Goodbye to a World | shane walsh

04 | what once was

Morning arrived swiftly, the night passing without incident since Shane had drifted off to sleep. Nola had read the book she found on the table until it lost its allure, then spent time pacing the small cabin, sketching out ideas for animal traps, and checking on Shane's wound, which thankfully seemed stable—no fever yet, at least.

But Nola knew they were on borrowed time. His infection was severe, and without proper medicine, things could turn critical. The fact that winter was in full swing and their food supply was dwindling only added to her growing anxiety.

She sat by the window, peering through the shutters at the bleak landscape. A single rotter wandered in the distance, a lone figure in the swamplands. Aside from that, there was nothing. She sighed, picking up a makeshift fishing rod she'd fashioned with a stick, some twine, and a piece of hare meat. She slipped outside, treading quietly down the rickety steps to the dock. The ice on the stream was thin, and she carefully lowered her line into a hole she'd made the previous day.

Fishing had never been her strong suit. As a child, she'd always lost the catch whenever her father took her out, and that unlucky streak seemed to follow her into adulthood. She'd spent hours in the same spot yesterday, catching only one measly fish.

She blamed the winter—perhaps the fish had moved on to warmer waters, or maybe her bad luck was just unbeatable. Whatever the reason, the outcome was the same: absolutely nothing. After a while, she heard the shack's door creak open. Glancing back, she saw Shane step out, his presence cutting through her quiet frustration. She pulled up the rod, bait gone and no fish to show for her efforts. Typical.

"Sleep okay?" She asked, turning to face him as she stood.

He nodded. "Not much luck out here, huh?" He looked at the empty hole in the ice.

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Never been good at fishing."

Together, they walked back up the dock, and as they reached the porch, she noticed how filthy Shane looked in the clear morning light. He seemed almost surprised by it when he glanced down at himself.

"There's a shower out back," she offered. "I can heat some water if you want to clean up."

Slowly, he nodded. "Yeah... yeah, that would be good."

She smiled, heading inside to gather some buckets of hot water. Digging through her belongings, she found a spare black shirt that was too large for her but should fit him. With everything in hand, she led him around the back of the shack to a makeshift shower stall with metal sheet walls, pouring the heated water into the tank before handing him the clean shirt.

"I'll keep watch while you're at it," she said, leaning against the metal wall. He nodded again, disappearing behind the partition, and soon she heard the rustle of clothes being removed.

She forced herself to push away the fleeting image of him shirtless that flashed through her mind, focusing instead on the task at hand. As the sound of running water filled the air, she noticed a piece of paper—possibly a map—sticking out of his jeans pocket.

"You've got a map?" She called out.

"Yeah," He replied from the other side.

"Mind if I take a look?"

"Go ahead."

She retrieved the map and unfolded it, her eyes immediately scanning around the map. It didn't take long to figure out they were still in Georgia, deep in the southern swamplands. Two small towns were marked to the west, not far off. She gauged the sun's position in the sky, mentally mapping out their route.

"Couple of towns nearby," she said. "Want to check them out?"

"Sounds like a good idea," he answered. It wasn't long before she heard the water shut off, and he reemerged from behind the metal sheeting, looking much cleaner. The crisp air must have bitten into his freshly washed skin, so she led him back inside quickly.