I dreaded telling you what happened next when I learned Luke was bitten, and I wished I could say that I would have done things differently, but that would be another lie. I see him in my dreams, sometimes when I'm awake, I can see him smiling at me from afar when I walk along the streets or during my patrols. For a moment, I think he's still alive, but when I turn around, he is gone. Was.
Then I'd remember the blood, the tears, and the last words. The dirt in my fingernails as I buried his body into the ground. The silent days where I stared at the windows for hours, listening to the wind. The others trying to coax me out for fresh air, to keep my mind off of things that would eat you alive from the inside.
It's all coming back to me now.
I'm going to tell you of the day I first killed a man—not a vector—but the one that still thinks and feel...the first time I had taken true life.
"I forgive you," Luke told me.
Perhaps he meant it, scared as he was, trying to make me feel better, still watching over me. Despite his forgiveness, I'm never going to forgive myself until the day I die.
——
The airport was burning by the time we reached its outer perimeter. We watched it all burned down to the ground just as a massive horde of vectors continued to stream through the broken walls. I reckoned about half of the vectors probably came from Albany itself. We didn't bother going in as we didn't see any aircrafts flying off the premises—we were too late.
I didn't know if Clemons survived as the university was also destroyed, but if he did, he might have been flown away to another safe-zone that was much secure than Albany. I gathered that we would be on our own from now on, left to survive off the destroyed landscape of the eastern seaboard, now a wasteland of death and monsters.
I was glad to see many vehicles driving away from the burning city. I felt better knowing that others made it out aside from us. We drove west in silence, following the refugees, but as we drove further and further, we lost track of them as they turned to other streets, trying to find their own sanctuary.
Peter drove the humvee aimlessly around, looking for our own refuge. There were roads blocked the military (now long abandoned), the highways clogged with more abandoned vehicles, and so we had to use the backroads just to navigate westward. We hadn't seen towns for hours now, only an expanse of forests.
Luke sat at the very back of the hatch, cuffed onto his chair by Peter. I knew half of the others wanted to throw Luke out, but they didn't have the heart to say it to my face. Instead, The others huddled to the front except for me. I stayed close to him, and I might have threatened the others that if they as so much as breathe onto Luke's direction, they're gonna have to go through me. My mind was left in a daze, clutching Betty on my hand, ready to shoot anyone who might try to attack Luke. Perhaps I was preparing myself too that if Luke turned, I would be the one to kill him.
But Luke didn't turn. He was one of the slow ones.
Don't get me wrong. I knew Luke was sick, but I couldn't help it but see him as the same man as when I woke up that day. I couldn't, no, I refuse to imagine him like one of them, and perhaps, that's what caused me to decide not to do the most logical thing thereof, which was to throw him out of the car. I didn't want to be that heartless, especially to a guy I was falling for.
I tried holding Luke's hand, but he pushed me away. I realized he was afraid that he'd kill me if he turned right then, and so he kept telling me to put some distance between us, but I'm not going to leave Luke all alone. I knew he was petrified—everyone was—and it must not be easy for him to know that the disease was slowly spreading inside his body. At this time, we knew little of the disease, what it does to your insides, and if he would remain asymptomatic until the point of no return when he's tearing someone's throat.
I stayed close to him, anyway. He didn't want to admit it, but my close proximity made him feel a little better. Eventually, I felt his fingers tentatively touched mine, and I reached out, intertwining my own with his. We held hands throughout the entire ride after that.
I kept my eyes and ears on Luke, his breathing, the changes in his skin color, or the vector's horrid twitches. None of that happened. Luke remained like he was earlier this morning. He had no fever, no scratchy throat, or any runny nose. Despite the tender numbness on his bite, he said he felt fine. I told him to tell me if there were any changes.
