Wait, did I really just think that?
What the hell? ...oops.
Sam stares at me, and I simply stare back, because it's not like I can really say anything.
I wish I could.
He blinks, as if pulling himself out of the shock of... whatever shock it is of seeing me. Probably my youth, which is something quite a few people seem to be surprised about when they meet me. It's as if since I'm younger I don't know how dangerous being a runner truly is, as if I haven't seen life after life taken by the undead over the past three years.
But when have you really cared about what other people thought? My inner voice questions. You just barely cared about the opinions of those two people at Mullins, and they're both dead.
I grimace, but bring my attention back on Sam. Studying his face a bit longer I see he doesn't look that old either. Just past nineteen or twenty I'm guessing.
"Sorry," He says after we both stand there for several seconds in silence. "I'm guessing you're our new runner."
I nod.
"Well, I'm Sam, but I guessed you kind of figured that."
Another nod.
"Well, welcome to Abel Township," Sam laughs then rubs the back of his neck. "Don't worry. Not every mission will be like that."
'Good,' I sign without really thinking about the fact that he probably has no idea what I'm saying. 'Because as... exciting as that was, I'd rather be prepared for my missions, if that's not too much to ask.'
Sam laughs again. "Yeah. We'll be sure to make sure you prepared for your next mission."
"Uh, Sam," The redhead-Jack-says, "Runner Five didn't say anything."
"Well, yes but she... she signed it."
I blink, my lips twitching up in pleasant surprise. Well, looks like I have someone who'll know what I'm saying after all.
"When did you learn sign language?" Jack asks, and Sam shrugs in reply.
"I've always known it-well. I've known it since I was like, seven because my dad thought it would be a good idea for me to learn other languages, and BSL technically is one. Just never had any deaf people in the township."
I tap my foot to regain their attention, the small smile that had been on my face morphing into a frown. 'I can hear perfectly fine. I'm just mute. That's why I'm still a runner.'
What idiot would make a deaf person a runner?
Sam looks away in embarrassment for about half a second before turning his eyes back to me. I let out a breath of air, and resist from shuddering at the feeling of my sweat starting to dry and causing my clothing to stick to my skin. It's happened before many times, but that doesn't exactly mean I've gotten used to it.
But even with my very strong urge to shower and get off the grime and slightly burnt smell I have lingering on me, my need for answers is a lot stronger.
'I also want to know who shot a rocket launcher at my helicopter,' I sign with a straight face, 'and why?'
"What'd she say?" Eugene asks Sam.
"She asked about her helicopter and the rocket launcher," Sam replies. "We don't know really. It definitely wasn't anyone from the township. We needed those supplies."
I look around the pitiful town with a hint of disgust. Obviously
It's all mostly tents, with a few buildings here and there. But even those look weak and old and run down, as if they were hastily and poorly built. There's only one building in the middle of the settlement that looks decent-good in fact. It appears to be a farmhouse but I'm sure it's being used for reasons other than living space.
"We'll talk more on that later," Dr. Meyers says, speaking for the first time since I arrived at the gates. "Right now I need to check her for bites."
I raise a brow at the doctor, then sigh quietly. Of course. It always is.
It's the basic routine-something I've known to do since the AMTB-watching eyes, wondering hands, the gentle voice reminding me to relax and not tense up my shoulders. It's all the same, although Dr. Meyers smiles when she states that I'm clean; She smiles genuinely.
That's new.
Sam is waiting for me when I leave the tent, and I can't help but give him a questioning look.
'Don't you have runners to direct?' I sign, but he shakes his head.
"No, after your helo crashed we decided it would be best to... not send out any more runners today," He explains, and I nod in understanding.
That does make sense, after all. Since whoever fired that rocket launcher could be roaming around, and if they have a rocket launcher than who know what other weapons they may have?
But that not the real question that keeps running through my mind. Not by a long shot. The real question is:
Rocket launchers aren't something you come by everyday, so what exactly was in that chopper to make them fire their rocket launcher at it?
It boggles my mind to actually question it, since all we were bringing was supplies. Nothing special, nothing new, just supplies, tents, and me.
"I uh, thought I might show you around a bit. At least-at least show you where you'll be sleeping until Mullins sends someone to pick you up," Sam stutters, giving a nervous cough into his sleeve.
I blink and tip my head slightly to the side. Maybe he's better with talking to people over headsets and coms links then face to face.
I stand and wait for Sam to start leading me toward my... tent, but he just stands there, staring at me as if he's trying to figure out what to say or do next.
The stare he holds-it's not the admiring type, but more or less the studying type of staring, as if he's searching for answers about me... about who I am.
Well, he's not going to get anything.
Not about me, my past, and if I have anything to say about it-my friendship, because once you gain a friend, you'll eventually have to face inevitable pain of losing them.
And I can't go through that again.
I take a step forward and wave my hand in front of Sam's face, quickly snapping him out of his daze. He blinks for a few moments before his eyes meet my curious ones, and a slight blush comes across his face.
"S-sorry," He says. "Guess I was just thinking too much."
I nod, not saying-well, signing-anything. There's a bit of an awkward silence before Sam breaks the silence again.
"I should... I should show you to your tent now," He mutters, and I nod in agreement. I've noticed I've done that a lot in the past fifteen minutes.
Sam begins to walk, and I hastily follow. He doesn't talk at first, but this doesn't exactly surprise me. People at Mullins were always professional, and the few times they weren't I never seemed to be interested in idle chatter. It's been along time since I've had an normal conversation with someone.
