(Book 3) Left 4 Dead 3: Dry County

1.5

Next morning came, but the sun was not yet set to rise. However, the moon had come out from the refuge of the night clouds, revealing its massive, crystallike body. Night clouds that had dispersed from the heavens, opening the windows of the universe unto the damned world. A glimpse of the infinite galaxy.

The atmosphere that was once reigned by the bleak, sorrowful darkness, now filled by the light from the billions of stars sparkling up there, that it almost resembled the skies in the day, growing into hope for those who are hopeless, comfort for those who are grieving, and peace for those who are baffled.

Daeshim fell asleep on the chair where he was all tied-up. It had been over an hour since they sought refuge in the school, and of course, the unfortunate event that caught the Korean. But they found it strange that he hasn't turned yet.

Dwain's eyes were glued to the pale boy, pondering about everything. He questioned his leadership. After a long, agonizing hour of crying and weeping that he held back all day, he came upon a realization, in which whether or not his judgements are clouded by his feelings towards losing his family, perhaps rendering him weak that led to Daeshim's fate.

Brenan, on the other hand, delighted upon the astronomical phenomenon over them. The stellar incandescence even filled the very depths of his heart. "Damn, it's been ages since the last time I went sky-watchin'," says him as he sat across the bonfire, eyes up in the sky. "Forgot how beautiful these tiny little space glitters were."

Upon hearing Brenan, Dwain withdrew his gaze from the Korean and brought them into the heavens. Truly a spectacular sight, drowning out all the guilt, grief, and frustration.

"Shit I never knew they could've been this beautiful," he uttered.

A smile formed on Brenan's lips. It was then followed by a train of words escaping it. "Y'know back in the day, I used to hang out with my friends at the highlands in the night and everyone's, like, camping and shit. And I'd be, like, just messing around the corner. Me, a six pack of Sam Smiths, and my 1970 Plymouth Roadrunner. Scorpions' "Lady Starlight" playin' on the radio while I'm laying on her hood, and all of us, under them stars scattered in the cosmos, watching them glowin' like a string of pearls my momma used to wear, God rest her soul."

"Roadrunner huh?" Dwain sneered. "Ain't gone lie, that's a damn good taste right there."

And thus began the conversation between the two.

"Yeah, 383 and a four on the floor in Vitamin C orange? Maaaan ain't she a fine gem. I'm tellin' ya', I was killin it in the streets back then than 'em motherfuckers with their slick Fords and Chevys. God I miss that car."

"Surely beats my Pacifica."

A short cackle escaped Brenan. But then he remembered, it was the car Dwain used to drive his family around. And so he dismissed the comedian in him and decided to tone it down. An exhale escaped him. He gave the ebony man a curious look, with yet the smile not wiped out of his face.

"I've been playin' a lone hand with my burro milk here, I wanna know yours too."

Dwain unleashed, so far, the biggest, deepest sigh he ever held.

"Man, I dunno where to start," his eyes glued to the flame dancing in their center. "I mean what else mo' painful than losing yo' whole family?"

"Oh...right..." Brenan muttered. "Well... Judgin' based on what you've mentioned earlier, maybe thrice of how it feels tuh' lose yer momma. I know, coz' I already lost mine."

It was supposed to be a rhetorical question. But Dwain didn't mind Brenan not catching the hint. He felt the warmth of his intent, he was just trying to help.

"You said you was in the World Trade Center when they collapsed," Dwain prompted. "How'd you deal with it? Losing people closer to you?"

Brenan's eyebrows jumped upon hearing the man. That caught him off guard a little. He doesn't talk much about his experience from that event with anyone else that isn't a fellow firefighter, or cop or anyone who was in ground zero. The medic raised his brows again, and expelled the deepest breath. After all, compared to the disaster they are in now, it could even make the Manhattan attacks look like more of a prayer meeting. So what's the point of depriving Dwain of the answer?

"Well... I dunno, I guess it's just sort of something I have to live with," Brenan sighed. "I mean, in my case, it turned out to be a historical event so...couldn't be buried 'at easily. Normally folks just move on from someone's death, but an entire family all at once? That's a whole lot diff'rent thing."

Dwain scoffed. "How lucky am I," he uttered. Sarcasm hung in his voice. "Also fo' the record, they ain't just somebody who's closer to me. They my family, y'know what I'm sayin'? I was living fo' them, y'know?" He shook his head as he cut himself off. He couldn't afford to break down in tears again; he doesn't have any left. "But now?..."

"Yeah." Brenan's heart sank as those words struck him. "I'm plumb sorry fuh' ya' loss man."

Dwain shot him up with a glance and nodded as a thank-you. He brought back his gaze to the bonfire, battling with his thoughts.

"Not to be inconsiderate but, tellin' ya' how you should deal with it per se, is waaaay exactly outta' my pay grade," Brenan chipped in. "But one thing I know, the pain ain't goin' away. And a wise woman once told me you gon' respond to pain either by redemption, or requital. In your case, my advice? Is to go for redemption, sir."

Dwain was a little piqued when the medic trampled his train of thoughts. But after listening to him, he thought he didn't regret it. "That kinda hit the spot. Thanks man, appreciate it." He was moved by the yokel's words. He never thought that there's a few wisdom buried deep within the sea of all the nonsense that had ever come from that noisy mouth of his.

"No biggie, man," Brenan greeted as he brought his eyes back up the sky. "Funny how we was thinkin' we gonna be masterin' our own fate. But sometimes, forever only lasts one second."