Logan kept staring at me, and I reckoned he wanted me to move away from Luke to be safe, but I shook my head, and he left it at that. Though I saw that the rifle he carried with him was aimed at Luke, hidden underneath the jacket he took off and laid over the weapon resting on his lap. I wanted to shout at him to point it elsewhere, but I didn't want to scare Luke. I crawled across the hatch until I'm between Logan and Luke. I gave Logan a deathly glare, but he wouldn't meet my eye.
Yousef still sat at the backseat right behind Logan. At first, he was quiet, taking quick glances at Luke, and when he tried to climb over into the back hatch, Luke told him to stay away. After that, Yousef quietly cried. He lost Aria, and now he was losing his best friend. I didn't know what Haskell must be feeling, but he stood by the turret, no doubt readying himself if Luke turned, and the same went for Peter, who stole glances through the rearview mirror, his holster lose, making it easier for him to grab his gun. Alfie didn't dare look over his shoulders, but I was more surprised that Miguel actually fell asleep with his back still facing us. I stifled a smile.
Peter stopped the car at the side of the road. I looked around and realized that we were in the middle of nowhere, entirely surrounded by trees. Was this it? Was this where Peter and the others were going to hold me back as they dragged Luke out of the car and leave him at the side of the road? I held tightly to my gun, and I felt Luke's hand gripped mine hard. He was thinking the same thing I was.
"What's going on?" Logan asked.
Peter looked over the driver's seat. "We're out of gas."
I frowned.
"I thought the tank was full when you got this," Haskell said from the turret.
"We've been driving for four hours if you haven't noticed," Peter huffed. "We're gonna have to walk."
"We can't just move around without a car. There are vectors!" Alfie said.
"Is there a gas station nearby?" I asked.
Peter studied me for a moment. "I saw a sign a mile back that says the gas station is about ten miles along the road."
It was almost six in the evening, and the sun was going down in an hour or so. If we're going to get the gas, it will take an entire day—twenty miles. It's a country road, so there wouldn't be a town for miles longer than where the gas station would be. I looked down on my bandaged leg. I wasn't looking forward to a very long walk, limping all the way.
"It's gonna be dark soon." I reminded the others.
"I saw a mailbox next to a private driveway back there." Peter pointed behind us. "It'll only take about a minute or two to walk over there. Perhaps we'll find a private residence to hunker down for the night, maybe they'd have some spare gas. If not, we'll talk about who's coming with me to walk over to the gas station tomorrow. For now, we'll hide the humvee behind those bushes."
"What if there are people?" Miguel asked.
Peter sighed. "Well, um, let them know that we're friendly folks. Aren't we?"
I looked around our little group. All of us were men, armed to the teeth, and with no resources to trade with since we basically left most of our bags up on the rooftops. No stranger would trust us if we approached. Hell, I wouldn't trust us. We looked like marauders that were going to raid and rob a house.
When no one answered Peter, we started getting ready for the walk. I approached Peter, but he already knew what I was going to ask.
"He's not going with us," Peter said.
I gritted my teeth. "The hell he isn't. I'm not gonna leave him behind here. The night gets cold—"
"Suit yourself."
I shoved him away. "The fuck is wrong with you?" I pushed him again on the chest, but this time, he caught my wrist. He didn't let go.
"I'm trying to keep us alive," Peter said, swatting my hands away. "If you can't see it already, lover boy is going to turn in a few hours, maybe less."
"You think I don't know that?"
"And I don't want him near us when that happens."
"I'll take care of it when he does. But for now, he's still human."
"Who knows what's going on inside his body. He could pass the infection to us by touching us with his sweat, or from his saliva alone. He's dangerous, Bren. Be reasonable."
"Then, I'm staying."
"Are you out of your mind?"
"Step into his shoes for just one moment, Peter. He's terrified, and leaving him like he's discarded trash is only going to make him feel worse. I don't want that to be his last moments. It's fucking terrible already, and I feel like I'm breaking inside. I know he's dying, but that doesn't mean I should stop treating him like a person."