"Are you alright, Five?" He asks suddenly, and my eyes snap up at hearing my new name. His eyes have a sliver of worry in them, but I know him asking is more of him being polite than him actually caring, but then again it's more than most world get at Mullins or the AMTB.
'What were you thinking about?' I ask, not bothering to answer his question.
Sam raises a brow at the change of subject. "What?"
'Back there. You seemed pretty... deep in thought.'
"Oh," He says, his face reddening again, "I was just thinking about how you were..." His voice trails off.
'How I was not what you were expecting?' I guess.
"Yes," Sam breathes out, and then his eyes widen and his face burns brighter. "I mean, no. I mean, yes, but that's not a bad thing." He chuckles nervously. "It's just that we've never had a runner this young before."
I shrug. For me it's not unusual, but maybe that's because I started out at the AMTB before I was shipped off to Mullins. From what I can tell most teenagers my age are just starting their training for running, at least that's how it was at Mullins, but at AMTB any kids that weren't bitten and weren't disabled were put into training.
'Well, if you're wondering, I'm not a ten year old, even though I probably look like one.' I smile and emit a small huff of air that might just resemble a laugh.
"Well, you don't look like you're ten," Sam says. "Maybe... sixteen?"
I send him an unamused look. 'I'm fifteen, and you are a horrible liar.'
"Okay, so yeah, you're right. I am a awful liar," He admits. "And you do look younger than your actual age but not by much. I would guess maybe thirteen or fourteen." He shrugs then sends me a small smile. "And besides, looking younger than you really are is a good thing, especially when you get older."
I find myself smiling-really smiling-but it's gone a few moments later.
Yeah, if I actually live long enough to get older.
'Well, you don't seem that old either,' I sign. 'Just how old are you exactly?'
I don't know why I'm asking this. I shouldn't really care. I don't care. But I guess since this guy is going to be leading me to safety away from the zoms while I'm running, being nice and keeping on his good side seems like a good idea.
"I uh, just turned twenty a few weeks ago." He laughs. "Never thought this would be the way I'd be spending my twenties."
I shrug again. I never thought this would be how I'll be spending my teenage years either. But I keep that to myself. We can't do much except try to survive. Talking about this... it's just depressing and sad.
Apparently Sam thinks so too, because he takes a different turn on the subject. "We've never had a runner that couldn't speak either, since most people who can't speak either can't hear or are mentally disabled, and we can't have either of them running out there in a zombie horde."
'Trust me,' I sign, looking down at my feet as I walk. 'I didn't want this. I didn't ask for it either.'
Sam gives me an odd look. "When does anyone?"
I don't reply. Instead I keep walking with my gaze down at my feet. He doesn't understand, and he never will-not if I have anything to do about it. I can't tell him who I am, not really.
"So, mute, young, and incredibly fast," He says. "Five, you are one of a kind."
I flinch, but then quickly recover. It's better to be one of a kind, because that means no one else has gone through what I've gone through; that no one has done what I've done-or felt that type of betrayal that I've felt... But being the only one is horrible. It's a slow torture that takes its time with the kill. I know. It's been killing me for two years, ever since-
'Yeah. One of a kind,' I reply. I hide my pain well, but over the last few years its gotten so easy I don't even have to think about it. Now it's almost like second nature.
"Well, this is your tent," Sam says, stopping in front of the small, green tent. It looks like it could fit a person and some possessions, if I had any besides the KJV Bible I have in my backpack.
"I know it's probably not as great as what you got over at Mullins, but it was the old Runner Five's and-"
I shake my head vigorously, silencing him. Truthfully, I hated it. It smells like fish and body order and I know it will probably be freezing when night falls, but I couldn't tell Sam that, not after he just lost his girlfriend. I can't offer him much comfort but I can at least be polite.
'It's fine,' I say. 'It's completely fine.'
"Oh, um... gr-great," He says, casting a glance at the tent-at that girl's... Alice's old home-and I grimace at the pain I see in his eyes. "Then I'll uh... I'll leave you to it."
I can hear it in his voice. Of course he's still hurting. Alice has only been dead for what-an hour? I remember how long I grieved after-
No! I scold myself. Stop comparing his situation to yours! It's not the same! It will never be the same! He didn't have to do what I did! He didn't even have to watch!
Sam's already walking away, but I pick up a pebble and throw it, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. He pauses and turns to look at me with a raised brow, and I rub the back of my neck awkwardly.
'Hey,' I sign after removing my hand from my neck. 'I just want to say I'm... I'm sorry about Alice.'
Sam forces a smile, and I internally cringe as I recognize that face all too well. The face I made before I learned to hide the pain; the grief.
"Yeah, I am too," He mumbles. He looks at me as if expecting me to say more, so I do.
'Well, she's in a better place now, at least.'
You stupid idiot.
I hate myself. Did I really just say that? Of course, she is in a better place-I at least hope she is, but saying that never helps. It doesn't offer any real comfort, now matter how hard you try to find comfort in it. It still hurts. And it never really stops hurting. There's always a dull, painful throb that never leaves your heart.
"Yeah," Sam says with a small nod. "Yeah, she is."
Then he turns and walks off without another word.
I contemplate going after him but decide against it. I know the pain of it, and Sam hasn't gotten any time to grieve; he probably needs some time alone.
With a sigh, I enter the tent-my new home. I need some time alone too. I need to pray and read my Bible, because I have a feeling I'm going to need guidance to get through the these next few weeks, or with how Mullins will probably be hesitant to come to my aid since the helicopter was shot down, months.
A/N: hey, everyone. I really hope you like this chapter and please be sure to tell me what you think. Thanks!!!