The Last Plague

Chapter Sixteen: Truth

"What girl?" Tristan looked at me stupidly.

"Don't play stupid with me. Answer the question," I commanded as I stared at him intently.

"What girl?" he asked again, making me angry.

I shouted at him, "Answer me! What did you do with the girl I was with?"

He looked at me blankly for a few seconds. He seemed to be debating whether or not he would tell me. That was all I needed; I knew then that he did know who I was talking about. I stared at him back, making sure I was intently holding his gaze. He didn't even seem to flinch at me. I heard a moan in the distance, but I was too busy staring. I held his gaze more firm, hoping he would flinch or give in. Pretty soon, I felt like I was doing a stupid staring contest.

"Fine," he grumbled out, still staring at me. "I didn't know who she was, so I got rid of her."

"How did you 'get rid of her'?" I asked him, pushing for more information.

"I shot her in the back and threw her into the grass!" he exclaimed in one breath. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

I looked at him for a moment. I knew she was dead, but I still held on to that faint glimmer of hope. I shouldn't have though; it was making me feel light grief. Still, nothing compared to the grief I had as a kid.

This is literally the only time in the entire journal he ever mentions something relating to his parents. If he wasn't asleep in the forest, I would ask questions; get to know him; love him . . .

~Trina

"Is that what you wanted to hear?" Tristan snapped again, drawing me out of the sudden flashback I was having.

I nodded my head, only once, and then stared at the floor. Of course, I was upset that he did that, but I couldn't entirely blame him. The logical part of me told me he wasn't to blame for her death; the grieving part of me told me he shot her without any consideration to the matter. The illogical part of me also kept pushing to become the logical part of me.

"How's your leg?" he asked, completely changing the subject I wasn't sure I wanted to change.

"It's been better," I responded, looking at the cut.

He started to push for more information, and I was pretty sure he was mocking me slightly as he said, "Good enough to walk on?"

"No," I snapped, probably much too quickly. Even if I could walk on it, and I wasn't testing to find out yet, I wouldn't want to leave. I looked around, and suddenly realized I had completely forgotten about Nick. "Wait, what did you do with Nick?"

"What did I do with who?"

"That man that I was with," I snapped, trying not to sound annoyed. Despite the fact it was obvious he knew who I was talking about from the start.

"He was the one laying with a knife in his head, wasn't he?

"Yes," I groaned, annoyed with his constant pestering.

"I threw him into the grass too." He sighed, and looked up from his shoes as he added, "But he was heavier than the girl, so I didn't take him that far." He snickered at that as if it made it any less depressing. It only made me feel more annoyed with him.

"Please, can you at least try to stand?" Tristan's voice scared me again. I needed to stop getting lost in thought.

Now that I knew the truth, I honestly had no problem standing. "Yeah," I sighed, while Tristan was walking over to me to help me up.

I heard another groan from the grass, this time sounding closer. I almost willed my leg to work. As I stood, I felt the pain increase. But it felt bearable; that was all I needed. I started limping away from the small camp. Tristan looked at me for a moment, then smiled and sighed a sigh of relief. He grabbed the backpack Nick had worn and caught up to me. Then I heard a shriek from behind me.

I spun around, probably too quickly, and almost collapsed from the force. I recognized the voice, but it sounded altered. It seemed like the inhuman version of the familiar voice I had liked. Immediately after, I saw Mellisa's face come from the grass. I heard another shriek, but not from her. I saw a stranger as a creature came from the grass. I started limping faster, but I knew it made no difference. I groaned as I turned around to look at the creature's eyes. They were pale, lifeless, void, but still familiar; I hated having to see them.

"Don't worry, I got the gun," Tristan assured me. He raised the gun at Mellisa.

"Give me the gun," I demanded. I don't know why, but I had a strange urge to be the one to kill Mellisa. I felt like I was the one who had just given her the fate she was in, but I didn't feel any guilt. "I'm going to be the one to kill her." I tightened my glare at her as she lifelessly slugged towards me.

Reluctantly, and slightly suspiciously, Tristan gave me the gun.

I felt the surge of power as I raised the gun toward Mellisa. Before I shot the bullet, Mellisa shrieked a high-pitched, terrifying scream. I shot the gun by instinct, wanting to drain the noise from my head. She fell to the ground in a heap, and I shot the other zombie without even thinking about what I was doing. You have no regret beforehand, but now you do, my thoughts suddenly popped at me. I felt a huge pang of guilt, feeling like I was the one responsible for her death. You just laid there, telling yourself you were helpless, while Nick took her away and killed her. You should have at least—

I screamed "Shut up!" at my thoughts before I got too far.

Tristan looked at me like I was losing my mind, then stared terrified at the gun. I dropped it by instinct. Tristan couldn't have grabbed it faster as he pointed it at me. I realized I had screamed out loud, and felt embarrassed. Then I realized Tristan was pointing a gun at my head and thought I was crazy. I backed away and raised my hands up. It was hard to explain to him why I had screamed completely randomly.

"That wasn't on purpose," came out, probably making me sound stupid.

"Why did you just scream?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"I was trying to stop my thoughts," I said as honestly as I could.

"Trying to stop my thoughts," he repeated. "You thought of what?"

There wasn't a way to make him believe me without being honest. I just went ahead and told him the story, "You remember when I wanted to shoot Mellisa at first," I stated; it wasn't a question. "I felt like it was my responsibility to shoot her, so I did it. Right after, I felt guilt. My thoughts kept making me guiltier and guiltier—"

"So you screamed 'Shut up' to get rid of them?" Tristan asked, seeming to believe me.

"In a way," I agreed as I thought about what I said.

"So you telling me your thoughts were acting like another person?"

As soon as I read this part, I liked Tristan. Of course, he's probably . . . nevermind. But anyway, it is nice to not feel alone. And to know I'm not the only one who realized that.

~Trina

"Well, I guess so," I concurred, only thinking about it for the first time. Now that I thought about it, it was hard to let go. I kept telling myself I couldn't scream "Shut up" again.

Tristan looked at me semi-confused and sighed. "Let's start moving," he commanded after an awkward moment. He started walking, his finger itchily rubbing the gun's trigger.

We started walking away from the bodies. Part of me was thankful; the other part wanted to go back. I refused to look back as I kept walking.

Several, several hours passed before we got anywhere. Two days passed before we got to where Tristan was leading me. "The Underground" was finally in sight. I felt very thankful as I thought of my leg. I hadn't wanted to stay there any longer than I had to, and kept moving, even with my leg. When we got there, Tristan showed me a small, seemingly simple brick house. As we walked in, he showed me a fleeting staircase. It seemed to stretch down eternally in ink. I watched as Tristan started descending the stairs.