Peter paced back and forth, clenching his fist. If he was going to punch me and knocked me out, then I was ready for it. I glanced over my shoulder and realized that the others had stopped what they were doing and listened in, including Luke. Our eyes met, and he looked away.
"Fine," Peter finally said. "But your boyfriend is your own responsibility. If he turns, you're the one who's going to take him out of his misery. I'm not gonna lose another man on my watch." He turned and looked at the others. "You all got that?" No one answered. Peter didn't expect one.
I turned around so that I wouldn't have to look Peter on the eye, but then I ended up meeting Logan's. He gave me a look—only for a split second—that I did not understand, one that borderline for pity and disappointment. I increasingly became uncomfortable. Logan frowned and whirled around, following the others toward the private driveway.
——
Halfway through the walk, Miguel had to carry me behind his back, which was a little embarrassing. I only tripped once when my foot got caught my a fallen branch, and I swore I could go on, but Peter insisted not to put too much pressure on my leg already. I could see blood seeping through the bandages, but I tried hard not to pay attention to it. Still, I ended up being carried on the back of a grown man like some toddler.
The long gravel driveway extended out for at least a quarter of a mile to a small farmhouse nestled in the woods. We walked across the large field, climbing over wooden fences encompassing the perimeter, passing by tractors, stacks of hays, and other farm equipment lying on the unkempt grass.
It didn't look like anyone was home, the house's windows were barred shut, but no lights were coming from inside. I also didn't notice any vehicles parked along the driveway. Peter and Haskell went into the house first, leaving us by the small shed as they cleared the interior for vectors. Peter walked out to the front porch and waved us in.
The house was empty. I half-expected to find a dead vector that Peter and Haskell had dispatched, but there was nothing. I surmised that the owners had left in a hurry, leaving the entire house in disarray, all shelves and cupboards opened, closets emptied, and the pantry almost gone. The lights and the water pipes still worked (as most of the eastern seaboard's electrical grid, still maintained by a dedicated and armed skeleton crew).
"I'll fix some soup," Miguel said, flicking his eye to Luke. He looked around the lower pantry and found a can of cream of mushroom. "This would do, I think."
"Thank you," I said.
Miguel gently squeezed my arm. "I'm so sorry, Bren."
"You didn't do anything wrong."
Miguel gave me a despondent smile. "I'll go fix you that soup."
We settled into the farmhouse for the night. It was a two-story house with five bedrooms, one down and four above, built for a huge family that had emptied its nest, walls filled with their happy, smiling faces of a brood of eight. Luke and I went to the farthest room on the second floor. Luke insisted on being cuffed to the bed. He never spoke of anything beyond that, not even to me. I tried talking to him, thought about a joke, but there was no use. I kept it to myself.
"Could you leave us for a minute?" I told Logan and Yousef. They both shared a concerned look before they walked out of the room, Logan lingering a little longer, maybe trying to make sure if I wanted to be alone. I nodded to him, and he left. I sat at the foot of the bed, but Luke wouldn't look me in the eye. "You know you can talk to me, right?"
Luke didn't answer me.
"I'm here, Luke. If you need anything...or even if you just want to have someone close...I'll be nearby."
Still, Luke stayed quiet. He lay down on the bed and turned away from me.
I held my tears, subduing the knot at the pit of my stomach as I rose off the bed and cleared my throat. I didn't want him to see my cry. I didn't want the others to see it, but it broke my heart to see Luke like an empty shell, counting down the minutes until the inevitable. Hell, we all were, and it was fucking painful.
I didn't think it would hurt this much.
"Well, I'll go help Miguel with the food. I'll bring you a cup. Maybe you're thirsty? I'll go get some water then," I said, mostly mumbling them, and strode for the door.
"Bren?" Luke whispered.
