where he'd helped Wilson chop firewood the previous afternoon, Jasper ripped the axe left imbedded in the tree stump they'd used to lay the logs on. There were plenty left over from the last time they were here. Jasper knew the group had plenty of wood to light the fireplace already, but this was at least a healthier way of getting out his frustrations. 

Gripping the handle of the axe, Jasper glared down at the small wooden log in front of him. He swung the axe hard and broke the bits of wood in half, pushing them roughly to the ground and replacing it with another. Heavy, satisfying chopping came from the wooden logs each as they broke in two. They were helpless, at his mercy, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. Jasper had never been so...angry. Not in a long, long time. Angry at the world, angry at his family, his old friends, his peers, Tom's group, god himself. Angry at anything that moved, anything that breathed. The damned undead creatures who wanted nothing but to kill you. It wasn't fair. Nothing was ever fair in this world anymore. There wasn't anything left but resentment, anger, betrayal and lawless chaos. 

By the time he was done, it was nearly mid afternoon. Drenched in sweat, muscles aching and out of firewood to take his anger out on, he dropped the axe to the ground and sat on the tree stump, holding his face in his hands. From a few yards away, he could hear the familiar growl of a biter, smell the stench of death and decay. "Shut up." He muttered, picking up the axe once again and standing, swinging it at the creature's face. It dropped to the ground in a heap of rotting, dead flesh. 

With all his anger gone, Jasper felt nothing but a hollowness opening up in his chest. Killian, the best friend he'd made besides Aubrey, was now gone. Chances were that he'd never see him ever again. He knew it wouldn't always be like this. Eventually Jasper would move on, heal, lose his resentment for the world. Emotions were temporary. It was healing from them that was the hard part. 

Ripping the axe from the biter's head, Jasper hacked it back into place on the tree stump and headed back to the farm house, his body aching with exhaustion, weighing him down as if a boulder had been placed on his shoulders. Although, he did feel better. A little bit back to his old self. Killian was still out there somewhere, no doubt thriving with the people he got along with. Boy Scout's too stubborn to die, He couldn't help but think with a small smile. He'll be okay. 

...

Days  had begun to feel a lot shorter as night began to set in sooner when the cold weather had taken on its full effect. Golden-brown and red, crunchy leaves had fallen from the trees and littered the ground. Clouds were darker, the sky looked more crisp and the air was pleasantly cold. Casimir had managed to snag a few rabbits before they retreated into their burrows, and prepared them for dinner with the help of Samantha. 

One thing that Jasper noticed was that Casimir was beginning to work a lot harder--harder than usual. Jasper furrowed his brows as he thought about it. Had Killian really made such an impact on the work load of the hunting that Casimir was doing his best to prove he could still provide for the group? It was a possibility. But Jasper had a strong gut feeling about the younger man. Something about him was ambitious. That wasn't always a bad thing, but in a lawless world, ambition could drive men towards a dangerous path of willing to do anything to gain--and keep--their power over others. 

Dinner had been relatively dull. Jasper reminded himself to eat, no matter how bland the food tasted to him. The others enjoyed in thoroughly, talking about their day and exchanging gossip. Jasper had even chuckled when Harley brought up the fact that Keagan and Wilson were beginning to spend a bit more alone time with one another. The red blush on Keagan's face said it all. At least the group was getting along, and Jasper had slowly began to come to terms with the fact that Killian was probably a lot happier in a place where the people were much more similar to him. It would take time, but eventually he knew Killian would be alright.