Wake of the Dead | Three

Chapter Seventy-Four | Jasper

Jasper shifted uncomfortably, not sure exactly what to do. Facing the rest of the group, his arms were crossed and his brows were narrowed, buying for time. If they didn't move they would all be in danger, if they did they would still be in danger, but a different kind. Casimir's pulse was picking up again, the blood was replenishing itself in his body, but the hunter was still in no proper shape to travel. He could barely keep his eyes open—either that or didn't want to. Jasper didn't blame Casimir, he couldn't imagine what sort of agony his groupmate was in.

"We need to get to Jackson and Aubrey, the baby will be due soon." Jasper decided quickly, before he could change his mind. "If Casimir isn't in the immediate danger of bleeding out anymore, we can have him and Rixon ride one of the horses while the rest of us walk." He waited for the others to dispute what he'd turned up with, but nobody said anything against his plan. Part of him wished they'd say something, anything.

Darren was the one to rescue him in the end. "We'll reach the gorge by midday!" The man exclaimed, ever always the optimist of the group. His attempts to lift their spirits was futile though, when Rixon left the small gathering and returned, holding Casimir close to his chest. The hunter was wrapped in a comfortable blanket, a mask of pain clouded his eyes even still. Casimir pressed his face against his friend's neck, Jasper could only guess to try and sleep.

Everybody had been apprehensive the previous night, wondering if Casimir would turn. The only possible symptoms he was showing was a high fever, headaches and nausea—but considering he'd had his leg chopped off with an axe the previous day, Jasper was surprised he wasn't worse off. He looked away from his friend, not wanting to see what he'd done to him. Would Casimir have wanted to succumb to the virus and die, to pass away from this world and into the next? He hadn't given the hunter a choice. In retrospect, it was perhaps one of the most selfish things he'd ever done.

I'd rather die than live without one of my legs. Compared one of the other guys I served with...well, I got lucky. Is Casimir angry with me? Have I killed him? His body might not be dead, but emotions are another thing entirely. Something I didn't take into account. Jasper wanted to believe he'd done the right thing, but he truly wasn't sure if he had or not. What was he supposed to think, that the proud man would be thankful for a permanently crippling injury in exchange for getting to live? It's not a life I'd want. And I took that choice from him. Am I crazy, for thinking that?

We've been on our feet, running for God knows how long. Fighting, rushing around, surviving. But Casimir...what chance does he have now? If we get cornered, if he has to run...he'll be torn to pieces. Jasper closed his eyes tight, doing his best to shove away the heartbreaking screams of agony he'd inflicted on his groupmate, but he knew deep down, they would forever linger. They would take their rightful place in the proverbial hall of fame, framed night terrors that haunted his dreams all too frequently.

"Jasper," Killian's musical chime of a voice dragged him out of the dark pit that his mind had become. Jasper looked down, forcing himself to meet those beautiful, honey-hazel eyes. "Don't think about it right now. We can deal with him later, unpack what's happened when we're in a safe place." He bent down to allow Killian to cup his face in his delicate, soft hands. A ginger kiss was placed just above his brow.

"You know this scar, on my face?" Killian continued somberly, "I haven't looked at it yet. I can't. But that's alright. We'll get to it when we get to it. But for now," Killian stood up straighter and nodded to their groupmates a few yards away, "we need to think of them, okay?"

"But I-" Jasper voice cracked, "I hurt him. So, so much, I told myself I'd never hurt anybody like that, not after what they did to me!" He subconsciously reached to hold what used to be the spot he'd been branded with that wretched symbol, now covered with the beautiful artwork Rixon had provided to help hide his identity.