I whirled around as if all the air inside my lungs was going to burst out of my chest. "What is it?" This was good, right? He was talking, finally. Was he okay? Maybe he was immune to the disease? All kinds of things swam in my mind as I looked at him, finally meeting his gaze.
"It's not your fault, you know," he said. He never spoke for the night after that.
My smile dropped heavily, the house bearing down on me, but I couldn't anything to make it stop. I let it crash onto my body, and I took a step back, blindsided by his words, and I burst into tears. I hastily closed the doors, leaving him in the room.
I didn't go downstairs. I went to another room, making sure it was empty before I poured everything that I had kept inside me out of my skin ever since I stood on that god-forsaken roof. I wanted to hide, to scream, or to jump into the water, forcing myself beneath the waves until I drowned, or for the ground to swallow me whole. I was so fucking exhausted that I wanted to pull the bones off my body, or my heart so that I could squeeze whatever I was feeling, letting the numbness and the stupor enveloped my nerves, almost absurd to think of, almost made me laugh out loud. For an outside observer, they might have thought I had lost it, snapped insane, or perhaps I was having a mental breakdown. I didn't let the others see, so I let the tears stream until my eyes turned red and puffy, and I knew that when I walked down the steps an hour later into the dining room, everyone already knew what had happened.
They never spoke of it, and I was glad for that.
I ate Miguel's soup and some vegetables he had found on the fridge, scraps from whatever he could find in the kitchen. The owners didn't think it was worth bringing the frozen perishables with them to wherever they were going. I didn't realize I was so hungry that I had to return for seconds. Luckily, Miguel cooked a big pot, and we all had our extra helpings, much to everyone's somber delight.
Without anyone with medical knowledge in our group, Haskell came close to it. All soldiers were trained to apply first-aid, and Haskell mentioned taking a couple classes more on the subject. Still, he wasn't Margot. He changed my bandages carefully, sacrificing the only roll we had left in his first-aid pouch and then dropped some antiseptic over the wound. I yelped in pain as the solution seeped into my muscles.
I punched Haskell's arm. "Fuck! Give me a little warning!"
"Sorry."
Once my wound was dressed clean, I put a tray filled with food on Luke's end table, but he only glanced at it, and when I returned an hour later, it remained untouched. Despite my best efforts to make him comfortable, I guessed he realized that the meal would be his last supper.
I left the food on the end table just in case he wanted it and left the room without a word. I knew he was awake, and I didn't see any changes in his mental or physical state.
"Where are you sleeping?" Logan suddenly whispered from the corner, bathed in the shadows.
I flinched. "Jesus Christ! Don't scare me like that!"
"Er, sorry."
"I could have shot you."
"Again, sorry."
"What did you say?"
Logan paused for a moment. "Oh. I said, where are you going to sleep?"
"Um..." I looked around. I had no idea where everyone was going to stay. I gave a small shrug.
"Well, Pete's going to stay up and keep watch from the living room. He says the windows give a good view of the field. He wants us all to sleep in one room, preferably the bedroom downstairs, well, except for Luke, of course."
I caught sight of an armchair propped against the corner right next to where Logan stood. "I'm going to stay up here."
Logan glanced behind me, glaring at the door. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said.
"Luke's cuffed to the bed frame. He won't go anywhere. Besides, I want to stay up here to keep an eye on him." I walked over o the armchair and sat down.
Logan narrowed his gaze at me, and for a brief moment, I thought he was going to prolong this and argue with me, but I was preparing myself for it. If he wanted to be stubborn about this, then I'd give him my all, and if he wanted me to shout and scream, I would. I guessed it must have registered on my face because Logan heaved a sigh and walked down the stairs.
Midway, he stared up at me through the railings, shook his head, and continued down.
——
Day 28: May 6th, Thursday
I awoke with a start, wincing as my back seized in pain, sore from sleeping on an armchair all night. There were pillows tucked behind my back, though, a thick blanket laid over me, and I was confused about how they all got there for a moment, realizing that someone must have brought them there when I was asleep.
