The Dead Among Us

5. More questions

 As Sabin steers the car along the bumpy dirt road, his piercing blue eyes remain fixated on the windshield. His fingers are clenched tightly around the steering wheel, and his knuckles protrude.

Meanwhile, I nervously fidget with the fabric of my T-shirt, absentmindedly twisting it into knots with my left hand. My right hand is throbbing something horrendous in its cast, and I'm anxious to get to his place so I can sleep off this pain.

Suddenly, Sabin retrieves a pack of cigarettes from his leather jacket. I instantly smell the subtle tobacco drift into the car air, mixing with the scent of pine from the surrounding forest.

Before he pulls one out, he gazes in the box for a moment, his expression betraying a trace of puzzlement. He appears to be counting them.

In a soft, anxious tone, I muster the courage to ask, "Can I have one, please? I could really use something to calm my nerves."

He places one in his mouth and then extends the pack towards me. To my surprise, there are only two left. Why was he counting them?

Fumbling through his pockets now, the cigarette still perched between his lips, he grunts and groans in frustration. "What the fuck!" he exclaims, kicking under the dashboard before tossing his unlit cigarette in a cup holder.

Catching my bemused gaze, he explains, "My lighter's missing."

I eagerly retrieve a pack of matches from my backpack. Striking a match against my boot, I quickly light my own cigarette before the flame dwindles.

Cupping my hands around the tiny flame, I lean over and light his cigarette, which dangles from the corner of his mouth, all while he keeps his focus on the road.

A sense of relief washes over me as I see him take a deep drag, one I'm hoping will calm his nerves. He's really on edge about all this. What this is, I'm still trying to figure out.

"Thanks," he utters in a mumble after inhaling a few more puffs.

As I take a hit from mine, my unaccustomed lungs rebel with a violent fit of coughing. I struggle to catch my breath, frantically thumping on my chest to ease the discomfort, while his eyes briefly flicker towards me, his thick brows scrunched up in concern.

The coughing finally subsides, and I foolishly take another, smaller puff, only to find myself coughing uncontrollably once more.

I can sense he's growing annoyed with me, and it sends my anxiety skyrocketing.

I can't toss it. It was one of his lasts, but I can't keep smoking it and coughing like an idiot. Unsure of what to do now, I hesitate with it, sitting and resting between my fingers, the ash continuing to build up.

When he finishes his own, he wordlessly extends his hand toward me for mine, knowing I'm not gonna finish it.

"Thanks anyway," I attempt to lighten the mood with a chuckle, but he remains unresponsive. He takes the cigarette and continues to drive in silence like he's on a mission.

I can't fucking take this.

"Where are we going?" I ask, turning my body, my back resting against the door.

"My home" is all I get from him.

"Could you explain what that means for me?... please..."

He sighs a long, weary, drawn-out sigh. He then steers the car down a few more blocks before stopping in front of a house. It looks similar to the others in the neighborhood, constructed of cobblestone but slightly larger. There are no fences like the ones by the clinic that held farm animals.