memento mori [DNF]

Chapter 9

"So where is your backpack? Were you hoping to survive in the desert with just that makeshift pencil shank?"

The question caught Clay off guard. They had been talking, for what felt like hours, about the old world. There hadn't been too many personal questions and for the most part Clay had just been listening to George ramble, which he didn't mind much.

"It got stolen off me a while ago. I was actually heading to that light in the building to see if I could find some supplies there since I didn't have any." He wasn't too bad at thinking on his feet, but it did help that George was quite naïve.

"Hm. weird to think that somebody could steal something off you. You're pretty scary with a pencil. I'd hate to see you with a knife or a gun." Clay couldn't tell if George was being dumb again or if he was actually catching on. It was true that somebody would have a hard time stealing from Clay. He knew that eventually, if enough lies piled up, George would see through him.

"I've never used a gun before." He was trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"Is that how you got that hole in your ear?" Clay flinched. How'd he know about that?

"Uh.." Clay was trying to think of a correct response but his brain was halted by the information that he had seen his ear. He had always kept his hair slightly longer on that side of his head to hide the scar.

"I noticed it when I was checked you head for wounds. Since I smashed you into the wall you know?"

"Oh.. yeah.. I mean I got it from a gun but I wasn't the one using it."

Interesting. George couldn't get a clear read on the guy. He'd occasionally open up and tell stories from his childhood, but then he'd just shrink back into himself and stop talking. He was still unsure if he could trust him, but for now he was just having fun.

"What's your name?" George hadn't asked yet, because he feared the boy wouldn't answer. But now they had a few hours of rapport and shared stories.

"It's Clay. What's yours?"

"George." George offered a small smile. This was good for Clay. It meant that George trusted him enough to tell him his real name.

They were still sitting at the table, even though the hare was long gone. Clay didn't know what his next move should be. His leg was still causing him an immense amount of pain, but George was good at distracting him from it. If George was asleep, Clay could easily kill him, and then himself and get back home. However, if there was any kind of struggle, or if George woke up, he could easily take Clay. He couldn't let his desire to get back home cause him to move too fast; that would only lead to his death. He had a sneaking suspicion that George was smarter than he acted which meant he had to be careful.

"Once your leg heals a bit more do you wanna go check out the light in that building? I went out earlier before you woke up and the fire was there again. Might be some interesting people. We could add them to the farm list."

"Farm list?" Please tell me he's not serious

"Yeah! You know.. The farm that I'm gonna build needs people on it to take care of everything. So far I just have you. I feel like we'll at least need five people." Idiot.

"Whatever. I guess we can check it out." Clay wasn't interested in a farm or checking out the fire. They all just seemed like more ways to get killed. Despite how nice a farm sounded, there's no way that it would last in today's world. It was only a fantasy from the old world. The fact that George was entertaining the idea in any capacity was a bit comical to Clay.