After I got my bearings and remembered where I was, I jolted upward, my feet moving on their own toward Luke's room. I clutched the doorknob, slowly turning it, equal parts trying to be sneaky just in case he had turned overnight, and yet wishing he was still asleep and still very human.
The bed was empty; the cuffs dangling from the bed frame.
My eyes widened as I looked around the room. He escaped! There was no sign of him. "Luke?" I called out softly. I waited, but there was no answer. I called out again, and still, the same silence greeted me. I surmised that it was safer to step into the room, so I looked underneath the bed, in the closet, and even inside the bathroom. He wasn't in any of them.
Floorboards creaked from the doorway, and I whirled around, putting my hand on Betty tucked in my holster, ready to shoot. I hesitated midway, thinking that I would shoot Luke, and for a split second, I froze.
Fortunately, Logan was leaning by the doorframe.
"He's not here," he said.
Anger flashed through me, and I marched toward Logan, ready to pounce. "What have you done with him?"
Logan quickly raised his hands. "Relax. Take it easy. We didn't do anything to him. He asked for fresh air."
I blinked. "What?"
"Yousef took him outside, said something about wanting to see the sunrise."
"With—without protection? Wait, is he okay? He's not infected? He didn't turn?"
Logan frowned. He glanced over my shoulder, and I followed his gaze to a bucket sitting right under the bed, hidden from view. Suddenly, I could distinctly smell vomit lingering in the air and a whiff of infection and sweat. "He was vomiting all night, could barely swallow the fluids we'd given him."
I scowled. "You didn't bother to wake me?"
"Pete thought you need your sleep. So...we left you alone. We felt like it might be harder for you to see Luke like that, and..."
"That's not for you to decide."
"Luke doesn't want us to bother you. We acknowledged his wishes," Logan said confidently. He knew that would shut me up.
I sighed. "Where's he now?"
"I'll show you."
Logan led me down the stairs. Haskell was sitting by the living room and gave me a friendly wave, faltering midway when he saw the mask I was wearing—anger and dread. I passed by the bedroom they had all been sleeping in, saw Alfie still curled under the sheets, deep asleep. There were no signs of Peter or Miguel.
"Where are the others?" I asked Logan.
"They siphoned some of the gas from the tractor outside, barely enough to halved the distance between here and the gas station. They'll have to walk the next five miles after that."
I shook my head. "And they couldn't wait for us?"
Logan glanced down at my busted leg. "Not with your condition, no."
I frowned at that. I could barely keep up with the others when we were walking down the gravel driveway. How would I handle a long walk of five miles?
'They say they'd be back by noon," Logan added.
I followed him out to the front porch. It was still a little dark out, though the light was starting to emerge from the horizon, painting the sky in a pink-orange haze and a cooler shade of blue. In a few minutes, the sun would be up.
I heard voices and laughter coming from where the tractor stood. As we got closer, I could distinctly hear both Luke and Yousef's voice. They were sitting by the tractor's massive wheels, leaning against the rubber, facing the eventual sunrise over the horizon. Logan and I stood out from view, listening in.
"Remember the time we went hiking through Yosemite, and we couldn't find a bathroom, so we had to piss beyond the trail?" Yousef recounted, stifling a laugh.
Luke chuckled. "Ah, yes, I remember that."
"And we pissed over the edge, and then we fucking heard people yelling and shouting at us. We looked down and realized we were pissing on the trail below!"
Both men laughed louder, though I noticed that Luke was more subdued as if he was straining a little. I edged closer, but Logan gently put a hand on my shoulder. I looked at him as he gave me a knowing nod. He didn't have to say a word to tell me that he'd be nearby to keep an eye out. He walked back toward the porch and stood by the column. I walked over to where the two boys were.
Yousef saw me first, letting out a small smile before turning to Luke and giving him a hug. Luke seemed surprised at first, but he melted into Yousef's embrace, could see his eyes turning glassy, trying to hold back the tears threatening to pour out of him.
Yousef didn't hold them back. "Luke, I—"
"You've always been a good friend to me, Sef. Never forget that."
"I won't."
"And you're strong, even if you think you're not. You just gotta get yourself out there, out of your head, then maybe, you won't be such a miserable sob. You're a smart dude. Don't hold yourself back, alright?" Luke playfully punched him on the shoulder. He caught my eye then. "Go on," he said to Yousef. "I want to talk to Bren alone."
Yousef left to join Logan by the porch. I sat down next to Luke by the tractor. He tried pulling out the pillow wedged behind his back, handing it to me, but I said no. I helped put it back behind him. On my walk, I thought of the many things I wanted to say to him, but now that I was here, I wast at a loss for words. I let the silence lingered as we waited for the sunrise.
It was Luke who first cut off the silence between us. "I want to see the sunrise for the last time," he said. "I stayed up to watch the sunset last night from my bedroom—"
"Luke..."
"—Then I thought of holding on a little longer to see the sunrise, you know," he droned on, "but then the smell got the better of me in there, so I gotta get me some fresh air. It stinks. Or rather, I stink."
"Luke, I..."
"—And then I thought about eating the food you gave me last night, but they were cold, and then I couldn't even put them down my throat."
"Luke..."
"I'm turning into one of them, Bren," Luke declared suddenly. If he was turning to meet my gaze, I didn't let him. I kept my eyes on the grass between my feet. "I could feel it inside me, could feel it in my head."
"We've never encountered anyone bitten who lasted this long. It's been, what, sixteen hours? Maybe more?"
'We've only fully observed two. Mr. Ramirez and Carson, and now there's me. There were reports that people lasted a day. The database even said something about people going for two days without symptoms..."
"But maybe you're different. Maybe you'll be fine for decades."
"I already have Carson's symptoms, Bren. Fever, itchy throat, Sweating, could barely put down the fluids crammed in me. I saw what happened to him when you were trying to get him medicine. He went like that—" He snapped his fingers, "—So quickly. We thought he'd be fine, but then, an hour before he went, he became delirious, out of his mind, calling for his mother, and crying, Bren. Crying. It looked painful like something was tearing his insides out. I thought to myself, that hour is eventually going to come for me. I could already feel it creeping in, and I just...I'm scared. I didn't sleep at all last night, thinking if I do wake up, I'd be one of them."
"You owe me a date, remember?"
Luke smiled. "This is as good as any," he said, pointing at the sunrise peeking over the forest's canopy. "Sorry if I'm a little cheap."
"I like it."
"Good."
Luke took my hand, and I let him. He felt cold to the touch, and once the sunlight touched him, I saw why. He was pale, lips already bluish, face gaunt, dark circles under his eyes, beads of sweat all over his forehead, and his clothes were soaked with it. I put a finger over his wrist, felt his pulse slow to my touch. I noticed his breaths were shallow.
I leaned over to kiss him on the lips, but he pushed me back. "Don't," he said. "I'm infected."
"You're not one of them yet."
"No," he said sternly. "We know it's not passed through the blood. But I already reckoned it's in the saliva, like rabies. You can't kiss me."
"I want to."
"I want it, too. So badly. But we can't. I don't want to pass it to you."
"I love you."
Luke hitched a breath. "You don't mean that."
"Asshole. I'm trying to tell you what I feel about you."
"We barely know each other. You barely know me."
"Well," I shrugged. "I mean what I say, and from what I gathered about you, it's enough for me to feel something. You can't take that away."
"You're only telling me that to make me feel better."
"Can't you just fucking accept it?"
"Fine." Luke cleared his throat, though I caught him trying to stifle a smile. "It was nice to hear. I love you, too."
I smiled. I held his hand instead, continuing to watch the sun slowly rising.
"Was that the first time you've said it to someone?" Luke asked me.
My cheeks reddened. "Yes."
Luke chuckled, his grip on my hand tightening. "Ah, wonderful. My first time, too."
We sat there for half an hour or so, just watching and listening as the birds chirped and flew over the trees, the fresh breeze wafting through the fields, and the silence...the kind of silence where you don't hear the planes, the cars, or any sign of civilization anywhere, just the complete serenity of nature.
"Bren," Luke whispered. "Could you do me a favor?"
"What is it? Anything."
Luke frowned, but he quickly replaced it with a warm smile. "I don't want to turn into one of those things." Just then, he looked at the gun holstered on my hip. "Me thinking about tearing into someone, and I just can't..."
I fervently shook my head, scrambling up to my feet. "No. I don't want you to do that. I don't want you to shoot yourself."
Luke frowned. "Not me."
"What? You want me to shoot you? To kill you? Luke..."
"Please," he pleaded softly. "I'm tired. I'd rather die a quick, painless death than be one of them. We don't know what goes on inside a vector. Maybe a sliver of the person is still trapped inside, unable to control their body. An eternity living as a monster is torture, even if I'm not aware of it."
"I...I can't do it."
"I've already asked the others. They won't do it, even Haskell, with all his big talk. Peter outright refused to do it, said something about leaving it on your hands as you both agreed. Logan came close, but he chickened out."
I whirled around to face them. Logan and Yousef wouldn't meet my eye. There, I understood what was going on. Haskell was no longer peeking through the windows from the living room. All of them probably realized what we were discussing. I wanted to punch all of them. For a moment, I reckoned why Peter didn't want Luke coming with us. He saw right away that Luke was going to lead to this. It might be painful for Luke to count the hours before he succumbed to the disease, but it was equally painful for those around him. Peter was trying to spare me from that.
Luke reached out and grasped my clenched fist. "I came out here to shoot myself, Bren. But I...I also chickened out. I thought about leaving you to sleep up there, sparing you from...this...but I can't bear to say without a goodbye. I've already said my goodbyes to the others."
"You don't know what you're asking me to do."
"I do. God, Bren, I'm really sorry, but I do. It's what I want. I don't want to be like Carson. I don't want to experience that pain he felt in his last moments, and it's coming."
I knelt down in front of him, cupping my palm against his cheeks.
He slowly reached out for my gun, pulling it out of the holster, and then placed it in my hand. He also pulled out the pillow wedged behind his back and cradled it over his stomach. "Um, there might be vectors around. I don't want to draw them here, so maybe we can use this to muffle the noise."
I felt numb. I could be angry, lashed out, and screamed at him, to everyone. I could have resisted, I knew I still had it in me, but I couldn't call it. Someone spoke louder at the back of my mind, telling me this was something I would forever pay. I could never do that to Luke. I could never make him one of them. I realized that if I was the one bitten, I would ask the same thing. I would ask for mercy.
There was no fight left in my voice. "Luke..."
"Promise me one thing."
All I could do was nod.
"Survive. No matter how hard it is, you have to live. I can see that things, this world, everyone else, will never be the same if there's a cure. I don't know why we walk in circles around it, denying ourselves that safety is just around every corner. Maybe we're naive to think otherwise. Perhaps that's what got us into this mess. But we can't wallow in hindsight. We have to work with what we've got. You taught me that."
"You could still do the same. Fight it."
"I want to, but it's already too late for me. Not for you, Bren. You will make this world your own. Don't let it beat you down. Resist it. Always. Promise me that. Before I go, promise me."
"I—I promise."
"Good. I trust you. I love you," he said. "I forgive you."
Everything that came after was a blur. Luke placed the pillow over his face. I didn't know how I managed to put the barrel of the gun right into the pillow as my entire body shivered, trembling my grip on the gun, eyes puffed with tears, all-consuming, peeling away my gaze from Luke. Logan and Yousef had moved closer, the latter had his hands over his mouth as Yousef held his tears. Logan knelt beside me, grasping my shoulder, frowning behind his furrowed expression, but nevertheless, was there to hold me.
My tremors lessened...
And I pulled the trigger.
——
The others came out to help bury Luke under a white dogwood tree in the farm's small garden. Logan and Yousef made a tombstone out of plywood they found in the tool shed, etching LUKE MATHESON on it, and his birth date. I realized he would have turned nineteen in a month, too young to die. Yousef said some words over his grave, telling about keeping his promise to stay alive and give his last words to his family.
"I will tell them how you fought hard, man," Yousef said. "I will tell them you looked out for me, and for all of us."
I could feel my pulse on my throat, my head spinning all the time wherever I turned, and every time I looked at his grave, I felt like I was going to vomit. I've done that too many times already. I wanted to be alone, yet at the same time, I wanted everyone to be around me. I wanted to hear their voices, any proof that they still existed, and that I'm not facing some dark fucked-up things by my own hide. I was exhausted, barely could walk myself back into the house, and Alfie and Logan had to help me up there.
I saw the bushes of flowers placed around the house, and I picked up a dozen made out of daisies, white roses, and irises. I walked back to Luke's grave and placed it over the mound of dirt.
Peter and Miguel returned with a full tank of gas. Haskell let them know what had happened, but I was glad that Peter gave me space to breathe. I thanked Miguel for fixing me some lunch, though I could only stomach a couple of bites until the gunshot's echoes rang in my ears again, and I threw up over the sink.
Peter decided to stay on the farm for another night, and I was more than happy to oblige. I didn't have the energy to move and be stuck in the car again, though I reckoned I didn't want to get far from Luke.
——
DAY 29: May 7th, Friday
That same night, Logan caught me wandering next to Luke's grave twice, and he would walk me back to the house.
"It's dangerous to be out here alone," Logan told me.
"No," I whispered. "It's only Luke."
I didn't get to sleep much after. One time, I remembered Logan watching over me, sometimes it would be Miguel or Alfie. By breakfast the next morning, Miguel had to make some soft meals that I could swallow easily, but even those I couldn't eat. He said he'd save one for me once I'm hungry on the road.
I didn't join the others when they were discussing where to head next. I let them decide. I was on Luke's grave again, placing more flowers that I picked apart from the bushes, and wherever I could find them. It was the only thing to make time go faster, kept my mind off the ringing in my ear.
I didn't notice Peter standing behind me.
I turned around to face him.
"We're going to Binghampton," he said. "It's a small city a hundred miles west of here. I heard there's a CRA outpost there with a couple of battalions. I think its worth to check it out."
"Whatever you think is best," I said softly. I placed another bundle of daisies over the grave.
"Brendan...I..." he trailed off. "Okay. I'll get us ready then. We leave in an hour."
I didn't leave Luke's grave until it was time to. Logan and Yousef was the one who got me and led me to the car. I didn't resist them or shed more tears. I merely glanced back to that mound of dirt, knowing it would be the last time I would ever see it. They let me sit on the passenger seat, hoping that some fresh air from the windows would do me good. I merely nodded.
There were no clouds in the sky when we left the farm. It was sunny and warm, inviting. I'm not a religious person, but if it were true that Luke was watching over me from above, I guessed it made me feel a little better, though only for a moment, and then the hollowness inside me grew, the more I thought about him. Instead, I watched the trees whisked by my window as the humvee drove by, the roads turning into highways, and then crossing at overpasses and under tunnels, avoiding the clogged freeways all the time.
By noon, my stomach grumbled. I turned to Miguel sitting behind me and asked if he had fixed anything before we left. He gave me an egg sandwich. I ate the entire thing. If the others were surprised, I didn't turn around to look at them.
I fixed my eyes outside again. We were passing a small town, and like any place in the country, this one was burning, too.